CEO’s Marriage Seduction by Anna DePalo

“You want a baby, so I’ll give you a baby,”

Griffin said evenly, making sure to hold her gaze. “I’m the guy who created your present problem, and I’ll fix it.”

A half laugh escaped Eva, her expression disbelieving. “Isn’t it a bit much to be volunteering to fix it this way?”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that part?” he responded.

“There’s no spark between us.”

“I disagree.”

The words hung in the air between them, and he could tell she was remembering the kiss they’d shared at her apartment, just as he hadn’t been able to forget it, either.

She laughed again, but it came out a trifle forced. She attempted to step around him. “Griffin, be serious – ”

“I am,” he said, blocking her with his arm.

She looked up at him mutely. Her lips parted.

“Why don’t we kiss and put it to the test?”

His Style of Seduction by Roxanne St Claire

“You’re a master of seduction, Jackson Locke,” Lily said.

“I’m not going to seduce you,” he said softly. “I just want to know your secret.”

“My secret?” Her heart kicked a little, and not just because of the way he looked.

He tugged gently at her hair. “Your secret. I know you have one.”

“Everyone has secrets, Jack.”

“I mean the secret you are trying so hard to hide. There’s something about your past that makes you evasive. And tonight, you’re going to tell me what it is. Now, as a matter of fact.”

All she could do was stare at him. Because when she opened her mouth, the truth was going to come out and she was going to tell him the one thing she’d never admitted to anyone.

And that, she realised with a wallop of her heart, was his real secret weapon.

CEO’s Marriage Seduction

ANNA DEPALO

His Style of Seduction

ROXANNE ST CLAIRE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CEO'S MARRIAGE SEDUCTION

by

Anna DePalo

ANNA DEPALO

discovered she was a writer at heart when she realised most people don’t walk around with a full cast of characters in their heads. She has lived in Italy and England, learned to speak French, graduated from Harvard, earned graduate degrees in political science and law, forgotten how to speak French and married her own dashing hero.

A former intellectual property lawyer, Anna lives with her husband and son in New York City. Her books have consistently hit the bestseller lists and Nielsen BookScan’s list of Top 100 bestselling romances. She has won a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best First Series Romance and she’s been published in over a dozen countries. Readers are invited to surf to www.desireauthors.com and can also visit Anna at www.annadepalo.com.

Dear Reader,

Sometimes we can’t see that love is nearby… until the right circumstances intrude.

Eva Tremont is determined to marry the right man. But figuring out who’s right and who’s wrong proves to be trickier than she imagined. As Eva discovers, behind Griffin Slater’s cool, steady exterior lies a sexy, passionate man.

I hope you enjoy Eva and Griffin’s story!

All my best,

Anna

For Angelica Compagnone

One

“I’m going to marry him.”

The wrong man.

No, the right man, Eva corrected herself, irritated for even momentarily adopting her father’s negative perspective.

True, there was no gut feeling of rightness, of destiny, but then she told herself to stop being illogical.

How many times during her party planning career had things seemed off before proceeding without a hitch? She’d also seen what should have been perfect events erupt into flaming disasters.

No, there was no predicting the future, she decided, even as she met her father’s annoyed and disbelieving gaze.

Marcus Tremont stood and slapped a hand on the massive oak desk before him. “Damn it, Eva! Are you out of your mind? Carter Newell is a fortune- hunting snake. You won’t get a penny from me!”

Her lips tightened, but she refused to show how her father’s words hurt. She’d come from work today—Mondays were her slow days—to meet her father in his wood-paneled library at the family estate in exclusive Mill Valley. She’d girded herself for this battle.

“Fortunately,” she responded, “we don’t need a penny from you. Occasions by Design is doing very well.”

Her reputation in the Bay Area as a party planner had grown in the past several years. She was regularly called on by many of San Francisco’s high- profile society hostesses, as well as by well-known philanthropic organizations.

Her father raked his hand through his shock of gray hair. “What you see in Carter Newell, I’ll never understand.”

They’d been over this ground before, each time with the same result. Somehow, though, now that her engagement was a reality, she’d hoped today would be different.

Unlike her father and his kind, work wasn’t Carter’s mistress. Instead he made her a priority.

“Carter loves me,” she said simply.

Her father’s brows snapped together. “Or your bank account.”

She ground her teeth. Her father had always been wary, suspicious even, when meeting her boyfriends. She supposed it was because she was an heiress and an only child. But with Carter, the initial wariness had never eased. Of course, she’d never gotten close to the altar with any of her prior boyfriends….

“Does Carter even have a job?” her father continued. “Refresh my memory, Evangeline. What’s his line of work again?”

Her father knew very well what Carter did for a living, but Eva decided to play along with his game. “Carter is an independent financial consultant.”

She’d thought, the first time she’d mentioned it months ago, that Carter’s profession at least would meet with her father’s approval. Marcus Tremont respected getting a return on his dollar.

Instead her father’s response had been lukewarm. And when she’d started hinting she was considering marrying Carter, her father’s reaction had taken a sudden nosedive.

“Baloney,” her father pronounced, echoing his skepticism on previous occasions. “A trumped-up title to provide window dressing for his real occupation as an heiress hunter.”

“Carter comes from money!” Despite her best intentions, they were revisiting previous arguments that had gone nowhere. She felt a headache coming on.

“He came from money,” her father countered. “He makes a show of managing other people’s money since he doesn’t have any of his own.”

That did it. “You’re impossible! Just because the Newells aren’t as wealthy as they once were, you think Carter is a fortune hunter!”

Even as she spoke, she regretted that she so frequently fell back into sounding like an adolescent when dealing with her father.

“Trust me on this, Eva. There’s nothing more tenacious than a person who’s trying to hold on to his economic perch in life and avoid a nasty fall.”

They’d both raised their voices, and Eva gave up on trying to make the announcement of her impending marriage into a joyous occasion.

“Where’s the ring?” her father asked abruptly, looking at her hand. “I don’t see one.”

“I don’t have one yet.”

Her father’s expression said it all: See? What other proof do you need?

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, heading him off before he could give voice to his thoughts. “We’re picking one out together.”

“With what?” her father asked pointedly. “A loan from the bank?”

She supposed her engagement wouldn’t really be official until she had a ring, but she refused to have the argument with her father focus on mere symbolism.

A knock sounded, calling a halt to their argument and making them both turn toward the closed library door.

“Come in,” her father barked.

The door opened, and Griffin Slater strode in.

Eva’s eyes narrowed.

Griffin Slater. Her father’s right-hand man.

If anyone had the perfect credentials for a husband in her father’s eyes, it was Griffin.

She disliked Griffin Slater intensely. She had since she’d met him a decade before, soon after he’d started working at Tremont Real Estate Holdings.

At first, she’d barely been aware of his existence, since he’d been just another newly minted Stanford MBA learning the ropes of the real estate business and climbing the corporate ladder.

Now thirty-five, he was more boss than employee, especially since her father’s advancing age necessitated that he loosen his grip on the family real estate empire.

Griffin was also a constant reminder of her own shortcomings as her father’s sole heir. She’d shown no interest in the family firm, and had instead embarked on her own business ventures right out of college at UC Berkeley.

She was well aware that her field was regarded by many as frivolous—just glorified debutante busywork. And she had no doubt Griffin Slater shared that opinion.

But at least she’d had the guts to build her own business rather than usurp someone else’s.

Now, looking at Griffin Slater’s face, she noted his expression gave nothing away. He was a master of the poker face—that is, when he wasn’t baiting her.

Over six feet, he had rough chiseled features more suited to a boxer than a male model. Still, his effect on women was potent. She’d witnessed that herself at numerous social occasions over the years.

She supposed it had something to do with his piercing dark eyes. Or maybe the sable hair that insisted on curling despite being kept regimentally short. And certainly a body that was all leashed male power didn’t hurt. She’d even given it a lingering look on more than one occasion—before she’d trapped her runaway mind.

“You’re just in time for the show, Griffin,” she said.

Griffin raised his eyebrows in mild interest as he shut the door behind him.

She hated the fact that her father looked relieved to see Griffin—or as she secretly liked to call him, Mr. Fix-It.

Now Griffin would be witness to another epic Tremont family battle. Somewhat fittingly, she thought, since he seemed to have an instinct for turning up at key moments.

“What show? I have to admit to being curious,” Griffin said, his voice continuing in that mild, amused tone that never failed to irritate her.

Her father slapped his hand on his desk. “My daughter has decided to marry the most worthless man I know.”

“Dad!” she said, outraged.

Griffin’s gaze shot to her, and she felt the tension in the room shoot up.

“Who’s the lucky man?”

As if he couldn’t guess, Eva thought. Griffin had met Carter on a couple of occasions. Once at a casual social gathering at her parents’ house, and another during a chance encounter at an art gallery opening.

Both times, Griffin had been without a date, but Eva wasn’t fooled. She’d seen women come and go. Mostly go, since Griffin seemed disinclined to bestow his greatness on any one woman for too long.

Her chin lifted, her eyes locking with Griffin’s. Despite her father’s poor introduction, there was no reason she should be defensive—she was perfectly comfortable with her decision.

“Carter Newell,” she said emphatically.

Griffin strolled farther into the room. “So congratulations are in order.”

She noticed he didn’t say he was offering any, just that it was what politeness dictated—if he were being polite.

Griffin’s gaze swept over her, and despite being dressed appropriately enough in a vintage Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, she felt as if she were on display.

Her blood pressure went up. This was par for the course in her interactions with Griffin. Their conversations always had a subtext that her father was oblivious to.

“Congratulate her, but send condolences my way,” her father grumbled.

Griffin’s eyes focused on her hand. “Where’s the ring?”

His words were such a perfect echo of Marcus Tremont’s, she ground her teeth. “You’re just like my father.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” her father said.

Her eyes stayed on Griffin’s, daring him to make some other comment.

Griffin’s lips quirked, almost as if he was ready to diffuse the challenge that hung in the air. “You look as if you’d like to lob hors d’oeuvres at me—or maybe spear me with a dessert fork.”

There it was again—an oblique, patronizing reference to her business, sailing straight over her father’s head. She should have known better than to believe for a second Griffin would back away from a challenge.

She smiled thinly. “Don’t tempt me.”

Turning to her father, she decided to change tactics. “You know, you should be happy,” she offered. “After all, the sooner I’m married, the sooner you might get the grandchild you keep referring to.”

To herself, she admitted the timing of her engagement to Carter might have the teeny, tiniest thing to do with the fact that she longed for a baby.

Though she’d dated through her twenties, the right man had never come along. Her mother had entered menopause prematurely, and she didn’t know how much time she herself had left. Of course, she’d taken a test, and while it indicated her egg supply wasn’t dire at the moment, she also knew waiting was a gamble with increasingly bad odds.

She’d told Carter about her issue with premature menopause, and he’d been enthusiastic about starting a family as soon as possible after the wedding.

“Anyone but Carter Newell,” her father shot back now.

She read Griffin’s silence as tacit agreement with that statement. Damn him.

Her father looked from Griffin back to her, his expression grumpier than ever. “If you two were at least friendly, I could have entertained the hope you’d marry each other.”

Eva sucked in a breath.

There it was, out in the open. Her father had finally given voice to what she’d always suspected he’d been thinking.

With a quick, sidelong glance, she noticed Griffin continued to look unruffled.

His reaction was so true to form, it was maddening.

She, on the other hand, was still waiting for the hot sting of embarrassment to recede from her face.

She opened her mouth.

“Marcus,” Griffin drawled before she could speak, “you know Eva is too—”

If he said frivolous, she swore she’d kick him in the shins.

“—hot-tempered for me.”

She clamped her mouth shut. How could she argue when she’d just been thinking of clobbering him?

Griffin’s eyes mocked her, as if he knew what she’d been contemplating.

She swung her attention back to her father.

She sometimes felt like just another prized possession in Marcus Tremont’s asset portfolio—and by marrying Carter Newell, she supposed her father wasn’t getting the return he’d banked on.

Still, she refused to weaken. “Mom and I will be checking out possible venues and going dress shopping.”

Her father’s eyebrows lowered. “Your mother knows about this already?”

She pasted on a sunny smile. “I suggested that’s what my plans were to her before I came in here, yes. But I decided to go beard the lion in his den by myself.”

Her father glowered.

“I hope to see you at the wedding—whether you can bring yourself to give me away or not.” The words were said flippantly, but a thread of emotion ran beneath them that she refused to analyze too closely.

She turned on her heel and, not sparing another glance at Griffin, strode out of her father’s library.

She was everything he desired, but in the wrong package.

Griffin watched Eva Tremont sashay out of the library, her clingy knit dress hugging every curve.

His lips twisted.

She was quite a package, and had been ever since he’d first laid eyes on her. She was equal parts headstrong heiress, savvy businesswoman and sexy single woman.

It was also clear she despised him. If he had to guess, he’d say it was because he reminded her of every way she fell short as Marcus Tremont’s heir.

That he’d more recently become CEO of Tremont REH was probably just rubbing salt in the wounds.

Still, his ties to Marcus Tremont and Tremont REH were also the reason Eva was off-limits to him, he reminded himself. He wasn’t the commitment type, and committed was the only type of relationship that would be acceptable with the boss’s daughter.

Of course, now that he remained on as CEO of Tremont REH more as a favor to Marcus than anything else, Eva wasn’t really the boss’s daughter any longer, but she remained related to someone he valued as a friend, a colleague and a mentor.

“That bastard Newell,” Marcus Tremont said, calling him back from his thoughts.

Griffin had met Carter Newell only a couple of times. But he’d been able to size the guy up as a smooth operator on the make.

When Carter had trumpeted his skills as a financial advisor, Griffin had listened detachedly, unimpressed by the guy’s salesmanship—not to mention that he was happy with his stockbroker and liked to keep an eye on the markets himself.

And yet, despite the sales pitch, he’d gotten the impression Carter didn’t like him much, judging by the sour expression that had flitted across the guy’s face from time to time.

Carter had obviously done some sizing up of his own and come to a conclusion he didn’t like: Griffin was Marcus Tremont’s anointed successor. His possible future father-in-law’s single, unattache successor.

Without a doubt, Newell had put him down as a rival for control of the money spout, and possibly for Eva as well.

Evidently, though, Carter had been willing to put personal feelings aside where financial gain was concerned—namely, reeling in another client.

And that’s what bothered him, Griffin thought. Not just for himself, but for Eva. If Carter was willing to overlook a lot to score another client, how much would he be willing to do to acquire a rich wife?

Griffin watched as Marcus Tremont’s eyes met his. “Look into it for me.”

He tensed. “What are you asking?”

He had a good idea, but he didn’t want there to be any room for misunderstanding.

Marcus gestured dismissively. “I mean, find out what you can about Carter Newell. Get the investigator that we use for Tremont REH.” The older man’s look turned grim. “I want to know what Carter Newell is hiding before he becomes my son-in-law.”

Griffin lifted his eyebrows but was careful to keep his expression in place otherwise. “You have reason to believe he’s hiding something?”

Marcus regarded him steadily. “What I know about the Newells, I don’t like. They were able to hide their decline in wealth for a long time. Subterfuge is the family currency.”

“I see. Still, if Eva found out…”

He let the thought trail off. He just wanted to make sure the older man appreciated the possible consequences of his decision. Marcus might do irreparable damage to his relationship with his daughter if Eva discovered they’d had Carter investigated.

And as far as his own relationship with Eva went, well, that was bound to head further south.

“There’s no reason for Eva to know,” Marcus said brusquely, his eyes sharpening. “Unless of course, we pin something on Newell—in which case, it’ll be well worth the price to save her from that slick salesman.”

Griffin nodded.

The truth was he’d derive some pleasure in bringing down Carter Newell if the guy wasn’t on the up-and-up.

He pushed aside the thought that the cost to himself of having Carter investigated might be too high….

Two

Griffin stared out the window of his Pacific Heights mansion at the twinkling evening lights of San Francisco Bay. His grip on his wineglass constricted, putting dangerous pressure on the delicate crystal, as he thought back over the events of earlier that day.

Though he’d agreed to it, Marcus’s request had put him in a difficult position.

Over the years, he’d put his own selfish desires aside where Eva was concerned. Still, he’d fantasized about making love to her on numerous occasions—even though she irritated and perplexed him by turns.

She reminded him of a sleek, lithe cat. Everything was perfectly proportioned, and exercise kept her body limber and supple.

Her straight black hair hung in a curtain past her shoulders in a blunt cut. Her mouth was a little too large for her face, and her topaz eyes tilted upward at the corners. And yet, those elements added character instead of suggesting she fell short of ideal beauty.

Now he was being asked to dig up dirt on the man that she intended to marry—the man, his lips curled tightly, she fancied herself in love with.

But he couldn’t say no to Marcus Tremont’s request. Because, all else aside, Griffin found himself agreeing with Marcus’s instincts where Carter Newell was concerned.

Not to mention he owed Marcus a debt that couldn’t be repaid.

After his parents’ death in a private plane crash when he’d just gotten out of high school, he’d become guardian to his fifteen-year-old brother, Josh, and fourteen-year-old sister, Monica. He’d had to become an adult almost overnight and had become grimly determined to succeed on his own in the world.

Fortunately, though his parents had not left behind a lavish estate, it had been significant enough to allow him to send his younger siblings to boarding school and to further his own education.

After college and business school, he’d been given a break by Marcus, a business acquaintance of his father’s, in the form of a job with Tremont REH, where he could learn the ropes of the real estate business.

The business relationship had proven lucrative to them both. Griffin had soon discovered he had the Midas touch when it came to real estate deals. He’d eventually formed his own company, Evkit Investments, and become immensely wealthy through savvy management of his own ever-expanding real estate portfolio.

But loyalty to Marcus Tremont had kept him involved with Tremont REH. When Marcus had decided two years ago it was time to step back from the day-today management of Tremont REH, he’d asked Griffin to take over the reins as CEO. Marcus had insisted that, in his continuing position as chairman of the board, there was no one he trusted more at the helm of the company he’d spent a lifetime building.

The two companies had merged their office space when Griffin had become CEO of both. And since Evkit Investments and Tremont REH pursued different business interests, there’d been no issue of competition between the companies. By Griffin’s deliberate design, Evkit had acquired residential real estate rather than become a player in commercial office space.

Griffin wouldn’t betray Marcus by competing with Tremont REH.

He paused now, his mind turning back to Eva.

As much as he wanted her, he didn’t understand her. She exasperated him with her blithe lack of interest in Tremont REH. As a family member, she had a position on the company’s board of directors, but that was the extent of her involvement.

He, on the other hand, could appreciate firsthand what Marcus had built. He’d spent years creating a company to match—and by many measures, exceed—Tremont REH’s reputation. He’d also put time and effort toward growing Tremont REH, especially since he’d become CEO.

Griffin stared unseeingly at San Francisco’s lights.

Still, he couldn’t escape the fact that, against all reason, he remained attracted to Eva. When he was around her, he got an adrenaline rush—a heady sensation that had him feeling as if he were drunk on euphoria.

She challenged him, and he thrived on challenges.

He’d never acted on the attraction because he couldn’t sleep with Marcus Tremont’s daughter without there being…consequences. And Eva’s obvious dislike for him made it easy to walk the line.

He’d also already had enough commitment to last a lifetime. He certainly wasn’t looking to jump into another to, say, a wife.

He’d been committed to raising his younger siblings and committed to making sure they found their paths in the world.

It was only in the last couple of years, in fact, that he felt as if he could exhale. His brother, Josh, had finished his medical residency and become a surgeon in Denver, where he’d recently married his college sweetheart, Tessa.

Likewise, his sister, Monica, the head of a school for learning disabled children, had gotten married two years ago to a film producer, Ben Corrigan, and was settled in L.A. She was expecting her first child in five months.

He was proud of his siblings, and relieved they’d become well-adjusted adults who’d found their personal happiness.

His job was finally done.

He wasn’t taking on responsibility for anyone else.

Still, the thought of Eva throwing herself away on a loser like Carter Newell made him want to put a hole in the wall.

If he couldn’t have her, he damned well wasn’t going to let her waste herself on a gamesman like Newell. Even if he knew that if Eva ever found out he’d done her father’s dirty work, he could kiss goodbye to any minimally civilized relationship they continued to have.

With that thought, he grimly reached for his cell phone. He had Ron Winslow’s number programmed in.

From time to time, he’d used the private investigator to smoke out the truth about potential real estate investments.

When Ron picked up, they exchanged brief greetings.

After a moment, Griffin cut to the chase. “I’ve got a new assignment for you.”

“He’s impossible.”

“He’s your father.”

Eva sighed. She’d left her parents’ estate earlier that day, right after the conversation with her father, and retreated to her town house condo in San Francisco’s Russian Hill neighborhood.

Now she sat, curled up on her couch with her cell phone, talking to her mother, who’d called to make sure everything was okay.

“I was hoping for the best.”

“He’ll come around.”

Eva silently disagreed with her mother’s assessment. She knew just how stubborn her father could be—and during moments when she was being honest with herself, she could admit she’d inherited his stubbornness.

“The more important question,” her mother continued, “is whether you’re sure you want to marry Carter—”

“Of course!” Her reply was quick and snappy. She was still smarting from the confrontation with her father—in Griffin Slater’s presence, of all people.

“Because there’s no rush,” her mother persisted. “The test showed you have time.”

“Yes, but how much?” she replied automatically.

She’d told her mother that she’d gone in for a test to gauge the quality of her egg supply. Now she wondered from her mother’s concerned tone whether she’d appeared too preoccupied with her biological clock.

“Eva—”

“Mom.”

Her mother sighed.

“What do you think of Carter?” Eva blurted, and then could have kicked herself.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I want to marry Carter. I do,” she said, adopting her most reassuring voice—the one she used to sooth jittery clients before a big bash.

A beep sounded on her cell phone, followed by another.

“Mom, I have another call coming in.”

She checked the screen and realized it was her friend Beth Harding. She was deep into planning with Beth for a party the Hardings would be throwing at their mansion in a couple of weeks.

“It’s Beth,” she said to her mother.

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll let you go. We’ll talk another time about picking a wedding venue so you can set a date.”

She felt her spirits lift. At least her mother was willing to go into cheerful wedding mode.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said, before switching over to the incoming call.

“Hi, Beth,” she said. “I’ve found some great Art Deco props for the party. It’s a company that supplies movie sets down in L.A.”

Beth and her husband, Oliver, would be hosting a party in a couple of weeks at their Palo Alto estate to benefit San Francisco–area children’s hospitals.

She and Beth had decided that a 1930s theme would be a nice surprise for Beth’s octogenarian grandmother, who lived in a guesthouse on Beth’s estate and who was still spry enough to hit a dance floor.

Beth laughed. “Wonderful.”

“I’ve rented some fantastic mohair club chairs, a couple of burled wood wet bars and several frosted glass lighting pieces. And I found these ideal cobalt mirrored serving trays!”

“It all sounds great, but the party isn’t the reason I was calling.”

Eva slumped. “Let me guess.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t hold out on me.”

She’d filled in Beth on the fact that she and Carter were going to pick out a ring, and that she was making one last attempt to sway her father.

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Where do I begin? The bad or the worse?”

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that terrible!”

Beth had an unswerving sunny outlook. “Oh, come on” happened to be one of her favorite sayings.

“It was bad,” Eva replied ominously. “Let’s see, the bad was that my father went postal. The worse was that Griffin Slater happened to be around to witness it.”

Beth sucked in a breath. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes.”

She filled in Beth about the details of the confrontation in her father’s study, and Beth made sympathetic noises at regular intervals.

“I hope I never see Griffin Slater again,” she declared when she finished the sorry story, though she knew it was a vain hope.

“Umm…”

Beth’s tone made her suddenly wary. “Tell me you didn’t invite him to your party?”

“Eva, I had to! He and Oliver have known each other for years.”

She groaned. She and Beth had picked out the invitation together, but Beth had submitted her final guest list directly to the printer.

“Just my luck,” she grumbled.

“He may not come,” Beth pointed out.

“If he knows I’m planning it, he probably won’t,” she responded, the thought brightening her mood.

Griffin never showed at her parties. It was one of the reasons she’d concluded he was dismissive of her business.

“Have you thought about your costume?” Beth asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

“At the moment,” she said dryly, “I’m thinking that appearing with Carter as Nick & Nora would be appropriate.”

Beth laughed.

She’d been only half joking, Eva thought to herself. Appearing as the Dashiell Hammett sleuths—a retired detective and his wealthy socialite wife whose family believes she married beneath herself—would definitely ring true at the moment.

“Remind me to dig out my Nick & Nora cosmetics case for you then,” Beth said. “Whoever thought to create a women’s brand out of those characters had a stroke of genius.”

“Thanks,” she deadpanned.

After she ended her call with Beth, she sat back against her couch and closed her eyes.

Despite herself, she kept replaying the awful moment when her father had come out and said he’d entertained hopes of her marrying Griffin.

Griffin as her husband?

As if.

Yes, she felt the energy whenever Griffin entered a room, but only because he knew how to press her buttons, damn it.

“I’ve got some bombshell news.”

Griffin’s hand tightened on the phone.

It had been over two weeks since his call with Ron Winslow, but now the sound of the private investigator’s voice at the other end of the line brought his mind back to Eva.

As if he hadn’t been thinking about her enough already.

“What have you got?” he said evenly, swiveling his mesh chair away from his desk and toward the panel of floor-to-ceiling windows behind him.

His office at Tremont REH sat high above the bustle of San Francisco’s Union Square.

Ron cleared his throat. “Newell is an operator all right—”

“I figured.”

“—but not in the way you’re thinking.”

He tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Romeo is two-timing his Juliet.”

Griffin cursed under his breath. He hadn’t been expecting this kind of dirt to be sticking to Newell.

“You’ve always delivered the goods, Ron, but I’ve got to ask—are you sure?”

This was, after all, Marcus Tremont’s daughter they were talking about. She moved in rarified social circles. If Eva’s scummy would-be fiancé was cheating on her, they were dealing with news that would eventually make the rounds of San Francisco society.

“I’m messengering the evidence to you as we speak,” Ron responded. “There’s a video, shots taken with the telephoto lens and even—” Ron chuckled without humor “—an audio recording. What you choose to do with this hot potato is your business.”

Griffin knew without asking what Ron meant. It would be up to him to decide what evidence to share with whom.

He didn’t relish the thought of disclosing Newell’s philandering to Eva. Especially since all he could think about was rearranging Carter’s elegant face.

“How did you discover Newell is seeing another woman?” he asked.

“Fell into my lap,” Ron replied. “I was tailing him, wondering whether I’d come up with anything interesting. A few days in, I followed him to a restaurant in Berkeley. Turned out he was there to rendezvous with a Jessica Alba look-alike.”

The bastard.

Griffin wondered whether Newell had a type. Eva didn’t fit as a Jessica Alba look-alike. She was more a Rose McGowan or Katharine McPhee.

And maybe, tellingly, he realized, that was the point. Eva wasn’t Carter’s type. The guy was only attracted to her money.

“While Newell and the woman sat at the restaurant bar,” Ron went on, “I greased the palm of one of the waiters to find out which table they’d reserved. I was able to slip a microphone onto the wall next to their seats before they sat down, and I laid claim to the next table.”

The investigator added with a snort, “You won’t believe the crap I’ve got on tape.”

Oh, he could believe it all right, Griffin thought cynically, picturing smooth-as-cream Carter in his mind. The problem was going to be explaining it all to Eva.

“Afterward, I got them pulling into a dim parking lot behind a nondescript office building,” Ron continued with dark relish. “Newell’s not even shelling out for a cheap motel on a regular basis.”

“Great.”

Not great. Ron’s information made him wonder just how empty Newell’s pockets were and how desperate Carter was to marry an heiress.

“I’ve got the video and telephoto lens for the parking lot interlude.”

“Are you sure this wasn’t a one-night stand?” Griffin asked.

He wanted to go to Eva with an airtight case if he had to rip rose-colored glasses from her eyes. He didn’t want Newell to be able to argue he’d just had a lapse in judgment.

“Not to worry, I got them on other occasions,” Ron responded. “They had a tryst at a motel two days ago.”

“Damn it.”

“I’ve also got evidence our man Carter has no significant assets and is living on credit to fund his lifestyle,” Ron said offhandedly. “In fact, he may be just about all tapped out.”

Griffin at last let himself acknowledge they’d hit the mother lode with Newell. It made him want to wring the guy’s neck.

And as much as he knew that Eva needed to comprehend Carter was a two-timing snake, he didn’t want her to be hurt.

He raked his fingers through his hair, his mind working. “Ron, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anyone, including Marcus, about what you’ve uncovered.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll look for your package,” he said grimly before ending the call.

When Ron’s box arrived an hour later—just in time to be served up with lunch for his delectation—he told his secretary to hold his calls.

Griffin set the cardboard box on his desk and sliced it open with an envelope opener he kept in a desk drawer. He pulled out a financial profile, an envelope marked Photos, an audio CD and a DVD.

He surveyed the evidence with distaste. This was the material that could set Eva’s life on a different trajectory. Yet it looked harmless enough unless you were asking it to give up its secrets.

He flipped through the stapled sheets that constituted Ron’s financial dossier on Carter. The report was just as Ron had described. Carter had a mortgaged apartment in San Francisco and sizable loans at the bank. He was no Bill Gates, and probably not even in the ballpark of his Newell antecedents.

Griffin opened the envelope next. A dozen or so photos fell out, and he spread them out on the desk in front of him.

There were a couple of shots of a man who looked like Carter Newell in a parking lot, embracing and kissing a stacked brunette.

Another photo showed the couple walking hand in hand into a restaurant. From their body language, and the way the woman leaned close to the man next to her, it was clear the two were more than friends.

Griffin guessed these photos were taken when Ron had tailed Newell to the restaurant in Berkeley.

Griffin focused on the remaining photos. They looked like they’d been taken at another point when Ron had caught up with the pair. They showed the couple meeting in a park, embracing under a tree near a walking path, and then kissing and touching on a park bench.

The photos were decent evidence as far as they went. But they weren’t strong proof Carter and the woman had progressed to being lovers.

Griffin sat behind his desk and popped the DVD into his computer. Then he leaned back in his chair to watch.

The video began just as Ron had described.

A car was parked in a deserted lot illuminated by yellow streetlights. After a few moments, it began to shake and move with the exertions of its occupants. Eventually a disheveled Carter and a half-dressed woman emerged, and Carter helped the woman with the clasp of her bra and her sweater. While the woman brushed her hair and applied lipstick, Carter ran his hands over her. Finally the pair made it back into the car and drove off.

A second segment on the DVD showed Carter and the brunette arriving at a motel. Through the glass window of the motel’s front office, Carter and his female companion could be seen checking in. Afterward, the pair headed to a second-floor room.

When the video ended, Griffin leaned down to pop the DVD out of the computer.

His lips twisted. Apparently Carter wasn’t too cheap to shell out for a bed occasionally. Or maybe in some situations his sexual encounters didn’t need to be so hurried because he didn’t have to run back to Eva.

The bastard.

Griffin switched out the DVD for the CD Ron had sent, set it to Play and leaned back in his chair again.

After a few seconds, the audio came on. A man and woman could be heard conversing against a low murmur of background noise and voices.

At first the couple talked about banal things like the menu, but after a waiter had departed with their order, the conversation turned sexual.

The woman used Carter’s name a couple of times, while he referred to her as “Sondra” or, more often, “baby.”

Griffin rolled his eyes as the woman recalled her last sexual encounter with Carter, then pouted about not having more of his time.

Yeah, right, Griffin thought. If Carter wasn’t set on reeling in an heiress, he supposed the woman had a fighting chance of getting more of Carter’s attention.

Griffin listened as Carter tried to placate his companion with assurances that he’d soon whisk her away for a Mexican vacation and that he was expecting a windfall that he couldn’t go into details about.

Griffin felt his temper ignite. It was clear Carter’s windfall was his upcoming marriage. Obviously Carter wasn’t going to divulge to his lover that he was two-timing an heiress. It might expose him to blackmail.

Carter was toast, Griffin thought. If he ever got his hands on pedigree boy…

The audio recording continued to follow the couple through their meal. Toward the end of it, Carter began to describe in intimate detail what he wanted to do to Sondra.

When the audio recording ended, Griffin mulled over his options and didn’t like any of them.

Just how the hell was he supposed to share this with Eva? She’d hate him for life, if she didn’t despise him already.

Later that day, he had the misfortune of running into Marcus when the older man stopped by his office just as he was about to exit it.

“Have you heard anything yet from Ron?” Marcus asked.

“Nothing,” Griffin heard himself respond.

He didn’t even have to think about his reply.

But it occurred to him afterward it was the first time he’d had to lie to Marcus Tremont about anything important.

Three

Eva curled up on the couch. Her Bluetooth headset allowed her to speak with her mother while she paged through one of several magazines about San Francisco’s social scene. She liked to keep up with what her clients, as well as her business competition, were doing.

It was a Tuesday evening—a night of the week she could usually count on to be able to kick back and relax.

As a party planner, she lived on the opposite timetable from the rest of the world. Midweek was her weekend, while at the end of the week, she became turbocharged as things heated up at work. On weekends, she was often supervising her employees at some museum fund-raiser or at a socialite-hosted charity lunch, making sure everything went off flawlessly.

Now, however, her midweek was being consumed by wedding planning.

“What about the Fairmont?” her mother asked.

“I’m not sure it’s exactly what I’m looking for….”

It had quickly become apparent to her that her mother was picturing a wedding for hundreds of family, friends and assorted business associates.

The historic Fairmont Hotel, with its gilded rooms projecting an old-world elegance, was well suited for the purpose.

The problem was, Eva acknowledged, that she herself longed for something more intimate.

But Carter seemed to be on the same page as her mother.

“What about the Palace of Fine Arts then?” her mother asked, naming another popular and elegant San Francisco wedding location.

Eva sighed.

“I heard that,” her mother said.

“Did you?” she asked absently.

“It’s too bad your father owns only commercial office space,” her mother remarked with dry humor. “At a time like this, we could use an inside edge.”

“I’m not sure Dad will even attend the wedding.”

“Oh, he’ll come around,” her mother said breezily, repeating her unwavering opinion up to now. “You’re his only child, and though he may have a hard time showing it sometimes, he really does care about you.”

The buzzer sounded, and Eva wondered who could be ringing her doorbell.

Her town house condo was in a low-rise development in Russian Hill. Though she had friends nearby, no one was in the habit of dropping by unannounced. And she knew her close friend, Beth Harding, was out of town at the moment.

“Mom,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Someone’s at the door.”

“All right. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow so we can continue to talk about wedding plans.”

Her heart lightened. “It’ll be fun.”

This was what she’d looked forward to. Sharing one of life’s passages with her mother.

“Oh, I just know I’m going to get teary seeing you in a wedding gown,” her mother responded, her voice suddenly choked.

Eva felt tears clog her own throat. “I know, Mom. I know.”

After ending the call with her mother, she slipped her feet into her shoes and went to her front door.

Because the ground level of her condo housed a garage and storage area, her front door was one flight up from the street, accessible via an enclosed external stairwell, at the foot of which was a tall locked iron gate.

She opened the door and locked eyes with the last person she expected to see darkening her doorstep. Griffin Slater.

Automatically she tensed.

“Can I come up?” he called.

Her mind ran over the possibilities. Yes, no, when hell freezes over?

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone coming out more suspicious than she intended.

He seemed to find her question amusing.

“Would you believe I just happened to be in the neighborhood?” he responded.

“Actually, no,” she replied, even as good manners impelled her down the stairs to open the gate.

She knew he lived in nearby Pacific Heights, but she’d never run into him on her home turf.

They ran in different circles. She was too bohemian, too much of a free spirit, she was sure, for Griffin Slater’s taste. On the other hand, he probably even scheduled sex with the women he dated.

She didn’t understand why he was so irritating by nature. His siblings were pleasant people. She even counted his sister among her extended circle of friends.

With Griffin, however, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was letting the Big Bad Wolf in.

As usual, he wore a conservative business suit—this time set off by a herringbone shirt and bright yellow-and-blue striped tie. In contrast, her mauve shirt and tan pants—which she’d worn at work that day and hadn’t yet changed out of—felt almost casual in comparison.

Opening the gate, her eyes met his, her one step advantage on the stairs bringing her close to his height.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Am I invited in?”

“Are you on a mission for my father?” she countered, her eyes skimming over the envelope in his hand. “If so—”

“Mission impossible,” he said. “I know.”

She gave him a serene smile. Well, at least they both knew where they stood.

“Actually I’m here for a personal reason.”

Despite herself, she was intrigued. She didn’t think she and Griffin had anything of a personal nature to say to each other, but curiosity got the better of her.

She turned, leaving him to follow her up the stairs. “Come on in.”

On the way up, she could feel his presence behind her. Why, oh why, did she always have to be so aware of him?

When they stepped inside her condo, she shut the front door. “Can I get you something?”

“Nothing, thanks,” he replied.

She watched him look around her apartment, which was almost loftlike in its layout. From the marble-floored entry area, the cool ambiance of the living and dining room area was visible. The kitchen, with its granite surfaces and stainless steel appliances, was situated beyond a waist-high counter with bar stools.

She watched Griffin’s eyes linger on the display of fresh flowers set on a tabletop. She loved newly cut blooms.

Still, since she was a little unnerved by his presence in her apartment, she was grateful no more personal touches were visible. Her bedroom—along with a guest room, two baths and a terrace—was tucked away upstairs.

She wondered again about why he was here. “Is it Dad?” she blurted. “Is something wrong with my father?”

Griffin had said her father hadn’t requested he come, but that didn’t mean Griffin’s appearance at her door didn’t involve her father.

Her father was in his late sixties, and she dreaded the day something would befall him. As strained as their relationship sometimes was, she still loved him. And she worried he would try to protect her by hiding any health problems until they were dire.

“No, don’t worry,” Griffin responded. Then he asked abruptly, “Do you know what Carter was doing two nights ago?”

Caught off guard, she said, “No. Why?”

Griffin regarded her intently, and even though not a muscle moved in his face, there was something she didn’t like in his expression.

A sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Why?” she repeated.

Griffin’s eyes pinned her like lasers. “Carter Newell has been sleeping with another woman behind your back. He was with her two nights ago.”

She looked at him uncomprehendingly, but after a moment, his words hit her, washing over her like one big tidal wave of disaster.

Her mouth worked.

She was still unable to look away from Griffin’s eyes, and somehow they were the only thing keeping her standing.

Panicky dread coursed through her, making her feel ill.

“How—how do you know this?” she managed at last, showing a composure she didn’t feel.

“Does it matter?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Because he’d seemed ready for the question, she became suspicious.

“How did you find out?” she asked, trying again, her tone sharpening. “You and Carter don’t run in the same circles.”

Griffin shrugged.

“My father put you up to this, didn’t he?” she accused.

When he continued to look at her implacably, she said, “Answer the question, Griffin. You’re a hired gun, aren’t you?”

Griffin’s jaw worked. “Your father started the ball rolling by asking me to look into it, yes.”

“You mean he asked you to have Carter investigated,” she responded. “Let’s not sugarcoat it, shall we? He asked you to sic Tremont REH’s usual investigator on him, right?”

It was an interrogation, and from the look on Griffin’s face, he didn’t like it one bit.

Too bad, she thought. Since he’d volunteered to be the messenger, he’d asked for it.

“Does it matter how I found out?” Griffin asked.

“Did you tell my father you were coming here?”

He looked at her, his face carved in granite. “I didn’t tell your father anything—including what the investigator found out. I thought you should know first.”

“Misplaced gallantry, Griffin?” she said mock ingly.

His face tightened. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

She glared at him. “Appreciate it? Appreciate you’ve had my fiancé investigated? Appreciate you’ve acted at my father’s bidding?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Oh, I appreciate it. I just don’t know which of you to thank first. Carter, my father or you.”

“Aren’t you sidestepping the real issue?”

“What if I said I don’t believe you?”

His expression chided her. “You know the investigator has evidence to back me up.”

For the first time, she focused on the envelope in his hand. “Let me see it.”

She moved to take the envelope from him.

“No.”

She came to a stop. “No?”

“I’ll let you see some of it. I brought some photos—and evidence that Carter has barely got a cent to his name.”

He said no more, but she understood the implications. If Carter had no money, and on top of it all, was cheating on her, all signs pointed to one reason why he’d been willing to marry her.

She hated coming to the conclusion her father had been right. Sure Carter had floated the idea of a prenuptial agreement, but he’d looked relieved when she—silly, romantic soul—had put the kibosh on the idea. And prenup or no prenup, Carter would have enjoyed the lifestyle to which her income and her trust fund would have made him accustomed.

As if that weren’t enough, for the second time, she felt like the recipient of Griffin’s misplaced gallantry. He was trying to spare her from seeing the sordid proof of Carter’s betrayal.

“Trying to protect me, Griffin?” she challenged. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”

His expression closed. “You don’t act like a woman who’s just found out the man she loves has been two-timing her.”

“Are you questioning the strength of my feelings for Carter?”

He just looked at her coolly.

“You really are a piece of work, you know that?” she said. “First, you have my fiancé investigated, then you question my feelings. Do you always rub salt in the wounds?”

“Just noting the facts.”

“Did you expect me to break down and weep in front of you?” she tossed back at him.

“I suppose the tears will flow when you’re done being angry.”

That did it. She stalked forward to grab the envelope from him, but he was too fast for her.

He held the envelope aloft, and she wound up knocking against him instead of seizing the photos.

She jumped up, once, twice, but he was bigger, taller and stronger.

“Damn you!” she said between gritted teeth, tears stinging her eyes. Was she destined to be thwarted by all the men in her life?

“I’m damned all right,” he responded in a clipped tone.

“You’ve never experienced the sting of rejection, have you? Noooo, of course not. You’re Mr. Oh-So-Perfect. Mr. Fix-It.”

“You don’t know the first thing about it.”

“Oh, right, I forget,” she quavered, swiping at a tear. “You’re a man. You don’t need to worry about your biological clock ticking, about the fact your mother entered menopause prematurely, about the fact you’re past thirty and closing in on thirty-five and the bell may toll on your fertility before you’re ready for it.”

While she was giving him a piece of her mind, she realized he’d gone still as a rock, his expression frozen.

“I’ll never have a baby now.”

And then mortifyingly, the tears welled up and burst from her.

Griffin tossed the envelope aside, and grasped her by the arms as sobs racked her.

His mouth came down on hers, as he pressed her back against the wall behind her.

Stunned, she went still.

He plundered her mouth, and she was swamped by the sensation of him. His hard, lean body pushed against her, and she picked up the scent of Ivory soap that clung to his skin.

Then as anger and frustration poured out of her, she kissed him back.

It was a brutal kiss, a contest of wills. She made sounds halfway between moans of pleasure and groans of angry frustration.

Griffin had infiltrated her house, stripping her of every protective layer and exposing her vulnerability, and then had the nerve to kiss her.

She tried to shrug off his grasp, but he just pinned her with his body, his hand coming up to hold her head still.

His hot mouth devoured her, and sizzling sensation skated across her skin.

Finally, however, she pulled together the frayed ends of rationality and tore her mouth from his.

She shoved at him, and he rocked back on his heels.

Her sobs had faded away, and anger now completely filled the void. Whatever she’d felt toward her father and Carter, it was directed all at Griffin for the moment.

Confused and disturbed by his kiss, she grasped at the first thing she could think of to lash out at him with.

“Did you think I’d be ripe for the picking now that Carter’s proved faithless?” she asked, trembling. “That I’d be so desperate…”

She left the sentence unfinished. So desperate she’d even consider taking up with him.

Griffin’s expression closed. “Trust me,” he ground out. “The last way I’d describe you is desperate.”

Then, before she could say anything else, he turned and strode to the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

She dashed to her front window and watched as he emerged from her house seconds later and climbed into his Porsche convertible.

She lingered to watch as he pulled away down the street.

Only then did she become aware of the fact that she had two fingers pressed to her lips—where she could still feel his kiss.

Four

Eva already had plans to meet Carter for dinner the following night.

She breezed into The Last Supper Club at a quarter past seven. If she had her way, she thought, this would be Carter’s last supper.

She was dressed in a Proenza Schouler little black dress. Her kiss-off dress, she liked to think of it as now.

She’d called ahead to the restaurant so the staff could advise Carter when he arrived that she would be a little late.

Now, she found Carter exactly where she expected him. He was already seated, enjoying a glass of red wine and perusing the menu.

His face brightened when he spotted her. “Eva! Glad you’re here.”

He wouldn’t be glad for long, Eva thought.

She stopped when she reached his table, not bothering to take a seat.

Carter rose, and Eva watched the gesture cynically.

When she’d first met Carter, she’d been taken by his gentlemanly manners, but now she saw them as just another piece of artifice in his carefully constructed facade.

Her gaze moved over him.

He was wearing an off-white linen blazer over an open-collar light blue shirt that accentuated the paleness of his eyes. His dirty-blond hair was artfully mussed.

His appearance struck her now as too perfect, and Eva called herself a fool for the thousandth time in the last twenty-four hours.

She thought about Carter’s willingness to have kids right away, and wondered now whether his enthusiasm had been feigned. On the other hand, kids would have solidified his claim on her money.

Even Carter’s push for a big wedding appeared suspect in retrospect. A large wedding would have been a major networking opportunity for him since the cream of San Francisco society would have been in attendance.

Carter reached to pull out her chair, but she continued to stand where she was.

Belatedly, Carter took in her expression and frowned.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Tell me one thing,” she said bluntly. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Are you seeing another woman?”

Carter’s expression momentarily registered shock, and then went blank.

Oh, he was good, she thought.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he responded carefully, and then his face softened. “Eva, I’m engaged to you.”

He reached for her, but she sidestepped him. She’d been expecting delay and obfuscation.

She pulled the photos from the outer pocket of her purse and tossed them on the table. She watched as he scanned them.

Carter’s face first showed puzzlement, then shock and, finally, a subtle tightening of the muscles.

When Carter looked up at her, however, she realized he still wasn’t willing to give up the game. His expression was arranged in lines that were relaxed and reassuring.

“Eva, I can explain—”

“There’s more,” she said, cutting him off.

After Griffin had left her apartment yesterday, she’d retrieved the photos he’d left behind. She’d spread them out on her coffee table and stared at them until her mind was numb. They’d been incriminating enough—showing Carter dallying with a busty brunette—that she’d wondered what Griffin wasn’t letting her see. A videotape, perhaps?

Now, her eyes bore into Carter’s, and after several moments, she watched as his shoulders lowered.

“Who gave you these?” he demanded.

“Does it matter?” she retorted.

She knew she sounded just like Griffin had yesterday—dismissing the importance of the photos’ origin—but she didn’t care.

“Your father,” Carter guessed.

“Griffin Slater,” she shot back.

She took some satisfaction in contradicting him. Technically it had been Griffin who had handed her the photos.

Carter’s brows snapped together. “The guy I met at a gathering at your parents’ estate a few months ago? The CEO of Tremont REH?”

She nodded.

“Acting at your father’s request, I’ll bet,” Carter guessed again.

She said nothing, but her hands fisted at her sides.

After a moment, Carter’s lips quirked up in dry amusement. “Your father always hated me,” he said almost ruefully. “He had it in for me from the beginning,”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

Carter’s expression cooled. “What do you want me to say, Eva?”

“You were taking me for a ride! You lied to me—cheated on me!” she flung at him. “Were you planning to carry on with her right through the wedding and honeymoon?”

Carter glanced around them. “Eva, you’re creating a scene.”

“I don’t give a damn!”

“This isn’t the place to be having this discussion.”

“I can’t think of a better one, actually,” she retorted before coming to the point. “Why were you marrying me, Carter?”

He didn’t respond for a moment. Then his eyes took on a calculated edge. “What about your motives for marrying me? A baby.”

“I was up-front about my reproductive issues, Carter,” she snapped. “It hardly amounts to a betrayal of trust.”

She’d thought she’d been marrying Carter for all the right reasons. She hadn’t just wanted a baby. Had she?

“And that was some ride you were taking me on where Griffin Slater was concerned.”

“What?”

Carter raised his eyebrows. “Don’t ask me to believe there’s nothing between you and Mr. CEO. A guy doesn’t step up to the plate with evidence like this without a damned good reason. I saw the way he watched you at your parents’ party.”

Her eyes widened.

Unbelievable. Carter was turning the tables on her, making it seem as if she was the one who had to defend herself.

“Even if Griffin Slater was a hired gun,” Carter continued, “he could have just forked over the incriminating evidence to your father instead of going to console the devastated heiress himself.”

Carter’s tone was mocking, and her father’s words reverberated through her mind.

Heiress hunter.

She suddenly saw that Carter was like a penny dipped in acid. Fool’s gold.

And then she did the one thing guaranteed to dull the penny.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say devastated is the right word.” She grabbed the wineglass that had already been poured for her and tossed its contents in Carter’s face. “Mad as hell is more like it.”

Carter’s face turned red as he looked down at himself, his formerly pristine attire now splattered with wine. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“Getting even,” she replied with some satisfaction, though she knew it was a far cry from what he’d done to her.

She turned on her heel and marched out, ignoring the stares of the other diners and the waitstaff.

She could practically hear the eggs in her ovaries aging with every step.

She’d been wrong, she realized. Work wasn’t Carter’s mistress. But something—or more accurately, someone—else was, she thought bitterly.

How could she not have seen Carter for what he was? Had her desperation for a child made her blind, shutting off her intuition?

As a professional party planner, she prided herself on being able to read people.

She made her way across the pavement to her car, a glower marring her features.

Betrayed by Carter, deceived by her father and dealt the crowning blow by Griffin. She should just wash her hands of the other half of the species and enter a nunnery, she thought with disgust.

And how dare Carter try to turn the tables on her by suggesting something was going on between her and Griffin?

Unbidden, her mind returned to Griffin’s surprising kiss at her condo.

She’d been immobilized, stupefied by the passion lurking underneath Griffin’s impassive facade.

For the first time, she sensed there was something, well, untamed about him. As if, underneath the power ties, custom suits and debonair tuxes, there was a man waiting to devour her.

And when he’d driven off yesterday, she’d noted he was now driving a Porsche—not what she would have expected from someone she’d thought of as buttoned-down.

Since yesterday, when her thoughts hadn’t been filled with rage at Carter, she’d thought about why Griffin had kissed her.

She’d decided, because it was the only explanation that made any sense, that the kiss was just part of Griffin’s high-handedness. He’d put an end to her taunts and baiting in the quickest way possible.

It couldn’t be the case Griffin was attracted to her. They’d always rubbed each other the wrong way.

And even if, as was unlikely, Griffin was up for a roll between the sheets with her, it couldn’t have anything to do with emotions. It would be either just sex, or laden with ulterior motives.

And the last thing she needed in her life right now was another man with ulterior motives.

“The wedding is off,” she said flatly. “I wanted you to hear the news from me.”

It was one of the most painful admissions of her life. But she knew she owed it to her parents to give them the news herself rather than have it catch up with them through the grapevine.

“Oh, Eva!” her mother said, before hurrying over for a hug.

Her father looked relieved, but he asked gruffly, “Are you okay?”

She’d driven directly to Mill Valley from the The Last Supper Club. When she’d arrived, she’d found her parents ensconced in their living room, where they’d obviously retired after dinner. Her mother, it had pained her to note, had been flipping through a bridal magazine. Her father had been watching a news show on television.

Now, Eva pulled away from her mother’s embrace and faced her father. “You should be happy. Carter isn’t going to be your son-in-law.”

“Happy doesn’t describe what I’m feeling at the moment.”

“Elated?”

“What happened?”

“Griffin hasn’t told you?” she said, feigning surprise. “Isn’t the hired gun supposed to let his principal know the news first?”

Though Griffin had told her yesterday he’d come to her first with his evidence, she was surprised he hadn’t immediately followed up with a call to Marcus. He’d left before she could ask him to let her break the news to her father herself, assuming her pride would have let her make such a request.

Her father had the grace to look a little uncomfortable. “He hasn’t said a thing.”

“Surprising since you ordered him to have Carter investigated,” Eva responded coolly.

“In the first place, no one orders Griffin—”

“Marcus, is this true?” her mother interrupted, looking shocked.

Her father shifted his focus to her mother. “What else was I supposed to do, Audrey? He was about to marry into this family. And don’t second-guess me, because Eva just admitted I was right!”

“Right about what?” her mother asked.

Eva sighed inwardly. “About Carter wanting to marry me for my money, Mom.”

“Oh, Eva! I’m so sorry.”

Her father muttered a few choice words.

She didn’t want to bring up that, on top of it all, Carter had been cheating on her. Griffin’s silence had given her an out, and she wasn’t above using it now.

“What would you like us to tell everyone, Eva?” her mother asked quietly.

“Just tell them Carter and I decided to break up. Period.”

She’d thought about the issue on the drive over to her parents’ place, and realized there were only a few people she wanted to share the whole truth with.

Fortunately, because her engagement to Carter hadn’t yet become official—there’d been no ring, no party and no public announcement—there would be fewer questions. She also knew the last thing Carter would want to admit was that he’d been dumped by the heiress to the Tremont fortune because he’d been cheating on her.

Now she faced her father squarely. “I got rid of Carter, but you’re my father and I can’t change that.”

Her father went still.

“So I’m just here to say,” she continued, “don’t interfere in my life again.”

“Evangeline—”

“And to use Griffin Slater, of all people.”

Her father shook his head. “I never understood your aversion to Griffin.”

“You know, I’ve never quite understood it myself. After all,” she said sarcastically, “he’s done me a favor by taking on the role for the Tremont heir that I’m not inclined to—or should I say, I’m not capable of?”

“I never said you were incapable.”

“You didn’t have to,” she responded.

Her father looked stormy, while her mother simply seemed distressed.

“The reason I never pushed you toward Tremont REH,” her father said, “is that I wanted you to be able to choose your own path and follow your own dreams.”

The admission was a balm to raw feelings. Still, she wasn’t letting him off the hook as far as Griffin was concerned.

“You may never have pushed me toward Tremont REH, but you’re happy to push me at Griffin,” she accused.

“Not because of Tremont REH,” her father replied stubbornly, “but because he’s a good man.”

“Stop it, the both of you,” her mother said, then turned her head toward her. “Eva, I hope you’ll spend the night here. I hate to think of you being alone right now.”

She was grateful for her mother’s invitation, but she had one more thing to say to her father.

“Well, know this. Griffin Slater is the last man on earth I’d marry.”

She thought it was a good parting shot. Especially since the risk of having to eat her words was zero.

Five

Two days after Griffin went to see Eva at her apartment, he looked up to see Marcus in the doorway of his office at work.

Usually Marcus’s appearance at Tremont REH and Evkit’s shared headquarters wasn’t noteworthy. Only semiretired, he was in the habit of dropping in on a regular basis.

But this time Griffin knew better than to think Marcus’s presence at work was unremarkable.

As Marcus shut the door behind him, his face turned into a glower. “That bastard, Newell.”

His sentiments exactly, Griffin thought.

“Still, I’m glad Eva called off the wedding.”

Griffin let the news of the cancelled nuptials wash over him like a cool wave on a blistering day. As mad as she’d been, at least Eva had had the good sense to give Carter the kiss-off.

He stood and came around his desk. “Glad you’re focusing on the bottom line, Marcus.”

“She said Ron found evidence Carter was marrying her for her money,” the older man stated.

“Yes,” Griffin said, not knowing how much Eva had revealed.

“How did he draw that conclusion?”

Griffin forced himself to shrug nonchalantly. “The usual stuff. A financial profile that showed Carter’s living on a borrowed dime. Some interesting conversations caught on tape.”

Since Marcus hadn’t yet said anything about Carter two-timing Eva, Griffin kept his mouth shut on the topic.

Marcus nodded, looking, in fact, as if he didn’t want Griffin to go into further detail.

Griffin didn’t blame him. He wished he didn’t know the particulars. He could only assume the situation was even more uncomfortable for Marcus, given that Eva was his daughter and only child.

“I went to Eva first,” Griffin explained, skirting the issue of when exactly he’d gotten news from Ron, “because I thought she was entitled to hear the information before anyone else. I figured she’d want to tell you herself.”

“I appreciate your sticking your neck out here, Griffin.” The older man gave him a wry smile. “Eva probably wants to have us both fried, so I’m glad she got the news first, at least. There’s no sense jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, eh?”

“Hang on to the thought.”

“That’s not the only thought I’m hanging on to,” the older man continued. “She told her mother she threw wine in Newell’s face when she confronted him.”

Griffin took grim satisfaction in the knowledge Eva had rallied and shown the grit he knew her capable of instead of moping over Newell.

He worried about her, even though she sometimes made him nuts. His concern for her was ultimately what had made him comfortable with Marcus’s request to have Newell investigated.

And that was also why he’d kissed her in her apartment—or so he’d told himself.

Let her think he was despicable, grabbing her for an inexplicable kiss at her vulnerable moment. At least it had kept her from spilling more unnecessary tears and engaging in misspent heartache.

When Marcus left his office moments later, Griffin’s phone rang.

He picked up, and the voice at the other end said, “Just where I thought I’d find you—tied to your desk. Working too hard still?”

Griffin rubbed his neck. It was always good to hear from his brother.

“Just moving pieces around the Monopoly board,” he quipped. “How are things going in the OR, kid?”

His brother laughed. “Seen one appendix, seen them all. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Tessa is pregnant.”

“Good Lord.” He faked a groan. “You a father.”

“From you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” his brother shot back.

Griffin found himself smiling. “Seriously, congratulations. Fantastic news.”

“Thanks. We’re thrilled.”

“First Monica, now you. Well, at least you and Monica will have something in common for once in your lives.”

Josh laughed. “You’re making me shudder.”

As he and his brother chatted about his sister-in-law’s pregnancy, and the excitement about the upcoming arrival, Griffin’s mind traveled back to Eva’s declaration yesterday.

I’ll never have a baby now.

He’d brooded over her words all last night.

He’d intended to save her from a two-timing fortune hunter. He hadn’t realized he’d also be throwing a wrecking ball into her plans to beat her biological clock.

What the hell. Eva was only thirty-two. Plenty of women had children in their thirties, especially these days.

He’d looked up premature menopause on the Internet last night and had discovered it referred to women going into menopause in their thirties or even twenties. Some women were apparently genetically disposed to having their periods stop early, and from what Eva had said about her mother, Griffin concluded she was one of them.

“Hey, Griffin, you still there?” his brother asked, his voice exasperated but tinged with amusement.

Griffin realized he’d let his mind drift off.

“Yeah, sorry,” he responded. “Listen, you and Tessa should come up to San Fran again soon. We’ll celebrate. In fact, I’ve been thinking of throwing a little cocktail party for some business associates in a couple of weeks. It’d be great if I could coax you and Monica up here along with the spouses.”

“I’ve got to check our schedule,” Josh replied, “but I’m sure Tessa would love to travel as much as she can before the doctor grounds her for the last months of her pregnancy.”

“Excellent.”

“Putting that big house of yours to good use, huh?” his brother teased. “I’ve been wondering what you’ve been doing besides rattling around in it.”

“Saving it for all the nephews and nieces that you and Monica are going to give me,” he responded smoothly.

His brother snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right. One day your wild harem parties are going to come to light.”

His brother’s teasing was a running joke between them. The truth was he’d lived life with a single-minded ambition since their parents had died.

When he signed off on his call with Josh, Griffin swiveled his chair to stare out his office windows.

He was happy for his brother, but it hammered home to him Eva’s problem. The problem he’d helped create for her.

I’ll never have a baby now.

For years, his attraction to Eva had been like a mild irritation—an itch he could avoid scratching if he put his mind to it.

And he had put his mind to it. He’d been focused on building his company and on parenting his younger siblings.

The last thing he’d needed was to get involved with his mentor’s daughter and the ensuing complications.

But now that he’d scaled the mountain he’d set himself to climbing, he was able to stop and look around—and realize that maybe he’d fought his attraction to Eva for too long.

That he’d almost lost her to a worthless cad like Newell brought that last thought home to him.

Obviously Eva couldn’t be trusted to make a sane decision about men, and by God, if she’d settle for Newell, she’d settle for him.

Griffin scanned the glittering crowd clustered on the terrace and lawn, and recognized most of the guests as regulars on San Francisco’s society circuit. He supposed Eva knew many of them—some of them doubtlessly since her private school or Junior League days.

Weeks ago, he’d received an invitation to tonight’s 1930s-themed party at the Palo Alto estate of socialite Beth Harding and her husband, Silicon Valley mogul Oliver Harding.

He’d initially decided not to attend, even though he and Oliver were acquainted from sitting on a couple of corporate boards together.

Right before the RSVP deadline, however, he’d changed his mind. He knew Beth was a good friend of Eva’s, and Marcus had mentioned weeks ago that Eva was the party planner for tonight’s event.

He hadn’t seen Eva since last week, when he’d had to break the ugly news of Carter’s infidelity to her, but he was determined to catch up with her.

So here he was, dressed in a zoot suit that he’d bought on the Internet, and feeling just a little ridiculous.

When he’d arrived a short time ago, the party had been well under way. Oliver had introduced him to Noah Whittaker, who was on a business trip to Silicon Valley for computer giant Whittaker Enterprises, and he’d spent some time talking business with the Boston-based entrepreneur.

He’d also gleaned from Oliver that Eva was mingling with the guests when she wasn’t in the kitchen. She was apparently walking a line between hired help and invited guest.

He raised his glass of wine to his lips and scanned the crowd again—then paused as he finally spotted her.

His pulse kicked up.

She was wearing a black cigar girl’s outfit. The tiny skirt reached to midthigh on her, revealing a set of shapely legs that went on forever. Fishnet stockings and platform peep-toe heels complemented the outfit.

She carried a small tray in front of her, suspended from a ribbon around her neck.

Clever, Griffin thought, even as desire heated his blood.

This was the first party he’d ever attended that had been organized by Eva. He wondered now whether he’d been too quick to judge and dismiss her business—and how good she was at it.

Absently he gave his wineglass to a passing waiter. Then he made his way toward her.

She was oblivious to his approach, but he reached her just as she began to move in the opposite direction.

“Making sure everything is going smoothly?” he asked before she could move out of earshot.

She whirled around.

Her eyes widened, and then narrowed. “In my work life you mean? Because as you know, my personal life is a mess at the moment.”

He gave a curt nod, and she pretended to look him over.

“What? No more shocking photos?” she baited him. “No more sensational evidence?”

“I heard you gave Carter the boot.”

“From my father, no doubt.”

“You didn’t completely explain to him why, though.”

She tilted her head. “Disappointed that I’ve been spared the ultimate humiliation?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I can think of worse things—”

“—than telling my father he was more than right?” she finished for him mockingly. “That Carter was cheating on me?”

“Your father does care about you, Eva.”

He glimpsed sudden and unexpected emotion in her eyes.

“Yes, I know, but sometimes that doesn’t help,” she responded finally. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a job to do.”

He reached out and captured her elbow. “The party’s winding down.”

She glanced down at his hand on her elbow, then back up at him. “Take your hand off me.”

He ignored her. “We both know you’re as much a guest here as anything, and at this point in the evening, your job is basically done. You can spare a few minutes.”

She looked exasperated. “You don’t quit, do you?”

His lips quirked. “Someday, you may come to appreciate that as one of my finer qualities.”

“I doubt it. Though considering how few fine qualities you possess, on second thought, maybe the idea isn’t so far-fetched.”

“Are you going to stand there throwing verbal poisoned darts at me, or can we step aside and talk for a few minutes?”

She lifted her brows. “I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to catch up with me.”

“You’re a difficult woman to get hold of.”

He’d purposely shown up late to the party, because he was here for one purpose only.

“Fine,” she responded. “Follow me.”

Following her entailed winding their way past assorted guests. Some of them attempted to get Eva’s attention or his, but Eva was determined not to be detained for more than a few moments, and he, likewise, was set on not having their progress halted.

Eva stopped when they made it inside to the kitchen. She removed the tray from around her neck as various employees hustled past them, bearing food in and out of the kitchen.

Griffin counted gangsters, chorus girls, office girls and, yes, cigar girls.

Eva folded her arms. “Shoot.”

He glanced around. “I was thinking of some place more private.”

“Too bad. This is all I have time for.”

On closer inspection, he noticed her face looked strained. As if she hadn’t been sleeping well.

He silently cursed Carter Newell—and for good measure, damned his own role in bringing Newell’s transgressions to Eva’s attention.

His lips tightened. “I created this problem.”

Eva frowned. “What problem?”

“Your broken engagement.”

She spread her hands. “Look, Griffin, I know what I said last week, but I’m an adult. Now that the initial shock has passed, I know enough not to blame the messenger—”

“I’m not talking about Carter,” he interrupted.

“Well, good—but what are you talking about then?”

“I’m talking about throwing a wrench in your plans to beat the biological clock.”

She tilted her head. “Yes, well…that was an unintended consequence, wasn’t it?”

“What are you going to do?” he asked bluntly. The issue had been bothering him since last week. A lot.

She sighed, looking weary and vulnerable. “I don’t know yet.”

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” he offered without preamble.

Her eyes widened a fraction, pools of golden-amber. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Do you have to work?”

“No…tonight is the only time I have to work this weekend.”

“Then have dinner with me.”

“Why?” she asked, suspicion darkening her tone. “So you can ambush me with more disturbing news?”

“Unfair. You know better.”

“Then why?”

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Maybe I’m interested in stepping up to the plate.”

Her eyes widened for real this time. “What?”

“You want a baby, and I’m the guy who created your present problem,” he said evenly.

A half laugh escaped her, her expression disbelieving.

“Don’t you think your boss would frown on your knocking up his daughter?” she asked tartly.

He felt a smile tug at his lips. “In the first place, your father is really no longer my employer. In the second, I’m offering to do this right. Marriage.”

She looked stunned, but she recovered quickly. “Isn’t it a bit much to be volunteering to fix things this way?”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that part?”

Her lips parted. “There’s no spark between us.”

“I disagree.”

The words hung in the air between them, and he could tell she was remembering the kiss they’d shared at her apartment, just as he hadn’t been able to forget it, either.

She laughed again, but it came out a trifle forced. Then she moved to step by him. “Griffin, be serious.”

“I am,” he said, blocking her with his arm when she was very close.

She looked up at him mutely.

“Why don’t we kiss and put it to the test?”

A flash of alarm crossed her face.

“I don’t think—”

“That’s right, don’t think,” he parried.

And before she could say anything more, he swept her into his arms.

Six

Any hope she’d had that she could chalk up last week’s embrace as an aberration was vaporized by the heat of their kiss.

It sizzled along her nerve endings, danced along the surface of her skin and pooled as throbbing need between her legs.

Griffin cupped the back of her head, slanted his mouth and deepened the kiss, giving her his tongue.

Rock-hard planes pressed against her, and his mouth tasted of wine and man.

It was like being consumed, Eva thought dimly. Unwrapped, exposed and thoroughly enjoyed.

She moaned low in her throat…and a moment later heard a whistle of encouragement.

Abruptly she was brought back to earth.

She pushed Griffin away, and her gaze landed on the amused expressions of two of the waitstaff.

Clearly she and Griffin had been providing some free entertainment.

She compressed her lips. She should be setting an example for her employees, not engaging in teenage antics.

She touched Griffin’s arm and said tightly, “Come with me.”

She knew there was a study across the hall from the kitchen, and it was likely empty since the party was taking place mostly outside.

She led the way, and once inside, she shut the door behind them.

Table lamps cast a warm yellow glow, lighting a room done in dark hues, from the maroon leather chair to the gray sofa facing the fireplace.

She faced Griffin. “So is today’s performance your coda to a carefully constructed plan to ruin my life?”

He raised his eyebrows, his expression mild.

She started counting off on her fingers. “Let’s see. Last week, you informed me that my fiancé was cheating on me. This week, you grab me for an adolescent tussle in front of my employees.”

He had the indecency to let his lips to twitch.

“I needed to grab your attention,” he said. “I succeeded.”

She ignored the flutter in her stomach. “I have options, you know.”

So what if she sounded defensive? This whole conversation was ridiculous. She couldn’t believe she was even discussing the topic of conceiving a child with Griffin Slater.

Except his proposition was so ludicrous, she was having a hard time coming up with a sane way to refute it. So instead of addressing the sticky issues—such as their complete incompatibility—she went for the straightforward one.

She regarded him coolly. “It’s possible to just buy a vial of sperm over the Internet these days. Why do I need you when I’m capable of getting pregnant on my own?”

He eyed her. “Do you really want to be a single parent?”

What she really wanted was to be loved for herself, she thought, but squelched the wayward thought. “I could have my eggs frozen until I met someone.”

“Egg freezing technology is still experimental. Besides, you could be waiting years to be a parent.”

She was surprised he knew about egg freezing, but she supposed he’d read a news report somewhere.

“I’d be a father to your child. To our child,” he continued. “Today. Tomorrow.”

Damn him. He was holding out everything she wanted on a silver platter. Well, almost everything.

Her silly heart ached, and she automatically sought to protect it. It had been getting a pounding recently.

“What’s in this for you?” she asked suspiciously.

“With any luck, I’ll get a child—a child who will one day inherit Tremont REH.”

She frowned. “How are you any different from Carter then? He had ulterior motives that involved getting his hands on Tremont REH money and so do you.”

He looked as if she’d insulted him. “In the first place, I’m being up-front with you. Our marriage would have advantages for both of us. Secondly, I don’t want Tremont REH for myself.” He shrugged. “But I’d be happy if a child of ours inherited that legacy.”

She was surprised he didn’t claim he was entitled to get his hands on Tremont REH by virtue of his having contributed to its success, and grudgingly conceded it was a point in his favor.

At the same time, she knew she had to get away now, because her abused heart just couldn’t take any more.

She’d spent her whole life trying to create an identity for herself apart from being the Tremont heiress—real estate mogul Marcus Tremont’s daughter. It had been a futile effort, but she hated the way it always caught up with her—particularly now.

She reached for the doorknob. “I need to get back.”

Griffin stepped forward, his gaze intent. “Eva—”

Just then, however, the door was pushed open, and she took a step back, her hand falling away from the knob.

One of her employees, dressed as a 1930s-era doctor, complete with head mirror and suspenders, appeared in the doorway.

“Here you are!” he said. “We’ve all been looking for you! Sue wants to know where Beth Harding’s spare freezer is located.”

She chanced one more look at Griffin. “I’ve got to go.”

Then she ducked out of the room.

She wasn’t fleeing…or so she tried to convince herself.

“He what?” Beth Harding asked.

“He proposed to me,” Eva repeated. Saying the words made them only slightly more real.

She leaned back against the cushions of her couch and set her coffee cup down on the end table. She was still in her pajamas, having allowed herself the luxury of sleeping in after having worked at the Hardings’ party.

Beth laughed. “Well that was quick work. Last week, he got rid of your fiancé and this week he proposes to you himself!”

“In a sense.”

She’d filled in Beth about Carter’s deceit and Griffin’s role in bringing it to her attention. She’d left out the kiss with Griffin at her apartment because, she told herself, she’d chalked it up as an aberration.

But there was no way to chalk up a proposal as an anomaly or a figment of her imagination—though she’d tried last night. If she’d been successful, she’d have been able to dismiss the strange temptations she was feeling.

And when Beth had phoned this morning to discuss how the party had gone, she couldn’t help but tell her friend about the real entertainment last night.

“I’ll say this for him,” Beth said. “He’s slow out of the gate, but he sure knows how to make up for lost time. He’s known you, what? Ten years?”

“Has it been that long?” she responded.

“So what are you going to do?” Beth asked.

“Are you kidding? Nothing! In case it’s escaped your notice, I’ve spent the last decade detesting Griffin Slater.”

“There’s a fine line between love and hate.”

Didn’t she know it. The past few days had brought that home to her. She’d thought she loved Carter, only to discover she hadn’t known him at all. And she’d thought she detested Griffin, only to discover, well…

But she didn’t want to go there with Beth. “Anyway, I don’t need him. This is the twenty-first century. I have options. Except, of course, he very considerately pointed out to me that, by taking him up on his proposal, I wouldn’t get just a sperm donor, but an involved father.”

“He’s got a point there.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I’m just saying. I’ve got three kids, and believe me, there are days when I’d like to clone myself.”

“Hmm.”

A buzz sounded, indicating there was an incoming call on her cell phone. She removed the phone from her ear to check the screen, and recognized the number as Griffin’s. Over the years, they’d been in perfunctory phone contact about Tremont REH board business, so she wasn’t surprised he had her number.

Speaking into the phone again, she said to Beth, “You won’t believe this, but it’s Griffin on the other line. Can I talk to you later?”

“Of course! Let me know how it goes. I’ll be dying to know if he drops any other shocks on you. Oliver is so boring!”

When she’d ended the call with Beth, and switched over to the other call, she said unnecessarily, “Hello?”

“It’s Griffin.”

“I suppose you’re calling to recant your moment of insanity last night,” she said, affecting a bored tone, even though she was experiencing the exhilaration of a sky dive. “Well, no need to bother—”

“Actually,” he interrupted dryly, “I’m calling to hire you for a party.”

She sighed. “I feel compelled to point out that, as your spouse, you’d get my services for free. So, I’m confused—have you decided to hedge your bets?”

He laughed. “Okay, you’re on to me. My diabolic plan is to force you, one way or another, to provide me with a free party whenever I want.”

“I’ve got news for you,” she shot back. “It would hardly be a party.”

He chuckled. “I think I could handle you.”

A wave of heat sizzled through her.

“I really am calling to hire you,” he insisted. “I’ve been thinking of throwing a cocktail party for some business associates a week from Friday.”

“Oh.”

“Are you available?”

“I need to check my calendar.” She already knew she was free.

“I was planning to go with the caterer I usually use, nothing fancy, but after seeing you in action last night, I wanted to hire Occasions by Designs.”

“I don’t come cheap.”

“Do you really want my answer to that?”

“You are persistent.”

“My middle name. And how can you resist the opportunity to prove to me how good you are?” he said, his voice low and smooth as silk.

Damn him, he knew how to get to her.

Aloud, she said crisply, “We’ll have to discuss what you want, and I’ll have to send you my standard contract.”

“Excellent.”

When she ended her call with Griffin, she immediately thought that she was going to regret agreeing to this assignment.

Before she could dwell on her anxiety, however, her phone rang again, playing “That’s What Friends Are For.”

She flicked the cell open. “Hello, Beth.”

“Well?” her friend asked. “How did it go? I decided calling was better than dying to find out.”

“He wants to hire me.”

“Rent-a-wife?”

“No, another stunner. He wants me to arrange a party for him. I can’t tell anymore if he’s lusting after me or Occasions by Design.”

“Well, I give him points for originality. It’s better than lusting for the Tremont REH millions.”

Actually, Griffin was keeping her so off balance, Eva thought, that she wasn’t sure what he was really after.

As she filled in Beth about her phone call with Griffin, she also realized that, for once in her life, she could see a positive side to being pursued for her money by men like Carter: at least she knew where she stood.

Eva arrived at Griffin’s Pacific Heights mansion at four on a bright Friday afternoon. She had given herself three hours to set up before the guests arrived.

From the curb, Eva looked up at the house’s impressive Queen Anne facade, which was partially shielded from the street by a high fence and well-manicured front garden.

When Griffin had given her his address over the phone last week, so she could set up deliveries for the party, she hadn’t thought twice about his location in Pacific Heights.

Now, however, she was surprised to discover he lived in a majestic structure replete with gables, wings and towers.

She was charmed despite herself.

Over the years, she’d made a point not to be curious about Griffin. The less she knew about him, the more she could pretend not to be affected by him. And because they’d ironed out the details of tonight’s party by phone and fax, she’d never had the opportunity to see his home until today.

She’d been relieved, actually, by the indirect communication. These days, she didn’t think she could take another face-to-face encounter with Griffin.

But she knew her reprieve was about to come to an end.

As some of her employees unloaded supplies from one of Occasions by Design’s vans, Griffin drove up in his silver sports car.

She watched him park at the curb. Seconds later, he emerged, pushing back black sunglasses to the top of his head.

She took in his navy-blue suit, and noted he looked as if he’d gotten a haircut. His hair, short to begin with, now thinly outlined his uncompromisingly masculine face.

He looked crisp, sexy…spectacular.

Her body vibrated with energy. It was a reaction she was growing used to now that she knew the reaction he was able to evoke from her with his lips and his hands.

Still, she was determined to resist him. Tonight was about scoring another hit for Occasions by Design. Nothing else.

She told herself she was here simply because she had room in her calendar to arrange this party. Of course, after the Carter debacle—how could she have been so blind?—it was also possible she was a master of self-deception.

Luckily her parents weren’t going to be here tonight, so the pressure was off in that regard. She knew from her mother that her parents had had to decline Griffin’s invitation because they’d a prior commitment.

“Hello,” Griffin called, his gaze sweeping over her.

She felt his look like a hot stamp, and she smoothed her hand over a crease in her trousers. She was dressed in an outfit she loved—a beaded, cornflower-blue top, black silk pants and Christian Louboutin mules—but she suddenly felt self-conscious.

To cover her nervousness, she nodded to the mansion before them. “Not quite where I pictured you living.”

A slow smile spread across his face as he came closer. “Let me guess. You were expecting some penthouse condo bachelor pad.”

She nodded. “I thought I heard my father mention a while back that you had a place somewhere downtown.”

“I gave up the penthouse a couple of years ago.” He shrugged. “I was looking for a change. And this place allows me to entertain on a larger scale. It’s still a work in progress, though.”

“Two years ago?” she asked. “Wasn’t that around the time you got your promotion to CEO of Tremont REH?”

She was being contrary by implying Tremont money was the reason he could afford a fancy Pacific Heights address, but she couldn’t help herself.

Anything to divert the heat of his gaze from her. She felt as if she could go up in flames right here on the pavement.

“Let’s just say, the real estate market was doing well at the time,” he returned easily. “For Evkit Investments as well as Tremont REH.”

“I just assumed a penthouse would be more your speed,” she said in a more conciliatory tone. “You must be lost in all this space.”

An enigmatic smile played at his lips. “Hoping for evidence in my choice of real estate that I’m not the settling down type? Sorry to disappoint.”

“Actually,” she parried, “I thought you’d enjoy the view from up high in a penthouse, looking down at us lesser mortals.”

He chuckled, and then murmured, “I don’t think you have a clue what I’d enjoy, Evangeline.”

Eva realized they were no longer talking about real estate—or even the seriousness of his marriage proposal.

A vision of the two of them having sex on tangled sheets sprang into her mind.

Reflexively she shook her head to clear it.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his expression amused and too knowing.

She whirled away. “I need to go supervise in the kitchen since there’s not much time. I’m here to plan a party, remember?”

“Of course,” he murmured as she turned away. “Why else would you be here?”

His cryptic comment almost broke her stride, but she forced herself to keep going.

His question echoed in her head. Why else would she be here?

Seven

So far so good, Eva thought, as she made sure plates and utensils continued to be well stocked on a sideboard set up in Griffin’s living room.

It dawned on her that she didn’t feel like a professional party planner tonight, or even a guest.

Instead it felt as if she and Griffin were joint hosts, acting in easy, unspoken harmony. She’d helped welcome his guests, many of whom she happened to be acquainted with, and Griffin had come back to the kitchen to assist several times. It was almost as if they were husband and wife, a voice in her head whispered before she could silence it.

Earlier in the evening, she’d been just as charmed by the inside of Griffin’s house as by the outside. The chef’s kitchen—with its top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, double sink and two cooking ranges—was a dream. The layout of the other rooms on the ground floor lent itself to the easy flow of traffic. French doors and a large number of windows also brought in a nice breeze to the party.

There was no doubt about it, she reflected as she straightened up the sideboard. Griffin had chosen well when he’d purchased the house. But then she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised he had a keen eye for real estate.

She’d also had to concede tonight that Griffin was far wealthier than she’d imagined.

It wasn’t just the impressiveness of his home. From snatches of conversation among the guests, she’d discovered just how successful Evkit Investments had become in the last few years—years during which she’d purposely refused to pay attention to anything Griffin was doing.

Many guests had heaped praise on Griffin’s investment savvy. She’d learned that Griffin owned prime residential real estate—condos and rental units, alike—all over San Francisco.

Union Square. Russian Hill. Bernal Heights. Fisherman’s Wharf. And, of course, Pacific Heights. His acquisitions ran the gamut of San Francisco’s exclusive and hot neighborhoods.

Under other circumstances, the guests’ conversation may have driven her crazy. Tonight, however, it didn’t bother her. She was more consumed with Griffin’s effect on her pulse whenever he was nearby.

She stole a look at him now across the room, where he stood by the mantel chatting with a middle- aged couple and holding a wineglass by the stem.

He’d changed into an open-collar white shirt and black pants for the party, but even in casual attire, his seductive allure made her heart trip over itself.

“Eva.”

Startled from her reverie, she turned and noticed Griffin’s sister coming toward her.

“Monica! I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Monica gave her a relieved smile. “I’m just glad I’m here. Ben had to be in San Fran for a business dinner tonight, but we thought we’d stop by Griffin’s afterward for the end of the party.”

Eva knew Griffin’s sister had gotten married a couple of years ago to a Hollywood film producer and now spent most of her time in L.A.

She hugged Monica, and felt an unmistakable bump below the other woman’s baby doll top. Pulling back, she said, “You’re—?”

Monica nodded, her face glowing. “We’re thrilled.”

“Griffin didn’t say a thing,” she exclaimed. Though she was happy for Monica, her heart did a sad little clench over the fact that her own dream of a family had lately become more elusive.

Monica smiled again. “I told Griffin a while back, but you know, sometimes he can be so… What’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Arrogant? Irritating? Unbearable?”

Monica laughed. “You know him so well!”

And even better lately, Eva thought.

Monica looked over at her brother. “I just hope he’s okay. He spent so many years watching over me and Josh that I wonder whether he’s feeling a little adrift these days.”

She knew the story of Griffin’s parents’ untimely death, of course, but for as long as she’d known him, Griffin had always seemed strong and invincible.

“I can think of many words for your brother, but adrift isn’t one of them,” she said. Where she was concerned, at least, Griffin was all too confident about what he wanted.

She glanced over at Griffin, and when his eyes met hers across the room, she sucked in a breath.

Deliberately she turned back toward his sister.

“I’m serious,” Monica continued. “Sometimes, I wonder whether restlessness is the reason Griffin bought this house. He was paying tuition bills and dealing with orthodontist appointments at a time when many college guys are only thinking about the next keg party. Now he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

Monica’s words made Eva think about Griffin’s offer to get married. Was he just restless? Or was he feeling left out now that his siblings were wed?

Monica touched her arm. “Let’s talk about lighter subjects. How are you? And how is—oh, wait, what is his name?—Carter?”

“Gone,” she replied succinctly.

From Monica’s question, Eva surmised that Griffin hadn’t filled in his sister about any of the sorry details of her life lately. The last time she’d seen Monica, months ago, she’d just begun dating Carter.

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