CINDERELLA AND THE PLAYBOY

LOIS FAYE DYER

AND

THE TEXAN’S HAPPILY–EVER–AFTER

KAREN ROSE SMITH

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CINDERELLA AND THE PLAYBOY

Dear Reader,

I was intrigued when my editor asked me to be a part of THE BABY CHASE series. First, because fertility clinics can be beacons of hope for couples with fertility issues. And second, because I was charmed by the prospect of writing a hero who loves women and balances a playboy personality with a passionate commitment to his patients. And third, because I’ve never been able to resist a romance novel about a rake falling in love at last, especially when the woman who owns his heart is an independent, wary career woman and single mother of an adorable little girl.

I had so much fun watching Dr. Chance Demetrios meet his fate in beautiful Jennifer Labeaux. And to add icing on this particular cake, Chance finds himself feeling ferociously parental and protective toward Annie, Jennifer’s adorable little girl. How can you not love a guy who is charmed and enchanted by a red-haired sweetly precocious child? And how can you not cheer for Jennifer, a woman who’s strong enough and wise enough to choose a mate like Chance?

I hope you enjoy reading Cinderella and the Playboy—I thoroughly loved writing Jennifer and Chance’s story.

Warmly,

Lois Faye Dyer

About the Author

LOIS FAYE DYER lives in a small town on the shore of beautiful Puget Sound in the Pacific Northwest with her two eccentric and lovable cats, Chloe and Evie. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her c/o Paperbacks Plus, 1618 Bay Street, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA. Visit her on the web at www.LoisDyer.com.

With my heartfelt thanks to Karen Edgel,

hospice nurse, in Republic, Washington

Chapter One

“Hey, Jennifer—Dr. Demetrios just walked in.”

Jennifer Labeaux noted her friend Yolanda’s mischievous grin before she glanced over her shoulder. As usual, her heartbeat sped up at the sight of the tall, dark-haired male striding toward her section of the Coach House Diner.

Dr. Chance Demetrios was easily six feet four inches tall and built like a linebacker. He wore his black hair a shade long and his eyes were a deep chocolate brown—eyes that twinkled, charmed and seduced Jennifer with each conversation they shared.

She watched him slide into his usual booth, third from the back, with a view of the Cambridge, Massachusetts, street outside. He always sat in her section. Jennifer was torn between being flattered and wishing he wouldn’t single her out. Not that she disliked him—quite the contrary. He made her yearn for things she knew she couldn’t have and she was far too attracted to him for her own good. No doubt about it, Chance was too sexy, too rich and too high-octane for a waitress whose most sophisticated night out was visiting her neighborhood ice-cream shop with her five-year-old daughter.

Over the past six months, she’d seen Chance nearly every morning. There was no mistaking the male interest in his eyes but his persistent friendliness and good-natured acceptance of her refusals when he had asked her out had slowly but surely eased, and then erased, her natural wariness. The conversations she’d overheard between him and other customers only increased his appeal. He appeared to be genuinely interested in the lives of the diner regulars.

Even if dating were possible in her life at the moment, she’d never date Chance Demetrios, she thought with regret. Rumor had it that he loved women and went through girlfriends like a PMSing woman went through chocolate bars. Despite being powerfully attracted to him, Jennifer knew he was out of her league. If she ever became involved with a man again, he wouldn’t be someone with a stable of women.

She tucked a menu under her arm, picked up a glass of ice water and a fresh pot of coffee and walked to the booth.

“Good morning, Dr. Demetrios,” she said with a bright smile. “What can I get you?”

“Morning, Jennifer.”

His deep voice seemed to linger over her name, sending shivers up her spine and heat curling through her belly.

Determined to ignore her rebellious body’s reaction, Jennifer kept her gaze on the thick coffee mug as she poured. She steeled herself, setting down the pot and taking out her pad and pen. Despite preparing herself, however, meeting his gaze was a jolt. His dark eyes were warm, appreciative and filled with male interest.

And then he smiled. Jennifer had to fight to keep from melting into a pool of overheated hormones.

“The usual?” Thank goodness her voice didn’t reflect her inner turmoil, she thought with relief and not a little surprise.

“Yeah, please,” he said, his smile wry. “And maybe you can just hook up an IV with black coffee.”

“Late night?” she asked with sympathy. Her gaze moved over his face, noting the lines of weariness she’d been too preoccupied to notice earlier. His dark eyes were heavy lidded and his jaw shadowed with beard stubble. He looked as if he’d either just rolled out of bed—or hadn’t gone to bed at all. “Did you work all night?”

He shrugged. “Back-to-back emergency calls.”

“You work too hard,” she commented.

“All part of being a doctor.” He smiled at her. “I knew the job had lousy hours when I signed on.”

She lifted an eyebrow at his reasoning. “Maybe so, but if you don’t sleep, how are you going to function?”

He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “Maybe I’ll catch a nap on my office sofa before my first appointment.”

“Good plan.” Jennifer heard the cook call her name and realized she’d been chatting too long. “I have to go. I’ll tell the other waitresses you need your coffee topped often this morning.”

“Thanks.”

Taken in by his appreciative smile, Jenny forced herself to nod pleasantly and turn to her next customer.

Through half-lowered lashes, Chance sipped the hot black coffee and watched her walk away. He suspected the employees and regulars in the diner weren’t fooled by his attempts to play down his interest but he couldn’t summon up the energy to care if they knew he loved looking at her. She wore the same attire as the rest of the waitresses—black slacks and white shirt under a black vest. But with her long legs, lush curls and graceful carriage, the clothes took on a different vibe on Jennifer. The diner’s owner might think the uniform made his waitresses blend together, but she stood out like a long-stemmed rose in a bouquet of daisies.

He’d been asking her out for months now and each time, she’d turned him down. Six months earlier, he would have shrugged and moved on to the next beautiful woman. But for some reason that he couldn’t begin to understand, he’d lost the urge to pursue other women since meeting Jennifer.

He couldn’t accept that she wouldn’t go out with him. He knew damn well she was attracted to him. Despite her never-wavering, cool-yet-friendly reserve, he felt the strong tug of sexual chemistry between them every time he saw her. He’d dated a lot of women over the years. He knew he hadn’t misread the faint flush of color over the high arch of her cheekbones when they talked, nor the way she shielded her gaze with lowered lashes when he teased her.

No, Jennifer was definitely interested. But he’d asked her out at least a dozen times, probably more. She’d always refused, saying she didn’t date customers.

From the snippets of conversation he’d overheard from the other waitresses, Chance didn’t think she dated anyone at all.

Which only made him more intrigued and determined to spend time with her, away from the diner.

He rolled his shoulders to relieve the ache of muscles too long without rest and stretched his long legs out beneath the table. The red, vinyl-covered bench seat was comfortably padded and, like everything else in the Coach House Diner, reflected the 1950s theme. The effect was cheerful and welcoming. Chance had felt at home here from the first moment he’d stepped over the threshold six months earlier. Since the diner was only a short walk from the Armstrong Fertility Institute where he worked, it had quickly become his favorite place to have coffee, breakfast, lunch or grab a quick dinner if he’d worked late.

He glanced around the room, nodding at Fred, an elderly gentleman seated on a stool and eating his breakfast at the end of the long counter. Fred was a retired railroad engineer and, despite his advanced age of ninety-five, still woke early. Chance had spent more than one morning next to Fred on the round seats at the counter between 5:00 a.m. and 6:00.

He took another long sip of coffee and rubbed his eyes. It had been one hell of a week. After long hours of hard, frustrating work, he and his research partner Ted Bonner had finally disproved allegations that their work was questionable.

In the midst of proving the funding was legally and morally ethical, Chance had also watched as Ted fell in love and got married over the past several months. Chance would never admit it aloud, but observing his best friend’s happiness had raised questions for Chance about his own lifestyle. Did he want to meet a woman who could make him settle down? Could he be monogamous?

Given his relationship history, Chance doubted it. He loved women—their smiles, their silky hair and skin, the way their eyes lit with pleasure when they made love.

No, he couldn’t imagine ever settling down with one woman.

Which made him wonder why he hadn’t dated anyone over the past six months.

Unconsciously, his gaze sought out Jennifer, locating her at the other end of the room. Her laughter pealed musically as she took an order from two women in business suits.

He muffled a groan and swigged down the rest of his coffee. He knew damn well Jennifer was the reason he hadn’t dated anyone in months.

Or maybe I’m just too busy with work, he thought, unwilling to accept that the beautiful blonde was to blame for his nonexistent love life.

Midweek, he’d spent two long nights in the operating room. His volunteer work at a free clinic in a low-income Boston neighborhood often expanded to include surgery during emergency situations. This week, those emergencies seemed to roll in almost on each other’s heels.

I’m too damn tired, he told himself. That’s why I’m being introspective. A solid eight hours of sleep and life will look normal again.

He frowned at his empty coffee mug. He hated examining his feelings and no matter how he sliced it, he couldn’t deny that he’d been spending too much time lately considering his life. And for a man who was rarely alone, he could swear he sometimes felt lonely.

“More coffee?”

Chance looked up. The red-haired waitress he often noticed talking with Jennifer stood next to his booth.

“Thanks.”

She quickly filled his mug and left, letting Chance return to his brooding.

He’d had plenty of affairs, but none of his relationships with women could qualify as meaningful.

And that’s the way I like it, he thought. So why am I wondering if there ought to have been more?

He dragged his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. He reached into his jacket pocket but the tiny vial of nonprescription eyedrops he kept there was missing. Instead, he found a note he didn’t remember putting there.

He scanned it and felt like groaning. The 3x5 card from his secretary was a reminder that the institute’s annual Founder’s Ball was the coming weekend.

And he didn’t have a date. He frowned and tapped the card on the tabletop.

The prospect of going alone held no appeal. Attending the event was mandatory, and he’d never attend without a date.

What the hell, he thought. Given that the only pretty woman he wanted to date was Jennifer, he might as well bite the bullet and ask her to go with him.

She’ll probably say no. She’s never said yes any of the other times I’ve asked her out.

But just talking to her always made him smile—and he could use a smile this morning.

“Here you are—eggs over medium, French toast and bacon.” Jennifer slid the plate onto the tabletop in front of him.

Perfect timing, he thought.

“Would you like me to bring you some aspirin?” she asked, glancing down sideways at him.

Her comment was so far from his thoughts that he blinked in confusion. “What? Why?”

“You were frowning as if your head hurt. I thought you might have a headache.”

“Oh. No, I don’t have a headache. Not yet, anyway.” He held out the card. “I was reading this.”

She glanced at the note, her eyes scanning the black type. “The Founder’s Ball? It sounds very glamorous.”

“It’s black tie.” His shrug spoke volumes about his lack of interest in whether the event was sophisticated. “The institute holds the ball every year. The band is supposed to be excellent and I hear the food’s worth putting on a tux and tie—but it’s no fun to go alone. Which is why you should take pity on me and be my date.”

Jennifer brushed a strand of blond hair from her temple and fought the temptation to accept. The diner was located only a few blocks from the institute and many of its customers worked at the medical center. The women employees had been buzzing about the Founder’s Ball for weeks, discussing gowns, shoes, jewelry and hairstyles.

Enticing as it was to think about donning a glamorous dress to go dancing with Chance, however, she knew she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She slipped the card onto the table next to his hand, taking care not to let her fingers touch his. She’d made that mistake once and the shock of awareness that hit her when she’d brushed against him had rocked her. “Thank you for asking me, though.”

“Don’t thank me.” His deep voice was almost a growl, although his dark eyes were rueful. “Just say yes.”

She shook her head. “I told you. I never date customers.”

He leaned back against the padded vinyl leather and tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowing consideringly over her. “What if I wasn’t a customer?”

The question startled Jennifer and she laughed. “Too late. You’re already a customer.”

“So you don’t date ex-customers, either?”

She shook her head.

“Damn.”

“I have to get back to work,” she told him, smiling as he tipped his mug at her in salute before she turned and walked away.

“What’s up with Dr. Hunk?” Yolanda asked the moment Jennifer joined her behind the long counter.

“I think he worked late last night,” Jennifer responded, walking past her to the big coffee urn. She checked the levels and found one nearly empty so she measured ground coffee into a fresh paper filter.

“Is that all?” Yolanda joined Jennifer and leaned forward to peer into her face, her dark eyes assessing. “It looked like he was asking you out again.”

“He did,” Jennifer admitted.

“I hope you said yes this time.”

“Of course not. You know I won’t go out with a customer,” Jennifer reminded her. She’d made up the rule on the spur-of-the-moment the first week she’d worked at the diner. To her surprise, the man who’d asked her out seemed to accept it with regret but little argument. She’d used the excuse several times since with the same results and no one had ever tempted her to change her mind—until Chance.

Yolanda rolled her eyes. “That’s such a crock, Jennifer. You could make an exception.” She glanced over her shoulder at the booth where Chance sat and sighed loudly. “Goodness knows, I certainly would for Dr. D.”

Jennifer laughed. “Don’t you think your husband might object?”

“Hmm. Good point.” Yolanda’s dimples formed as she grinned, her eyes flashing mischievously.

“Exactly,” Jennifer said with emphasis. She tossed the used filter with its damp coffee grounds into the trash bin and slipped the new one into the big coffeemaker. “You’d have to say no, too, but for different reasons. The charming Dr. Demetrios will just have to find another Cinderella to take to the ball.”

“To the ball?” Yolanda repeated, intrigued. “Do you mean, literally to a ball?”

“Actually, yes. He asked me to go to the Armstrong Fertility Institute Founder’s Ball with him.”

“What?” Yolanda’s shriek drew the attention of the diners at the long counter behind them. She glanced at them, waved a hand to tell them to return to their bacon and eggs and focused on Jennifer. “Spill, girlfriend,” she hissed. “I want details.”

“That’s all I’ve got,” Jennifer protested. “He asked me to be his date for the Founder’s Ball and I turned him down.”

“I can’t believe you refused a chance to go to that shindig. It’s one of Boston’s biggest parties!”

A third waitress joined them to collect a full coffeepot. Yolanda caught her sleeve. “Shirley, you’re not going to believe this.”

The red-haired woman paused, tucking her order pad into her pocket and eyeing Yolanda with interest. “What?”

“Dr. Demetrios asked Jennifer to go to the Founder’s Ball with him—and she turned him down!”

Shirley’s eyes widened. “Jennifer, you can’t say no! There’s no way Yolanda and I will ever get an invitation so you have to go, then come back and tell us all about it.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “I can’t go out with Dr. Demetrios, Shirley. If I did, no one would ever again accept my I-don’t-date-customers rule,” Jennifer protested.

“Not if they don’t know—so swear Dr. D to secrecy and make him promise not to tell anyone,” Yolanda said promptly. “He’s been trying to get you to go out with him for months—he’ll swear not to tell anyone you broke your rule.”

“Even if I wanted to go, I couldn’t,” Jennifer continued, trying a different argument. “The affair is black tie. I have nothing to wear—no dress, no shoes, no jewelry. It’s not as if I can go in my best jeans.”

Shirley dismissed the problem with a wave of her hand. “My best friend from high school is half owner of a high-end consignment shop. She can get you whatever you might need and it won’t cost you a thing. She owes me a favor. I’ll ask her to let us take everything home for the weekend and I’ll return them on Monday morning before the shop opens. I’m sure she’ll let us.”

A fourth waitress joined them in time to hear Shirley’s comments and her lively face lit with curiosity. “Who’s getting a designer dress and jewelry?”

“Jennifer—Dr. D asked her to go to the Founder’s Ball with him.”

“No way!” Linda’s eyes widened with surprise and delight. “Yeah, Jennifer! You’re going, of course,” she said with absolute conviction.

“I can’t—you know I never date customers,” Jennifer replied.

“Huh,” Yolanda snorted. “You don’t date. Period. I don’t think you’ve gone out with anyone but the three of us since you started working here.”

“That’s true,” Shirley conceded and nodded with firm agreement. “You’ve got to expand your horizons, Jennifer. Not that we don’t love having you join us for outings after work and weekends, but honey—” she laid a hand on Jennifer’s forearm and leaned closer, fixing her with a solemn gaze “—you seriously need to go out with a man.”

“And get to know him—in the biblical sense,” Linda added.

“I’m not hooking up with a guy for sex,” Jennifer protested.

“Who said it was just for sex?” Yolanda countered. “The doc is the perfect guy for a weekend fling—he’s nice, you’ve seen him nearly every day for the past six months so you can be sure he’s not an ax murderer, he’s interested in you and he has a reputation for never getting involved long-term with women.” She ticked off her arguments one-by-one on the fingers of her right hand. “You’ll have a great time and if you end up spending the weekend having great sex, well…that’s just an added benefit. You’ve been living like a nun and Chance is the perfect man to end that state.”

“I couldn’t possibly spend the weekend with anyone,” Jennifer protested, though she was shocked at how tempted she was by the idea.

She hadn’t dressed up in an evening gown and attended a black-tie party since before her short-lived marriage to Patrick, her daughter’s father. That Harvest Ball at the country club in her small Illinois hometown had been one of many such events, distinguished only because it had been the last dinner dance she’d attended before leaving for college.

A year later, she’d been married, divorced, and was six months pregnant with her little girl.

That was over five years ago and she hadn’t worn a party dress, gone out on a date, nor slept with a man since. No wonder she was tempted, she thought. With an effort, she forced herself to focus on another reason to convince her friends she couldn’t go to the Founder’s Ball with Chance.

“And besides,” she added, “I probably couldn’t find a babysitter for Annie for an evening.”

“That’s absolutely not a problem,” Linda assured her. “My kids would love to have her spend the weekend. Just yesterday they were asking when Annie was coming over again. We’ll pick her up before your date and bring her home late Sunday afternoon.”

Jennifer paused, staring at the trio of faces. Could she do this? More important, should she do this?

“Come on,” Yolanda coaxed. “You know you want to.”

“I shouldn’t…” Jennifer began. She glanced over her shoulder and found Chance watching her, his dark eyes unreadable. The instant shiver of awareness was nothing new—he always elicited this response in her. He made her yearn, made her want.

Seeing his unfailing gentleness with elderly Mrs. Morgenstern when she routinely stopped him in the diner to ask for medical advice had made Jennifer sharply aware of the lack of a man’s strength in her own life. And the charm and dry wit with which he deftly turned aside the inevitable passes from women, all without hurting their feelings, made her wonder if his reputation as a playboy was true. He seemed to genuinely like women and go out of his way to be kind, no matter their age or degree of beauty.

All of which only increased her attraction to him—which made her more wary than ever. Her ex-husband had been charming and handsome and she’d learned to her sorrow that his goodness was a facade. Pretty words and a handsome face had concealed a shallow, faithless heart. And after her bad experience with Patrick, Jennifer questioned her own judgment when it came to men. Everything about Chance drove her to obey the urging of her body to give in and say yes. But how could she be sure Chance was one of the good guys? Should she give in just this once? Could she set aside her self-imposed strict rules—and her role as responsible single mother—and grab a few stolen hours of fun for herself?

“Go on, tell him yes,” Shirley urged in a whisper behind her.

Jennifer looked back at her friends. Their faces held nearly identical expressions of encouragement and affection.

“Are you sure you don’t mind having Annie sleep over for the weekend?” she asked Linda.

“I’m positive!”

With sudden, uncharacteristic impulsiveness, Jennifer nodded abruptly. “Then I’ll do it.”

“Yes.” Yolanda pumped her fist in the air and laughed.

Linda leaned closer. “Go tell him,” she prodded in a whisper. “Right now.” She caught Jennifer’s shoulders and turned her around, giving her a little nudge toward the booth where Chance sat, frowning down at his mug of coffee.

Jennifer took a deep breath. She could hear her coworkers whispering as she walked away from them and couldn’t suppress a smile. The three women were great friends and staunch supporters. She didn’t doubt they were sincere when they’d told her they expected a full report on the institute’s glamorous event—and every detail about her night out with the sexy doctor.

Chance looked up just as she reached his booth.

“If the invitation is still open, I’d love to go to the Founder’s Ball with you,” Jennifer said without preamble.

His mouth curved in a grin and Jennifer didn’t miss the male satisfaction and what she thought was a gleam of triumph in his dark eyes.

“It’s definitely still open.”

“Good.” She took her order pad and a pen from her pocket. “It’s this weekend, isn’t it? What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at eight on Saturday. I need your address,” he added.

“Right.” She nodded, scribbled her street and apartment number on the back of an order slip, tore if off the pad and handed it to him. The slow, intimate smile he gave her sent a shiver of heated apprehension spiraling up her spine and she felt her cheeks warm. “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you Saturday.” She turned to walk away.

“Jennifer.” The seductive deep drawl stopped her and she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Thanks for saying yes.”

“You’re welcome.” She walked back to the counter, feeling his gaze between her shoulder blades like a caress. Fortunately, a customer stopped her and during their ensuing conversation, Chance paid his check and left the diner.

She wasn’t comfortable knowing she was always aware of him on some level, she thought with stark honesty. Her senses appeared to be sharply tuned to him whenever he was around her. She felt his presence and departure like a tangible force each time he entered or left the diner. Pretending to ignore him hadn’t solved the problem, nor had self lectures about the sheer stupidity of giving in to the attraction.

After her divorce, she’d vowed she wouldn’t subject her daughter to a series of men friends rotating through their lives. Jennifer had spent her childhood watching substitute fathers move in and out of her mother’s home after her parents’ divorce. When the third very nice man moved on and her mother quickly fell in love with a fourth, Jennifer had stopped viewing any of her mother’s boyfriends as permanent fixtures. Her mother was currently headed for divorce court for the sixth time.

Because Jennifer’s grandparents were affluent, socially prominent members of the community, she’d never wanted for the necessities of food, clothing, good schools and a lovely home. But her life felt lonely and emotionally insecure. Lunch at the country club with her grandmother and piles of exquisitely wrapped presents under the Christmas tree didn’t compensate for the lack of security under her mother’s roof.

She’d married young while still in college and dreamed of a life filled with home and family. With stars in her eyes, she’d quit college to take a full-time job to support her husband, Patrick, a pre-med student. Six months after the wedding, she’d been devastated when Patrick was furious the night she told him she was pregnant. He’d accused her of lying about taking birth control pills and he moved out of their apartment within a week, immediately filing for divorce. He’d told her he needed a working wife whose first commitment was to him and he had no room in his life for a child. He’d even agreed to give her full custody and let her raise their baby alone since he had no interest in visitation rights. In return, she agreed not to request child support payments from him.

When he told their mutual friends that the divorce was Jennifer’s choice, they reacted by ostracizing her and Jennifer was devastated. Much as she hated the snubs and vicious whisperings behind her back, however, she refused to be drawn into a mud-slinging match.

The divorce was final when Jennifer was six months pregnant. Three months later, she gave birth to Annie, a beautiful six-and-a-half-pound, red-haired baby girl with big blue eyes.

In the five years since Annie’s birth, Jennifer had kept her vow to create a better life for her daughter than the one she’d known. She went to work, attended night classes to finish her college degree, and spent her free time with her little girl. Men occasionally asked her out but she turned them down without a single regret. If celibacy and a solo adult life was the cost of giving Annie a secure, quiet life then it was a small price to pay.

Jennifer knew her friends were convinced she needed an adult social life, including a man to share her bed. But she was committed to keeping her vow to not repeat her mother’s mistakes. She swore her friends to silence, and they all promised not to tell any interested men about Annie or other details of her life. Fortunately, she hadn’t met anyone that stirred more than mild interest and she’d certainly never considered sleeping with anyone—until Chance walked into the diner and smiled at her.

Since then, her sleep had been haunted by vivid dreams of making love with him.

Perhaps going out with him will get him out of my system, she thought.

Finishing her shift at two o’clock that afternoon, Jennifer hurried home to collect her daughter from the babysitter. She chatted for a few moments with the spry seventy-eight-year-old Margaret Sullivan, before she and Annie said goodbye and headed across the hall to their own apartment. On the day they’d moved in, Margaret had knocked on their door with a plate of warm cookies and a welcoming smile. When Jennifer’s babysitter moved away, Margaret volunteered to have Annie stay with her while Jennifer worked or attended classes and the three had formed a close, familylike relationship.

“How was school today, Annie?” Jennifer asked when they were home in their own small kitchen. She filled the kettle at the sink and set it on the stove, switching on the burner.

“Fine,” Annie replied as she carefully took three small plates from the lower cabinet next to the sink. “Me and Melinda are working on a project.”

“Really? What kind of project?” Jennifer took two mugs from the cupboard. At the small corner table, Annie was carefully arranging four peanut butter cookies on one of the plates.

“We’re building a miniature house with a kennel for our dogs.” Annie shifted one of the cookies a bit to the left, eyed the plate critically, then nodded with approval. She looked up at Jennifer, her blue eyes glowing with fervor. “We’re practicing for when we get our real dogs.”

“I see.” Jennifer caught her daughter in a quick hug, pressing a kiss against the silky red-gold curls. The teakettle whistled a warning and she released Annie to turn off the burner. Pouring hot water into the mugs, she dropped an English Breakfast tea bag into hers and stirred hot chocolate mix into Annie’s, then carried them over to the table. The little girl perched on a chair, legs swinging with enthusiasm. “You know, honey,” Jennifer began, “it’s going to be a while before we can have a dog.” She set the gently steaming mug of chocolate in front of Annie and took the chair opposite.

“I know.” Annie gave her mother a serene smile and stirred her drink with single-minded concentration.

“Not that I wouldn’t like to have a dog, too,” Jennifer continued. “But the landlord won’t let us have pets in the apartment.”

“It’s all right, Mommy,” Annie said. She sipped the chocolate from her spoon, made a small sound of satisfaction and drank from her mug. “I’m going to ask Santa for a dog this Christmas.” She narrowed her eyes consideringly. “I think we need a house with a yard, too, don’t you?”

“Uh…sure.” Jennifer had no idea why Annie had decided that Santa would deliver a dog and a house by Christmas. But it’s only spring, she thought, and with luck, I can distract her and she’ll forget about it by this winter. Given that Annie had previously demonstrated a focused determination normally found in much older children, Jennifer wasn’t convinced the delay would distract her daughter. Nevertheless, it was the only plan she had. “What did you and Melinda use to build your miniature house?”

Jennifer’s attempt to distract Annie worked as the little girl launched into an enthusiastic description of the two shoe boxes they’d taped together and how they’d used scissors to cut out dog photos from a magazine.

The mugs were half-empty before Annie’s recital of the day’s events was exhausted. Jennifer eyed her over the rim of her tea mug and smiled as her daughter broke off a chunk of peanut butter cookie and tucked it neatly into her mouth.

“I have a surprise for you, Annie,” she said. “How would you like to have a sleepover at Jake and Suzie’s house this weekend?”

“Oooh, yes!” Annie bounced in her chair, her eyes lit with excitement. “May I take my backpack and my Lilia-Mae doll and my Enchanted Pony so Suzie and I can play with them?”

“Yes, of course.” Jennifer laughed when Annie jumped off her chair and threw herself into her mother’s arms, climbing into her lap as she listed all the many things she wanted to take with her.

Jennifer felt a stab of misgiving as she cuddled the warm, vibrant little body in her arms. This quiet apartment with Annie was her real life and she loved it—a world filled with her beautiful little girl and her busy days with work and college classes. A date with Chance Demetrios—at the ritzy Founder’s Ball, no less—was a huge step outside the constraints of the life she’d built.

But her friends were right, too, she realized. Sometimes, she was lonely and longed for an emotional—and physical—connection with a partner. There was no room for a permanent man in her life just now and wouldn’t be for the foreseeable future. But just for one night, perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm if she seized the opportunity to play Cinderella before returning to the quiet rhythm of her busy days with Annie.

Jennifer rested her cheek against her daughter’s silky red-gold curls, breathed in her little-girl smell of shampoo, soap and crayons, and contentedly listened to Annie’s excited plans for spending the weekend with her friends.

Chance hadn’t recognized the street address that Jennifer had scribbled on the note after she had accepted his invitation so he’d made a mental note to check it out later. He tucked the paper safely away in his pocket until later that evening, when he turned on his laptop to browse the Internet. It took his computer only a few moments to search, find a street map of Boston and pinpoint Jennifer’s neighborhood.

He frowned at the screen, trying to visualize the area. He thought her apartment might be located within a mile or two of the free clinic where he volunteered. He typed in a request for directions from his own town house, in an upscale Boston neighborhood, to Jennifer’s address. The resultant map details confirmed his guess that her street wasn’t more than a short cab drive and probably within walking distance from the free clinic. The two addresses were in a shabby though respectable area of Boston, not far from his own home in actual miles but light-years away in real-estate prices.

Chance didn’t give a damn that Jennifer’s address highlighted the disparity in their incomes but it drove home the fact that he knew little about her life away from the diner.

He’d noticed her sitting in a back booth to study on her coffee breaks at the diner and when he’d commented, she’d told him that she was taking college classes. But beyond being a student and working as a waitress, she was an enigma to him. He wondered if she lived alone or shared an apartment with a fellow student.

During their brief conversations, she’d never mentioned her family and he realized that he didn’t know if she had any sisters or brothers, or if her parents lived here in Boston. He couldn’t help but wonder what her childhood had been like, what kind of a family she came from, and where she’d grown up. Jennifer treated Mrs. Blake, the elderly widow who counted out coins to pay for her daily coffee and donut, with the same friendly respect that she gave to the head of the Armstrong Fertility Institute. He’d never seen her react as if any of the high-powered doctors or scientists who frequented the diner intimidated her in the slightest.

Which made him think she must have grown accustomed to dealing with powerful, influential people before she arrived at the Coach House Diner.

She didn’t seem to recognize the Demetrios name, however, which indicated to him that while her family may have been affluent, they didn’t move in his parents’ stratified circle. The Demetrios shipping empire had made his family very, very rich and by definition, made him heir to an obscenely large fortune. Chance knew his father felt he’d turned his back on the family business when he chose to become a doctor. The choice had driven a wedge between him and his parents, especially his father. Much as he loved them, however, he couldn’t ignore the deep, passionate commitment he felt to medicine.

He wondered if Jennifer’s parents were happy with her career choice of waitress and part-time college student.

Which brought him full circle, he realized, to the fact that he was apparently bewitched by every facet of the mysterious Miss Labeaux.

That there was much he didn’t know about the beautiful blonde only made her more intriguing. Anticipation curled through his midsection.

I’ll find out Saturday night, he reflected.

Chapter Two

At seven-fifteen on Saturday night, Jennifer was well on her way to being transformed into Cinderella. Linda, Yolanda and Shirley had knocked on her door at 5:00 p.m., laden with bags. They’d dropped boxes, bags and bottles atop her bed before they raided her kitchen for wineglasses. After pouring wine and setting out a tray of crackers and cheese on her dresser, they had shooed her into the shower.

She had shampooed and scrubbed with Linda’s gift of plumeria-scented gel before toweling off and smoothing the matching floral lotion over her skin. She had heard Annie’s giggles over the throb of music from the radio on her bedside table and when she had pulled on her robe and left the bathroom, she had found Annie dancing with Yolanda. The two had twirled and spun in the small carpeted space at the foot of the bed while they sang along with a 1980s disco song.

Their enthusiasm had far outweighed their vocal talents and Jennifer had laughed as the song ended with a flourish.

Jennifer replayed the fresh memories just made over the past hour. “Hi, Mommy.” Annie left Yolanda and wrapped her arms around Jennifer’s waist, dimples flashing in her flushed face as she grinned up at her. “We’re disco dancing.”

“I see that,” Jennifer told her. “Very impressive.”

“But now I have to dry your mom’s hair,” Yolanda said, handing Jennifer a glass of wine and motioning her to have a seat on a chair she’d placed at the end of the bed. “We’ll dance more later, okay, Annie?”

“Okay,” the little girl agreed promptly. She curled up on the bed and settled in to watch as Yolanda worked on Jennifer’s damp hair.

Yolanda wielded blow dryer and curling iron with expertise and a half hour later, stood back to eye Jennifer.

“Perfect,” she declared with satisfaction.

“Will you do my hair next, Yolanda?” Annie asked, gathering fistfuls of red-gold curls and bunching a handful of the silky mass on each side of her head.

“Absolutely, kiddo.” Yolanda grinned at her. “Shirley’s going to help your mom with her makeup in the bathroom. You can take her place over here.”

Jennifer left Annie chattering away as Yolanda French-braided her long curls. In the bathroom, Shirley upended a brocade bag of makeup onto the small countertop and lined up pots of eyeshadow, brushes for the loose powder, several tubes of lipstick and a handful of lip color pencils.

Jennifer heard Annie chattering and laughing with Yolanda as she applied makeup and Shirley offered advice. At last, she slicked lush color on her lips and smoothed clear gloss over the deep red lipstick, then stood back to critically view the effect.

The mauve eyeshadow turned her eyes a deeper blue, smoky and mysterious, set within a thicket of dark lashes. Subtle rose color tinted her cheeks. She tilted her head, loving the soft brush of silky blond curls against her nape and temples.

“Perfect,” Shirley pronounced, standing behind her. Their gazes met in the mirror. “Just perfect. You look fabulous, girlfriend. Time to get dressed.”

“Ahem.” Jennifer loudly cleared her throat and struck a pose in the doorway.

“Ooh, Mommy.” Annie’s awestruck voice reflected the delight shining in her widened blue eyes. “You look just like a princess.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jennifer caught her daughter close, receiving a tight hug in return. “Now you have to scoot,” she said, giving her one last hug before looking down at her. “Be good for Linda, okay? And have fun.”

“I will.” Annie twirled away to grab her backpack. “I’ll tell you all about it when I come home on Sunday.”

“I can’t wait,” Jennifer assured her solemnly, exchanging a glance with Linda that shared a wry understanding, one mother to another.

Fifteen minutes later, Jennifer waved goodbye from the window as her friends climbed into their cars on the street below. Annie and Linda paused to wave up at her and moments later, the brake lights of Linda’s blue sedan disappeared around the corner at the end of the block.

After the laughter, chatter and teasing advice of her friends, the apartment seemed too quiet with only the radio for company. The air in the room felt hushed and expectant, as if the place itself was waiting. Jennifer swept the neat living room with a quick glance before walking into her bedroom to collect the satin wrap that matched her dress.

Turning to leave, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the long mirror mounted on the back of her bedroom door. Jennifer paused—the woman staring back at her seemed like a stranger. The scarlet gown fit as if custom-sewn for her alone. It had a square neckline, cut low across the swell of her breasts, with tiny cap sleeves and a bodice that hugged her narrow waist. The skirt was made up of yards of floating chiffon and lace and the toes of red, strappy high heels peeked from beneath the hem.

She wore her few pieces of good jewelry—three narrow gold bangle bracelets inset with tiny diamonds and small diamond studs in the lobes of her ears. Around her neck she wore her silver locket with Annie’s picture. She knew it didn’t quite match, but she’d never taken it off. Yolanda had pinned her caramel-blond curls atop her head in a soft upsweep that left the line of her throat bare, but wisps curled down her neck at the back.

The designer dress truly made her feel like Cinderella, waiting for the Prince to take her to the ball. The fanciful thought made her smile as she thought ruefully of her date’s playboy reputation.

A knock sounded on the outer door and Jennifer froze. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she pressed the flat of her hand to her abdomen, drawing a deep breath and reaching for calmness. Then she quickly left the bedroom and crossed the living room where a cautious glance through the hall door’s peephole sent her heartbeat racing once again. She drew another deep breath, slowly exhaled and opened the door.

Chance stood just outside in the hallway. He wore a classic black tuxedo, a white formal shirt fastened with onyx studs, a black bow tie and polished black dress shoes. She’d thought him handsome in casual jeans and leather jacket, but she realized helplessly that he was undeniably heart-stopping in formal wear. His gaze swept over her from head to toe and back again without the slightest attempt to conceal his interest.

“Hello.” His deep voice drew out the word, the raspy growl loaded with undercurrents.

“Hello.” Jennifer felt the brush of his gaze and desire curled, heating her skin, making it tingle with awareness.

“Ready to go?” Chance asked. He hadn’t missed her reaction to his slow appraisal and the throb of arousal beat through his veins as he watched a faint flush move up her throat to tint her cheeks. She lowered her lashes, concealing her eyes.

“I just need to collect my purse.” She left him to cross the room.

He watched her walk away, his gaze intent on the gown’s long skirt. It swayed with each step, outlining the feminine curve of her hips and thighs with tantalizing briefness. The nape of her neck and the pale skin of her back to just above her narrow waist was bare, framed by crimson lace and a few loose curls. She disappeared through a doorway, momentarily releasing him from the spell that held him.

His gaze skimmed the room. The apartment was as neat as the rest of the old, well-maintained building and Jennifer’s living space held a warmth that was missing in his professionally decorated town house. A blue and cream-colored afghan draped over one arm of a white-painted wood rocking chair that sat at right angles to an overstuffed blue sofa. A framed poster of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art hung on the wall above the sofa. At the far end of the room, a bookcase was stuffed with hardcovers and paperbacks, the overflow stacked in a bright pile at one end. Chance resisted the urge to walk closer and inspect the titles on the spines, curious to learn what she read. A television and DVD player took up the two shelves on a low cabinet against one wall and beyond, a kitchen area boasted a white-painted table with four chairs pushed up to it. A bright blue cloth runner ran down the center while a small stack of notebooks and what looked like a thick textbook were spread out over one end.

Just as he was about to step over the threshold, drawn inexorably by the rooms that he instinctively knew would give him a deeper insight into Jennifer, she reappeared.

“Got everything?” he asked as he watched her walk toward him. Heat stirred in his gut, just as it did each time he saw her at the diner.

“Yes.” She stepped into the hall, turning briefly to lock the door before they moved toward the elevator.

Outside, the spring night was slightly chilly and Jennifer draped the long satin wrap around her shoulders and throat. She tossed one crimson end over her shoulder and let it drape down her back, covering her bare shoulder blades above the gown’s skirt.

“Cold?” Chance asked as he keyed the lock and opened the door of a sleek black Jaguar sedan parked at the curb.

“Just a little,” Jennifer murmured, sliding into the low seat.

“I’ll turn the heater on in a second.” Chance bent to tuck her skirt out of the way and closed the door.

A moment later, he slid into the driver’s seat beside her.

Jennifer fastened her seat belt and stroked her fingertips over the butter-soft leather of the seat. Her gaze swept the compact, luxurious interior. “Nice car,” she said, breathing in the faint scent of leather and men’s cologne.

“Thanks.” Chance grinned at her and winked. “I like it.” His fingers moved over a series of buttons on the dash and heated air brushed Jennifer’s toes. The seat warmed beneath her. “How’s that?” he asked.

“Lovely.” She smiled at him, feeling distinctly cosseted.

“Good—let me know if you want it warmer.” He glanced in the mirrors, shifted into gear and the Jag pulled smoothly away from the curb.

“Where is the ball being held?” Jennifer inquired as they left her block and headed downtown.

“Same place as last year, apparently,” Chance replied with a sideways glance and named a posh hotel that was fairly new but built in a traditional turn-of-the-century style. It had become an instant Boston landmark, its dining room and ballrooms favored by society mavens.

“I’ve never been there,” Jennifer said, intrigued. “But I read an article in the Boston Herald about the grand opening. The design alone sounded fabulous.”

“Rumor has it the financier was a mad count from Austria who was a distant relative of Dracula.”

“What?” Jennifer’s gaze flew to his. His dark eyes were lit with amusement. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He raised his hand, palm out. “I swear someone actually told me that.”

“And did you believe them?” Jennifer asked with a laugh.

“Not a word.”

“Excellent,” she responded promptly. “I’m glad to know you’re a sensible man.”

“Oh, I’m sensible,” he replied. “Now if you’d said I was a ‘nice, safe’ guy, I would have had to rethink my answer.”

She shot him a chastening look from beneath her lashes and found his mouth curved in a half smile that set awareness humming through her torso. “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll ask you why.” With an abrupt change of subject, she pointed out the window. “Isn’t that the hotel?”

Chance lifted a brow and his gaze met hers for a brief moment before he nodded, downshifting as he turned out of traffic and drove beneath the portico.

The lobby was a fascinating blend of old and new, with jewel-toned, blown-glass Chihuly light fixtures hanging from boxed ceilings. A broad expanse of thick black and gold carpeting covered the floors, and round seats upholstered in gold were arranged at intervals between the reception desk and the wide hallway on their left.

Jennifer loosened her wrap from her throat and let it slip down her arms to catch at her elbows. Chance took her hand and tucked it through the bend of his arm, the move securing her against his side.

She didn’t shift away from the press of his body against hers although she had the feeling she was playing with fire. She was all too aware of his reputation with women; in fact, she’d overheard several diner conversations about the subject between female employees from the institute. She didn’t doubt that Chance had plans for ending the evening with her in his bed. Which left only one question—did she want the same thing?

She was certainly attracted to him. She also knew that their conversations over the past six months had led to her feeling more than just physically drawn to him. Still, she wasn’t sure if she wanted more from this evening than the sheer pleasure of an adult night out with a handsome man. And since she was undecided, she told herself to stop worrying and simply enjoy the party.

Chance led her down the wide hallway, one side lined with upscale shops. Some were filled with jewelry and designer clothing while several stores resembled Aladdin’s cave, aglow with colorful glassware and gifts. Directly across from the shops was a long bank of elevators.

“Going up?” a man called, holding the door of a half-filled car.

“Yes, thanks,” Chance told him, handing Jennifer ahead of him into the elevator.

They shifted to the rear of the car as three other couples entered and Jennifer found herself standing in front of Chance. When the elevator stopped on the next floor up and several other people entered, the crowd shifted backward once again, compressing the free space even farther.

Jennifer stepped nearer to Chance to avoid being bumped by the large man in front of her and Chance slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer and into the shelter of his body. By necessity, however, the move brought her bare back flush against his chest, his arm a warm bar across her midriff.

She felt surrounded by him. Each breath she took drew in the faint scent of his cologne and shifted the texture of his black jacket against her mostly bare arms, pressed the round black shirt studs against her waist.

She closed her eyes, flooded by sensations as her awareness of him intensified. She wanted to sink against his powerful body, wanted to pull his arms closer and wrap them around her, but instead, she forced her eyes open. And caught her breath when she gazed directly into the mirrored elevator wall and the reflection of Chance’s heavy-lidded eyes. Heat flooded her, matching the burn in his dark stare.

She stood still and his hand tightened at her waist, muscles flexing in the hard body that held her close. The moment was taut with silent tension. She nearly groaned with frustration when the connection was abruptly broken by the ping of the elevator when it came to a smooth stop. The doors opened with an audible whoosh, the sound further shattering the moment.

“Our floor,” Chance murmured in her ear, his voice deeper, rougher.

Jennifer didn’t reply, unsure if her voice would actually function. She and Chance moved with the crowd, conversation unnecessary amid the laughter and chatter. Chance’s hand rested at the small of her back, a warm weight that tied her to him as surely as if it were an invisible chain.

Never had she been so conscious of the differences between male and female, nor so compelled to explore the undeniable pull on her senses that drew her inexorably toward him.

They reached a wide archway and the guests around them slowed, forming a straggling line as they waited to enter the dining room.

“Dinner should be great,” Chance murmured. “I happen to know one of the chefs.” He took a square, gold-embossed, cream-colored card from his inner jacket pocket as the line moved forward.

“Good evening, Dr. Demetrios.” The tuxedo-clad man standing just outside the door smiled with warmth, nodding at Jennifer. “Ma’am.”

“Hello, Frank,” Chance replied. “Tell your boss I’m glad he’s doing the catering tonight. I was seriously considering skipping the dinner until I heard he was the chef.”

“I’ll tell him.” The man’s smile broadened. He took the invitation from Chance and consulted a seating chart. “You and your lady are with the senator and his wife at a front table.” He snapped his fingers and a waiter instantly appeared. “Joseph, show the doctor and his guest to table number four.”

“Yes, sir. This way, please.” The young man sketched a quick, respectful nod and led the way across the room.

Jennifer tried not to stare as they crossed the beautifully appointed art-deco dining room. White linen tablecloths covered round tables, each set for eight guests with polished silverware, gold-trimmed china, sparkling crystal glasses and fresh floral centerpieces. Crystal chandeliers were spaced at intervals down the ceiling and glittered and gleamed, adding their brilliance to the recessed lighting in the boxed ceiling.

“Chance!” A tall man with a mane of white hair and sun lines fanning from the edges of shrewd blue eyes stood as they reached a table just to the left of the speaker’s podium. “I told Emily Armstrong to make sure we sat at your table. I’m glad it worked out.”

“Hello, Archie.” Chance shook the man’s outstretched hand before draping an arm over Jennifer’s shoulder. “Jennifer, this is Senator Claxton and his wife, Evelyn. Their son, Ben, was my best friend from kindergarten through college. Archie and Evelyn, this is Jennifer Labeaux.”

“Good evening,” Jennifer held out her hand and received a firm, warm handshake.

“Glad to meet you, Jennifer,” the senator said, his eyes kind, his smile welcoming.

Seated on his left, his wife nodded and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, dear.” The silver-haired woman leaned forward. “We must make a pact to keep Archie and Chance from talking politics or funding for medical research all during dinner. When they get started, they argue for hours.”

“Then we definitely need to divert them,” Jennifer told her as she slipped into the chair Chance held. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

“Excellent.” Evelyn nodded with approval.

“Now, Evie,” her husband protested as he and Chance settled into their seats. “I don’t know how you can object to a little friendly discussion, especially since tonight is a fundraiser for the institute and it’s one of your pet projects.”

“Oh, I certainly want to raise money for research,” Evelyn said serenely. “I just don’t want you and Chance to spend all evening discussing nothing but political funding. Especially when there’s bound to be so many other interesting subjects to talk about tonight. Like for instance,” she continued as she tilted her head, her voice lowering, “the not-quite-divorced starlet who just walked in on the arm of a certain land-development billionaire. Don’t stare!” She caught the sleeve of her husband’s tuxedo jacket to keep him from turning to look.

“Shoot, Evie,” the senator grumbled. “How do you expect me not to react when you hit me with one of your bombshells?”

“I’m continually amazed at the depth of your knowledge about society’s movers and shakers and the gossip they stir up,” Chance teased. He lounged in his seat, one arm resting across the gold-trimmed back of Jennifer’s chair. His fingers moved lazily, brushing her arm just below the edge of her capped sleeve. Goose bumps lifted in the wake of his touch.

“A senator’s wife has to have something to occupy her while her husband is off doing governmental things,” the older woman told him. “I just happen to have access to a very well-informed network of gossips.” She winked at Jennifer.

Jennifer laughed, charmed by the couple. Before she could respond, however, two other couples arrived to take their seats at the table and there was an ensuing flurry of introductions and conversation.

She felt as if she’d been dropped back in time to the country club in her hometown. The Claxtons reminded her of a couple who had been longtime friends of her grandparents and their comfortable, loving repartee had her laughing out loud along with Chance. They clearly adored Chance, too, which Jennifer took as an endorsement of her growing conviction that he was definitely one of the good guys.

One of the other couples at the table had a four-year-old daughter and Jennifer had to make a conscious effort to keep from sharing stories about Annie at that age. The husband was a TV producer and his wife was a local Boston news anchor. Jennifer often watched her on the late-night broadcast and was delighted to learn that she was every bit as nice in person as she seemed on television.

When dinner—which was truly delicious—was finished, the doors were opened into the adjoining ballroom. Lush music filled the high-ceilinged room from the orchestra seated on a dais, edged with potted palms, at the far end of the polished floor.

Shoulder propped against the wall, his hands thrust into his pockets, Chance waited at the edge of the ballroom while Jennifer disappeared into the ladies’ room.

“Hey, Chance.”

The tap on his shoulder had him straightening from the wall. Behind him were Paul Armstrong and his siblings Derek and Lisa.

“Evening, everybody,” Chance smiled at the twin brothers and winked at the petite, dark-haired Lisa. The two men wore traditional black tuxedos with pristine white shirts and bow ties, while Lisa’s dress was clearly a designer gown, the oyster-and-bronze-colored dress held up by a collar of jewels. It left her back and shoulders bare and Chance reflected idly that both she, and her brothers, looked every bit the society powerhouses they were. “This is quite a party.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Lisa said with a smile of satisfaction, her gaze sweeping over the crowded ballroom. “Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“I’d say so,” Chance agreed. He flagged down a passing waiter and took champagne flutes from the tray, handing one to each of the Armstrongs. “Congratulations, you three. I’m guessing the institute’s coffers will grow after tonight.”

Chance lifted his glass in salute and they all sipped.

“Is the whole family here?” He glanced past the trio to briefly scan the crowd for their sister and her husband. “I don’t think I’ve seen Olivia and Jamison.”

“Oh, yes, they’re here,” Lisa assured him. “We were just talking with them.”

“Yeah,” Paul said with a shake of his head. “They were telling us about their adoption plans.”

“Adoption plans?” Chance echoed, surprised. “I didn’t know they were thinking of adopting a child.”

“Children—plural,” Derek told him. “Two brothers. The younger one is autistic.”

“Really?” Chance wasn’t sure what to say. Adopting an autistic child was a noble action but a very big challenge for the parents—especially when one parent was a busy junior senator with one eye on the White House. “That’s quite an undertaking.”

“I agree,” Lisa said, worry underlying her tone. “I can’t help but wonder if they’re truly prepared for the impact of a special-needs child in their lives.”

“I think Olivia is determined,” Paul said with a shrug. “Only time will tell but my money’s on her and Jamison.”

“Excuse me, sir.” A woman, carrying a clipboard and wearing a unobtrusive “Staff” button on her green evening gown, interrupted them with an apologetic look. “Senator Claxton would like to introduce all of the Armstrong family members to a friend of his.” She lowered her voice to murmur, “The senator asked me to tell you the friend is a potential donor to the research program at the institute.”

Derek slipped his arm through Lisa’s and clapped Paul on the shoulder. “Then we’d better go meet-and-greet.”

“Duty calls. See you later, Chance.” Paul let his brother urge him into motion.

“Have fun,” Lisa called over her shoulder as the three followed the clipboard-carrying woman into the throng.

Chance lifted his half-empty flute in farewell.

“Who are they?” Jennifer asked, having returned in time to see the Armstrongs leave.

Her voice stroked over his senses, lush, sensual, and when he turned, the sight of her did the same.

“My bosses—and coworkers,” he answered, dismissing them with a wave of the champagne class before deftly depositing the flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “They were called away to meet potential donors. For them tonight is both business and pleasure. I’d like you to meet them—hopefully we’ll see them later and I’ll introduce you.” He held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

She smiled shyly. “I’d love to.”

Chance swept Jennifer onto the floor. They circled the room amid the crowd of dancers, moving gracefully to the strains of a waltz.

“I feel like Cinderella,” Jennifer murmured.

Chance tucked her closer, his leg brushing between hers as he executed a turn. “Does that make me the prince?” he asked.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think the jury’s still out.”

“Damn.” His smile was wry. “And I’ve been on my best behavior tonight.”

His eyes twinkled, inviting her to laugh.

“After listening to you and the senator tell stories about the pranks you and his son pulled on your friends in school, I’m not sure you grasp the concept of ‘good behavior,’” she teased.

“Isn’t there a statute of limitations on being a dumb kid? Dave and I did most of that stuff in high school and college,” he protested.

“Nothing recently?” she pressed with a smile, unconvinced.

“No,” he assured her. “We had a lot of fun in school but my days of setting up practical jokes are over. I wish I had time to see more of the senator’s family,” he added. “But for the past few years, Ted and I have been too busy with our research.”

Her gaze softened. “You work too hard. Lately when you come into the diner, you seem exhausted.”

“There have been a few weeks when sleep was a rare commodity,” he admitted.

“What exactly do you do at the institute?” she asked, insatiably curious about every aspect of his life.

“I treat women with fertility issues,” he told her. “Part of my day is spent with patients in one-on-one appointments and procedures. The rest of the day is spent in the lab with my partner. We’re searching for a way to increase the success rate of implanted embryos, among our other projects.”

“That’s marvelous.” Jennifer couldn’t help but think about how difficult it must be for couples who wanted children but couldn’t conceive. Annie was the most important thing in her life—what if she couldn’t have gotten pregnant? “I can’t imagine doing anything more important.”

“That’s how I feel. How I’ve always felt.” His voice deepened, eyelashes half-lowering over dark eyes. “You understand and you’ve only known me a few months. I started bandaging the neighborhood dogs when I was eight years old but my parents still can’t understand why I want to be a doctor.”

“Why not?” Baffled, she searched his features. “Most parents would love to have a doctor in the family.”

“They wanted me to go into the family business. My father especially. He’s the CEO and he wanted me to take his place.” He shrugged. “If they’d had more children, it might have been easier for them to accept my decision but unfortunately I’m an only child.”

“It must have been difficult for you to disappoint them,” she murmured in response to the hint of regret underlying his words.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It was—still is, sometimes.”

“But you love your work so it’s worth it to you,” she guessed.

“Yes.” He smiled at her, his dark eyes warm. “How about you? Do you like working at the diner?”

“I do,” Jennifer replied. “I like the customers, the other waitresses, even my boss. I plan to keep working there until I get my degree.”

“What are you studying?”

“Education—I want to be a teacher.”

“Good for you.” His smile held approval and respect. “What kind of classes are you taking?”

“An English lit class, which I love,” she told him. “And a psychology class, which I don’t like very much. Still,” she added, “at least it’s not an art class.”

“You don’t like art?”

“Oh, I love art,” she assured him. “I love going to museums and looking at sculpture, oil paintings, watercolors…I especially love Impressionist paintings. But I have very little artistic talent, unfortunately, and I need a passing grade in several art classes to finish my degree.”

“How many hours are you at the diner every week?” he asked with a frown. “Aren’t you working full-time? How do you have time to study?”

She smiled impishly. “I don’t date. It’s amazing how much free time a woman has when she cuts men out of her life.”

His arms tightened, pulling her closer. “That’s got to change,” he growled.

She laughed, her breasts pressed to the muscled strength of his chest, his powerful thighs hard against hers. Excitement and heat shivered through her and she tilted her head back to look up at him. “But I have to earn my degree if I want to become a teacher—and I really, really want to be a teacher.”

His gaze studied her before he nodded. “I can see you being a teacher—little kids, right? Or are you thinking of teenagers?”

She shook her head. “I’m more interested in grade school.”

“Yet another thing we have in common,” he commented. “Both of us want careers where we can help people.”

She stared into his eyes, struck by the truth of his comment. They did seem to have a lot in common—and with each new revelation, her feelings for him deepened.

Conversation lapsed as they danced, the brush of their bodies casting a spell that held them, growing stronger, hotter with each movement of body against body as they swayed to the music.

When the orchestra took a break, Chase tipped his head back to look down at her.

“Thirsty?”

Jennifer nodded and Chance released her, his hand stroking in a warm caress down her arm before he threaded her fingers through his and led her from the crowded dance floor.

Guests strolled the periphery of the ballroom, sat with wineglasses at small tables, or gathered in groups to chat and observe the colorful swirl of other guests in the center of the room.

The champagne fountain sat on a white linen-covered table. Chance handed a filled crystal flute to Jennifer and lifted a second one.

“Hello, Chance. Frank told me you were here.”

Jennifer looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening at the lanky, blond man in a white chef’s coat. His features were movie-star handsome and a counterpoint to Chance’s dark masculinity.

“Jordan,” Chance greeted him with a wide grin. The two men shook hands and then Chance slipped his free hand around Jennifer’s waist to draw her closer. “Jennifer, this is Jordan Massey, the best chef in Boston.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jennifer.” The swift glance Jordan raked over her was pure male interest.

Jennifer felt a subtle tension in Chance. The possibility that he might be jealous of the good-looking chef was intriguing but she dismissed the notion. Instead, she smiled and held out her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Jordan. I’m so glad I have an opportunity to tell you how wonderful our dinner was—I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a meal more.”

“Thank you.” He took her hand, holding it a second too long and giving her fingers a light squeeze before releasing her. He lifted an eyebrow at Chance. “She’s beautiful and she loves my cooking. Where have you been hiding her, Chance?”

“Never mind.” Chance’s voice held a definite possessive warning. “Back off.”

Jordan laughed and winked at Jennifer. “Duty and my kitchen calls but we’ll have to talk later, Jennifer, and you can tell me how you’ve managed to make my friend so possessive.”

“I’m just protecting her from the wolves,” Chance drawled.

“Of course,” Jordan said blandly. “Enjoy the evening, my friend.”

Jennifer didn’t miss the enigmatic look he gave Chance before he disappeared into the crowd.

“Where did you meet him?” she asked Chance, curious about the chef.

“His sister was a patient of mine,” he told her. “He threw a party when the baby was born and after everyone else went home, we killed a fifth of Scotch toasting his new niece. We’ve been friends ever since.”

She sipped her champagne, her gaze drifting over the glittering gathering before stopping on a couple. The man wore a tux and the woman’s gown was a formfitting sapphire blue, her hair a long, wavy mane that gleamed like silk beneath the chandelier’s light. The two had eyes only for each other—until the man glanced up, grinned and waved.

“There’s Ted,” Chance commented, lifting his champagne glass in salute.

“Who’s the woman with him?” Jennifer asked.

“His wife,” Chance replied. “And I’m damned grateful Sara Beth said yes when he proposed. I work with him and he’s been a pain in the…well, let’s just say he was in a bad mood until he worked things out with her.”

“They look very much in love,” Jennifer said softly, her gaze on the two as the man brushed the woman’s long wavy hair over her shoulder and smiled down at her.

“They are.” Chance emptied his champagne flute and caught her hand. “Let’s dance.” He deposited their glasses. “I’m glad to know I was right,” he said as they circled the room.

“About what?” she asked, a tiny frown drawing her brows into a vee.

“The food,” he replied easily as he guided her out through open French doors and onto the wide balcony where other guests danced beneath the night sky. “Unless you were lying to Jordan. You did enjoy dinner?”

Her brow smoothed and a smile curved her mouth, lighting her eyes. “Oh, yes. The lobster was wonderful and the chocolate mousse was perfect.”

“I told you the food would be worth the cost of the ticket,” he said with satisfaction, executing a series of smooth, sweeping turns to move them down the length of the wide stone balcony. “Jordan doesn’t serve tiny slivers of artsy-looking food. His food is elegant without being precious—you know, no tiny portions that leave a guy so hungry that he has to stop for a burger on his way home.”

Jennifer looked up at him, a smile curving her lips. “It sounds suspiciously as if you’ve been forced to sit through dinners filled with…maybe, cucumber sandwiches and tea?”

He laughed. “Not since my grandmother made me eat them when I was a kid. Since then, though,

I’ve had to attend dinners where we were served rubbery chicken or tiny plates with three or four artfully arranged celery and radish slices.” He shuddered. “Makes me hungry just to think of it.”

“I’m guessing it takes more than celery and radishes to fuel a guy your size,” she joked.

“You guess right,” he said with a nod. “Lots more. I have a big appetite.” He winked at her.

She studied him, contemplating an answer to what was clearly an invitation.

His lips brushed her ear. “Aren’t you wondering what other appetites I have?” he teased, lazy amusement underlaid with darker, more volatile emotions.

She tilted her head and his mouth brushed over her cheek, with scant inches separating his lips from hers. “I was considering asking,” she said quietly. “But decided I should give the subject more thought before asking questions that might provoke dangerous answers.”

“I’d be happy to answer any questions, Jennifer,” he told her. “Dangerous or not.” Heat flared in his dark, heavy-lidded gaze.

“I’ve never been a woman who courts danger,” she murmured. “I’ve always preferred safe and sane.”

“You’re safe with me, Jennifer,” he muttered, pressing his lips to her temple. “I’d never hurt a woman, especially you.” His arms tightened as he swept her into a series of fast, graceful turns.

“I believe you,” she replied softly once she was back in his embrace. “At least, not physically. But you’re a very attractive man, Chance, and a woman could lose her heart to you.”

“Could she?” he rasped, his voice deeper.

“Yes.” She nodded, her hair brushing the underside of his chin and his throat. “I don’t want a broken heart, Chance.”

“I won’t break your heart. Come home with me, Jennifer.” His fingers trailed over her cheek, tucked a tendril of soft hair behind her ear, and returned to brush over her lower lip. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

“I don’t sleep around,” she told him honestly. They’d stopped dancing but still stood within the circle of each other’s arms. Beyond the balustrade, the lights of the city glowed while on the street below, the faint sounds of traffic drifted upward. Down the length of the stone veranda they’d traversed, a series of French doors were thrown open to the ballroom. Gold light poured out, illuminating the guests at the other end of the veranda as some strolled or leaned on the wide, chest-high stone bulwark and some danced, swaying in time to the orchestra’s lush notes. Chance and Jennifer were alone at their end of the long veranda, shadowed except for the spill of soft light that fell through the glass panes of the French doors beside them, drawn closed against the crowded ballroom inside. The yellow light highlighted his face and she searched his features. “In fact…I haven’t been with a man since my divorce, and that was more than five years ago.”

His eyes darkened, his mouth a sensual curve. “Honey, that’s a damned shame. A woman as beautiful as you should be loved often and well.” He bent and brushed his mouth over hers, then lingered to slowly trace her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “Come home with me. Please.”

He urged her closer until she rested against his chest, her thighs aligned with his. Jennifer shuddered at the press of her breasts against hard muscles.

“I don’t want to complicate my life,” she managed to get out. She struggled to remember why she needed to resist him, closing her eyes against the heat that bloomed beneath his lips as he traced the arch of her throat. “Or yours,” she added.

“This doesn’t have to be complicated,” he murmured, his lips on her throat, just below her ear. “It can be whatever we want it to be.”

An enticing shiver ran down her spine, and Jenny knew she couldn’t resist him. “Just tonight,” she whispered. She forced her eyes open and leaned back, cupping his jaw in her palm to tilt his head up. Beard stubble rasped faintly against the sensitive pads of her fingertips, his eyes ablaze with need. “No complications—and after tonight, we go back to waitress and customer. Can we do that?”

She read the objection that flared in his eyes and saw the swift refusal on his face as his jaw flexed and muscles tightened beneath her hand.

“Please,” she said softly, desperate to hold on to some shred of control. “I can’t make promises beyond tonight.”

His fingers tightened on her waist and then he nodded. “All right. If tonight’s all you can give me—” he brushed a kiss against her cheek “—I’ll take what I can get.”

His mouth covered hers with searing heat. Her senses were fogged and she was reeling with want when he lifted his head. He tucked her along his side and led her to an exit. After waiting—for what felt like an eternity—for the valet to bring his car, they were off. Threading her fingers through his to keep her close, he laid her hand palm down on his thigh and covered it with his own as they sped through Boston traffic, his touch anchoring her to him. Desire seethed, swirling and heating the air between them in the close confines of the car.

Jennifer was only peripherally aware of the neighborhoods they drove through, her senses focused on the man beside her. When he tapped a control on the dash and then turned off the street and beneath a still-rising garage door, she caught a brief glimpse of the exterior of a brick town house before they pulled in.

Chance switched off the engine, the sudden silence enfolding them. His gaze met hers, heat blazing. “If I touch you before we’re inside, we won’t make it out of the garage.”

She swallowed, throat dry. “Okay.”

He smiled, the sudden amusement easing the tension. “Unless you have a fantasy about making love in the backseat of a Jag.”

She blinked, distracted by the curve of his mouth. “Um, no.”

“Too bad,” he said, his voice suddenly lower, huskier. “The idea has possibilities. But I don’t want our first time to happen in this car, either, so let’s go.”

Chapter Three

Chance took Jennifer’s hand and led her up the stairs, then down the hall to his bedroom.

The clatter of nails on the polished oak floors below was followed by a loud bark.

“That’s Butch,” Chance reassured her.

Jennifer’s eyes widened at the size of the dog racing down the hallway toward them. The black and tan rottweiler skidded to a stop and sat, panting up at Chance with what looked like an ear-to-ear grin.

“I think he’s glad you’re home,” she said, unconsciously inching behind Chance.

“I think you’re right.” He tugged her forward and into the bedroom. “I’m going to put him in the kitchen with food and water. I’ll be right back.” He bent, his mouth taking hers with heated possession. Then he disappeared into the hall, the big dog by his side, tail wagging.

Her legs unsteady, Jennifer sat on the edge of the bed, drawing a deep breath into oxygen-starved lungs. She’d barely gotten her bearings when Chance returned. He strode across the room and caught her hands, drawing her to her feet and into his arms. Her wrap slid to the floor in a pool of red silk at her feet, her small evening bag joining it.

Chance cupped her face in his hands, his gaze intent.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about you being here—in my room. And in my bed.”

He brushed kisses over her jawline, cheeks, temples. Jennifer’s eyes drifted closed and his lips moved softly over her lashes and against her sensitive skin. Just that quickly, she fell back into the haze of need and desire so abruptly interrupted moments before.

She threaded her fingers into the thick, silky dark hair at the nape of his neck and urged him closer until his lips met hers.

Heat built, quickly becoming a firestorm as the kiss turned urgent. Without taking his mouth from hers, Chance lowered the zipper at the skirt of her dress. The backless gown had a sewn-in bra and his fingers stroked over the bare skin of her back.

Jennifer reluctantly lowered her arms from around his neck, a quick shrug sending the loosened gown free to pool at her feet. She knew a moment of self-consciousness when Chance stepped back, his dark eyes searing as he swept her from head to toe with one swift glance. She wore only a tiny pair of red lace bikini panties, thigh-high sheer hose and the red stiletto heels.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, bending to brush a quick, hard kiss against her mouth before taking a step back again.

His gaze focused on hers, he stripped his tie loose and dropped it on the floor, shrugged out of his tux jacket and tossed it behind him.

He caught her waist in his hands and drew her nearer.

“Unbutton my shirt,” he instructed, his voice husky with arousal. His thumbs moved in slow circles, as if he was unable to stop caressing her.

Reassured, Jennifer took only seconds to slip the black studs free. When she finished, Chance took them from her cupped hand and dropped them on the nightstand before holding up his hand. Jennifer unfastened the cuff links, one by one, and dropped them on the pile of studs. Chance immediately shrugged out of the shirt, pulling her flush against him, his hands threading into her hair to tilt her face up to his. When his mouth settled over hers, Jennifer sank into the sensation of his soft lips, gentle and demanding all at once.

The hard muscles of his bare chest teased her sensitive breasts, the fabric of his tux slacks faintly rough against her thighs. And his lips on hers sent desire throbbing through her veins.

She murmured incoherently and Chance laid her back on the bed before he stood, toeing off his shoes, pulling off his socks, unzipping and shoving his pants and boxer shorts down his legs. He bent and pulled open the drawer in the bedside table, ripped open a packet and a second later, rolled on protection. Then he leaned over her, slipping his thumbs under the narrow bands of red lace on her hips to tug her panties down her legs. He dropped the bit of lace and silk on the floor behind him before bending to press a kiss against the faint outward curve of her belly.

Jennifer gasped at the heated brush of his mouth against her sensitive skin. He stroked his tongue over the indentation of her belly button and she moaned. Frantic to have him closer, she tugged at his arms, fingers clutching the hard muscles of his biceps to urge him nearer.

He surged on top of her, his mouth taking hers with urgency, one knee nudging hers apart to make space for him. Then he was inside her. Jennifer cried out, drowning in pleasure and need.

It had been too long for her and, all too soon, Chance drove her over the edge.

Sated and drowsy, she opened her eyes and found him gazing at her, a slow smile curved the sensual line of his mouth.

“I’m guessing it was good.” His words weren’t a question but she nodded, too satisfied and boneless to speak, nonetheless.

“Let’s try it again,” he murmured against her mouth.

And a moment later, despite being certain she couldn’t move a muscle, Jennifer was again burning with heat, twisting urgently beneath his mouth, hands and the steady thrust of his powerful body.

Just after midnight, hunger lured them out of bed and downstairs to raid the refrigerator. Dressed only in Chance’s white tux shirt, the long tails hitting her at mid-thigh and sleeves rolled to her elbows, Jennifer perched on a tall stool and propped her elbow on the island countertop, leaning her chin on her hand. The kitchen was beautifully appointed and everywhere she looked, something drew her eye. But after a quick glance around the room, her gaze returned with fascination to Chance. Grey boxer shorts hung low on his hips as he bent to peer into the refrigerator. His powerful shoulders and chest were bare as were his thighs and long legs. Despite the long hours they’d just spent in the bedroom upstairs and although she’d felt sated and content only moments earlier, heat stirred in her belly once again. She shivered as she contemplated running her palms over his back while his weight pinned her to the bed.

“How do you feel about spaghetti and cheesecake?”

Her eyes widened and she straightened. “Yum. What kind of cheesecake?”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Regular, I guess, except it has chocolate on the top.”

“Even better,” she said promptly.

He grinned at her, eyes warming. “You like chocolate?”

“Of course, who doesn’t?” she responded.

“I definitely do. The local café has chocolate crepes so good they can make a grown man cry. We’ll get you some for brunch tomorrow.” He turned back to the refrigerator and moments later, nudged the door closed with his hip because his hands were full of food containers.

“Here, let me help.” She jumped down from the counter and hurried to take a plate of cheesecake from him. He’d balanced it on top of a deep blue casserole dish, where it tilted and wobbled precariously.

“Thanks.” Chance slid the casserole onto the tiled counter and removed the glass lid. He stirred the red sauce and spaghetti noodles and popped the dish into the microwave, set the timer and closed the door.

“I think we should seriously consider cutting a bite of cheesecake while we wait for the spaghetti,” Jennifer told him, eyeing the swirls of dark chocolate on top of the cake.

“Sure, why not.” He took a knife and a fork out of a drawer and joined her, bracketing her against the counter with his arms and body. “You cut.” He laid the utensils on the countertop on each side of the cheesecake and bent to nuzzle his face against her nape. His hands settled on her hipbones.

Jennifer closed her eyes, her body going boneless as she melted back against him. His hands slipped beneath the hem of the white shirt and stroked upward, over her belly and midriff to cup her breasts.

“Ohhhh, that’s not fair,” she moaned as her nipples pebbled against his fingers and her hips settled into the cove of his. She tilted her head back against his shoulder, the thick silk of his hair brushing her throat as he bent over her to press his mouth against the upper curve of her breast.

She twisted in his hold, slipping her arms around his neck, her body pressed flush against his as she tugged his mouth down to hers. His hands cupped her bottom, lifting her higher, and the kiss turned hotter, more carnal.

Behind them, the microwave alarm buzzed loudly as the timer went off.

Chance eased back from the kiss and lifted his head.

“Want to skip the spaghetti and cheesecake and make love on the countertop?” he asked, his voice rasping with need.

Jennifer was torn but before she could decide, her stomach growled. They both laughed.

“That’s it. Food wins,” he declared, pressing one last hard kiss against her mouth and stepping back. “First we’ll feed you, then we’ll get naked again. Let’s go back to bed.”

He reached behind her and picked up the cheesecake plate, handing it to her with the knife and fork. “You carry this, I’ll get the spaghetti.”

“What about plates? And don’t we need another fork?” she asked, still disoriented and flushed.

“Nope.” He used hot pads to remove the casserole of spaghetti and closed the door with his elbow. “We’ll share. But we might need napkins. Grab a couple out of the drawer by your hip, will you?”

Jennifer found snowy-white linen napkins and preceded him down the hall and up the stairs to his bedroom.

Chance tossed the sheet to the bottom of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing with a thick blue towel. He spread it on the center of the bed and set the casserole on it.

“We’re having a picnic,” she said with delight. “I love picnics and I’ve never had one in bed before.”

“The mattress is more comfortable than the floor.” Chance crooked his finger at her. “And when we’re done eating, the bed’s more comfortable for making love.”

She laughed, balancing the cheesecake in one hand and utensils in the other as she climbed onto the bed, shuffling on her knees to the far side of the folded towel. “Plus,” she told him, setting down the cheesecake, “there are no ants. Always a good thing.”

Chance grabbed her free hand and tugged, tumbling her toward him. He threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her, his mouth hot. “I love the way you find the good in everything. You’re easy to please.”

“You offered me cheesecake with chocolate.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be pleased?”

“Lots of women would be offended if they weren’t offered champagne and caviar.”

“Hmm.” She eyed him. “I think you’ve been dating the wrong women.”

His eyes laughed at her. “I think you’re right.”

He stabbed the fork into the spaghetti, twirled it, and lifted the pasta to her mouth. “Tell me if it’s hot enough.”

Obediently, she parted her lips and took the bite.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Excellent,” she told him. “Try it.”

They took turns, Chance insisting on feeding her.

When the bowl was empty, Jennifer rolled off the bed and carried the casserole dish to the long oak entertainment center across from the foot of the bed. A flat-screen TV was mounted on a wall bracket and on the polished oak surface below was a stack of books.

“You have a copy of the new Tom Clancy book,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t even know it was out.”

“It’s not. I have a friend at the publishing house and he sent me a copy before the release date.”

Jennifer tilted the stack of books, reading the titles. “You have mystery, suspense and a couple of nonfiction titles.” She picked up one of the books and read the back cover copy. “What other genres do you like? Do you read romantic suspense?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever read one. Unfortunately, I have to read a lot of medical journals so often my fiction reading has to take second place behind articles.”

“I know what you mean. Textbooks have to come first with me, too.”

“Come here.” Chance patted the bed beside him. “We still have cheesecake to eat.” Jennifer put down the stack of books and walked back to the bed, tucking the shirttails neatly beneath her as she sat.

“I bet you were a cute little girl,” he told her as he cut the cheesecake with the fork.

“What makes you think so?” she teased, opening her mouth to let him feed her.

“Because you sat down as if your mother trained you to tuck in your skirt and sit properly,” he told her with a grin.

“It was my grandmother,” she said without thinking, after she’d swallowed.

“I bet you were your grandmother’s favorite granddaughter,” he told her.

She fed him the bite, fascinated by the movement of strong throat muscles as he swallowed. “I was her only granddaughter,” she murmured absently, trailing her fingertips down his throat to his shoulder.

“You’re an only child, too?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes.” She forced a small smile, deciding to confirm what he probably already knew—that her background was light-years away from what had clearly been his privileged home life. “The only child of divorced parents. My mother declared she didn’t want any more children. She was far too busy meeting new men and having fun. I heard that my father remarried several times and had more children but I’ve never met any of my half-siblings.” She kept her gaze on the cheesecake, precisely cutting another bite. “I doubt my childhood was anything like yours.”

“Hey,” he murmured. His hand cupped her chin, tilting her face gently up until her gaze met his. His dark eyes searched hers. “Except for wishing you were happy, it doesn’t matter to me what your parents were like or where you spent your childhood, Jennifer. All I care about is that you’re here with me now.”

Emotion flooded her. She knew there couldn’t be a future for them. All her time over the next few years was already committed to work, school and Annie. But for this night, she could forget about tomorrow and responsibilities. And if she felt things with Chance she’d never felt with anyone before, she’d worry about that tomorrow, too.

“All we have is right now,” she whispered, lowering the fork to the plate so she could slip her arms around him. “Let’s not waste a moment.”

His dark eyes turned hot. Without releasing her, he shoved the towel, cheesecake and utensils onto the floor and bore her backward, his mouth taking hers as his weight settled over her.

Jennifer welcomed the instant rise of desire that swept over her, erasing all thought of tomorrow. There was only this moment and the heavy, powerfully muscled body on hers as Chance’s fierce passion carried her over the edge once again.

Jennifer was half-awake the following morning when Chance left the bed. He bent over, kissed her, chuckled and with a pat on her bottom covered by the sheet, left her to disappear into the bathroom. She smiled, half opening her eyes and noting the bright sunshine pouring through the open drapes. Then she yawned and rolled over.

It seemed like only a moment before Chance came back into the bedroom, several pieces of clothing tossed over his arm.

“Hey, sleepy woman, wake up! I promised you crepes for breakfast.” He tossed the clothes on the end of the bed. “My mother left some things in the guest room the last time she was here,” he told her, dropping onto the bed to stretch out beside her. “The slacks might be a little short but they’re bound to fit better than a pair of my jeans.”

The bed dipped under his weight, rolling Jennifer toward him. He grinned and caught her, tugging the sheet lower until she was bare from her tousled hair to her belly button.

Chance’s head bent and he trailed his lips over the upper curve of her breasts. “Mmm,” he muttered. “You taste as good as you look.”

Jennifer buried her fingers in the silky thickness of his hair, cradling his head to hold him close as her eyelids drifted closed.

“If we’re going out, I have to shower and get dressed,” she protested drowsily, smiling as he growled in protest. She closed her fingers into fists and tugged his hair, the strands sliding like rough black silk against her fingertips and palms.

Reluctantly, he obeyed her silent demand and lifted his head to look down at her. “We could skip going out and order in—eat Chinese food in bed,” he suggested.

“No.” She laughed softly. “I’m starving and those chocolate crepes sound wonderful.” And she wanted to see a bit more of the pieces of his day-to-day life. The need to know him better, to learn more about the man behind the handsome face and powerful male body, grew stronger with each moment she spent in his company.

“All right,” he grumbled good-naturedly, his hands trailing over her midriff as he rolled onto his side, releasing her so she could slide out of bed. “We’ll take Butch for a walk and get brunch at the café. Then we’ll come back and pick up where we’re leaving off. Deal?”

“Deal.” She flashed him a sassy grin, caught up the pile of clothing from the foot of the bed and slipped into the bathroom. For a moment, she leaned back against the door, eyes closed, a smile on her lips while she reveled in the sheer happiness bubbling through her veins.

A half hour later, Jennifer had showered, pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, smoothed on the lipstick and mascara she’d tucked into her evening bag the night before, and was dressed. She paused to run a quick, assessing glance over her reflection in the long mirrors bracketing the door.

The pale pink silk slacks fit well except for being a trifle short in the leg, the hem hitting her at her anklebone. Which is actually a good thing, she thought, since if the designer label slacks had been longer, she would have surely tripped over them while wearing the strappy red heels. The white silk tank top was snug and since she didn’t have a bra to wear, she’d pulled on a clean white shirt from Chance’s closet. It was much too big, of course, but after rolling the sleeves to her elbow, she decided it worked well enough to conceal her braless state.

In fact, she thought, turning to look over her shoulder at her back view, the outfit was rather chic. The slim-cut slacks hugged her thighs below the hem of the loose white shirt, and the red heels added a touch of Vogue-model fashion to the outfit.

Thanks to Chance’s mother leaving clothes in his guestroom, Jennifer reflected, she was reasonably covered. She’d had a few qualms about the clothing, suspecting it might have really belonged to one of Chance’s girlfriends. But the silk slacks and tank top had a small label with “A. Demetrios” beautifully embroidered in blue and gold thread. Chance had mentioned his parents, John and Anastasia, and Jennifer was confident the “A. Demetrios” was surely his mother.

She left the bathroom, a spring to her step, and went searching for Chance. She found him in the kitchen, reading a newspaper spread out over the island countertop.

“Hey.” He looked up when she entered, his eyes lighting up as he swept her from head to toe and back again.

“Hi.” Suddenly self-conscious under his intent stare, she glanced down. “I’m glad your mother left her slacks and top here. Are you sure she won’t mind my borrowing them?”

“I’m positive,” he told her, abandoning the paper on the counter. He reached her in two long strides and wrapped her close, pressing a quick, hard kiss against her mouth. When he lifted his lips from hers, his eyes were molten. “And if we don’t leave the house right now, I’m going to carry you back upstairs. Come on. Let’s feed you. You’re going to need energy when we get home.”

He released her, threaded her fingers through his, and tugged her after him toward the front door.

“Come on, Butch.”

The big dog obeyed Chance’s command with enthusiasm, pushing past them to race down the hall and wait just inside the front door.

Chance took a leash from a peg on the antique coatrack and clipped it onto Butch’s collar, then pulled open the heavy oak door.

Jennifer stepped outside, relishing the balmy air and the quick warmth of sunlight on her bare forearms.

Chance locked the door behind them, pocketing the keys before catching Jennifer’s hand in his, and with Butch leading the way at the end of the leash, they set off down the street.

“I love your neighborhood,” Jennifer told him, taking in the neat facades of town houses and bright flowers filling window boxes. She tilted her face up and spring sunshine warmed her cheeks, filtered through tree leaves.

“Good morning.”

The friendly greeting drew Jennifer’s attention and she smiled hello at the young couple passing by, pushing a stroller with a little boy that babbled excitedly, hands outstretched to Butch.

“Good morning.” Chance nodded at the couple, letting the little boy pat Butch on the nose, then pulling the big dog away before he could lick the toddler’s face.

“Who was that?” Jennifer asked, curious.

“The Carmichaels.” Chance expertly steered Butch around a trio of giggling schoolgirls in jeans and sandals walking toward them, three abreast on the sidewalk. “They moved into the house two doors down from me just before their little boy was born. I met them when I was out walking Butch.”

“Butch seems to be a great ice breaker,” Jennifer commented. “You must meet a lot of people when they stop to pet him.”

“Yeah, I do.” He grinned at her and tugged her nearer, releasing her hand to sling an arm over her shoulder and tuck her close. Their hips bumped companionably as they walked. “Nobody can resist a big, friendly dog.”

Jennifer privately thought it was probably the combination of Butch’s friendliness and Chance’s charm.

“Here we are.” Chance drew Jennifer to a halt outside a small restaurant. “Do you mind sitting outside? I can’t take Butch inside.”

He nodded at the area to their right. Several round wrought-iron tables with colorful red and white umbrellas shading their chairs were clustered along the front of the café, the uneven line two tables deep. Just then a patron exited, the café’s open door releasing a waft of aroma that was mouthwatering.

“Yes, let’s.” Jennifer drew in a deep breath. “It smells fabulous. I can’t believe anyone has the willpower to walk by and not stop to eat.”

Chance bent to brush his lips against her ear. “The food’s great but it doesn’t taste as good as you.”

Jennifer shivered with awareness and felt her skin warm.

His arm tightened in a brief hug before he released her and pulled out a chair at an empty table at one end of the row.

He knotted Butch’s leash around the arm of a chair. “Stay,” he told him as he dropped into the seat.

Butch obligingly lay down between Chance and Jennifer, technically outside the dining area. Ears perked, eyes alight with interest, he watched the diners at the neighboring tables.

The cute young waitress who took their order clearly adored Chance.

“You have another admirer,” Jennifer teased as the teenager disappeared into the restaurant.

“Carrie?” he asked. When Jennifer nodded, he grinned at her. “Nah, I’m helping her brother study for his SATs, that’s all. He’s a bright kid but the family doesn’t have the money to send him to a top-notch med school. If he scores high on the SAT, he’ll have a better shot at scholarships.”

“What a lovely thing for you to do,” she told him. “You’re a surprise, Dr. Demetrios.”

“Why?” he asked, resting his forearms on the tabletop and leaning forward, his gaze searching hers.

“Because you have a reputation as a playboy, which infers you’re shallow. But the more I get to know you, the more complicated you seem.”

He smiled, a slow upward curve of his lips. “I’m not complicated,” he murmured, his voice husky with need. “At the moment, I’ve got only a single interest.”

“And what would that be?” she asked, mesmerized by the heat in his eyes and the sensual curve of his mouth.

“You.” He closed the few inches between them and covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was sweet, slow and filled with heat. Jennifer felt her toes curl as desire moved like languid fire through he veins.

“Um, excuse me.” The hesitant female voice had Chance lifting his head.

“Ah, coffee.” He sat back to give the waitress room to empty her tray, setting steaming coffee cups in front of them and a carafe in the center of the table. “Thanks.”

The fresh-faced teenager smiled shyly in response and whisked away.

Jennifer was disoriented and slightly dizzy from the kiss, while Chance appeared to have gone from arousal to casual friendliness in a matter of seconds.

Determined to match his seemingly unflappable coolness, she sipped her coffee, eyeing him over the rim while she scrambled for casual conversation.

“Did you grow up here in Boston?” she asked, settling for a standard, getting-to-know-you topic.

“No.” He shook his head. “I spent my childhood in upstate New York. I moved here when I took the job at the Armstrong Institute. What about you—did you grow up in Boston?”

“No, I lived in a small town in Illinois until I moved here last year.”

“What made you choose Boston?”

“I had a friend from high school who moved here. She encouraged me to join her. She loved the city, especially all the American historical sites. We used to visit a national historical treasure nearly every weekend.”

“Used to? Why did you stop?”

Jennifer shrugged. “Renee met the man of her dreams and it was love at first sight. They married after dating for three weeks and have been traveling the world ever since. He’s an archeologist and they’re currently living in Central America while he helps excavate a Mayan temple.”

“No kidding?” Chance looked intrigued. “Now there’s a job that sounds interesting.”

Jennifer laughed. “Every guy who hears about Renee’s husband’s job says that. There must be a frustrated adventurer hidden in every male on the planet.”

“Maybe.” He grinned.

The waitress arrived with their food, interrupting their conversation. Jennifer indulged in crepes drizzled with chocolate sauce while Chance tucked into a Spanish omelet. By the time they’d finished eating and had poured a second round of coffee, they were deep in a discussion of movies they’d seen.

“You like chick flicks,” Chance told her. “Most of the movies on your best-of list are romantic comedies.”

“I liked the movie Hunt For Red October and that’s not a chick flick,” Jennifer protested.

“No kidding—you like that movie?” He lifted his brows in surprise. “I’ve seen it about a dozen times.”

“Me, too.” Jennifer sipped her coffee. “Of course,” she added, “the film’s stars are Sean Connery and a young Alec Baldwin. To be honest, I’d be tempted to watch it over again just to see them.”

“So the big attraction isn’t the incredible underwater sub maneuvers or the great suspense plot, it’s the handsome actors?”

She considered the question, eyes narrowed, before nodding firmly. “Pretty much.”

Chance’s face lit with amusement, his deep, rich laughter drawing the attention of nearby diners.

Jennifer suspected her smile was besotted but she couldn’t help it. The sunlight gleamed in his black hair, laugh lines fanning at the corners of his eyes.

His gaze met his and his laughter died.

“Let’s go home,” he said roughly, the curve of his mouth sensual.

“Yes,” she breathed, caught up in the heat that flared between them. “Let’s.”

Jennifer woke slowly, stretching and smiling contentedly at the warmth against her back. A weight lay over her waist, anchoring her to the hard male body she lay tucked against and she realized Chance was curled around her, his arm holding her close.

There was a great deal to like about waking up with a man, she thought with a smile.

She opened her eyes. Just beyond the edge of the white sheet-covered mattress was the oak nightstand with a brass clock, its numbers glowing in the dim bedroom.

Her eyes widened. It was almost four o’clock. And Linda had promised to return Annie to the apartment by 6:00 p.m.

Her weekend was over.

She wasn’t ready to let it go. She’d lost track of the number of times they’d made love and yet she wanted more. But reality intruded and she bit her lip, knowing she had no choice.

Carefully, she lifted Chance’s arm and slipped out from beneath his hold. He muttered, protesting, and she froze beside the bed, holding her breath and hoping he wouldn’t waken. Then he shifted, sprawling on his stomach over the place where she’d lain moments before. His eyes remained closed and the tension eased out of his big body as he relaxed, clearly asleep again.

Jennifer lingered a moment, her gaze tracing the beard-shadowed line of his jaw, the black lashes fanning against his olive skin and the sensual curve of his mouth. The white sheet was bunched at his waist, leaving the powerful muscles of his upper body and arms bare.

Reluctant to leave him, she forced herself to turn her back and pad silently into the bathroom where she’d left her borrowed clothes earlier. Dressing quickly, she slipped through the connecting door to the hall and let herself out the front door of Chance’s town house.

As she hurried down the street on her way to the bus stop on the next block, she was assailed by a barrage of memories of the hours spent with Chance.

He was a man she could easily fall in love with, she realized. She hoped fervently that she hadn’t already done so—because she knew there wasn’t, could never be, a future for them together. She reached the end of the block and a bus wheezed to a stop, the doors opening. She climbed the steps, determined to put Chance Demetrios out of her mind.

Whether she could put him out of her heart remained to be seen.

Chance knew the moment he woke that Jennifer was gone. He swept his hand over the sheet but felt no warmth left by her body. He sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face, then tilted his head, listening. The complete silence was broken only by the soft ticking of the bedside clock.

“Damn it,” he said into the stillness. He’d wanted to take her home. He hadn’t counted on being so relaxed and wrung out from making love this morning and last night that he’d sleep through Jennifer’s leaving.

Nails clattered on the oak flooring and Butch nosed the hall door open wider before bounding across the room, tail wagging. He laid his head on the bed, big brown eyes pleading with Chance.

“What?” Chance groaned. “I suppose you want to go out?”

The big rottweiler barked, one sharp, approving sound that made Chance wince.

“Not so loud, buddy,” he muttered. “I’m getting up.”

He tossed back the sheet and sat on the edge of the bed.

Butch barked again and nosed the sheet a few inches from Chance’s hip, burrowing beneath the sheet until his head was out of sight beneath white cotton.

“Hey, cut that out.” Chance tossed the sheet aside. Silver glittered and he pulled the sheet aside to find a necklace peeking out from under the pillow. He grabbed the chain and locket just before Butch could reach it. A low whine rumbled from the dog’s throat and his brown eyes were reproachful. “Oh, come on.” Chance ran his hand over Butch’s head and scratched him behind his ear. “You know this is Jennifer’s. And you know you’re not supposed to have it.”

Butch plopped down on his haunches and eyed the locket, dangling by its chain from Chance’s fingers.

The oval-shaped locket had a delicate latch. Chance felt as if his fingers were giant-size as he carefully maneuvered the tiny mechanism. The locket opened and he held it on his palm. One side held a photograph of a little girl, her impish face smiling up at him. The other half held a tiny curl of auburn hair, gleaming brightly against the silver metal.

Cute kid. I wonder who she is? He ran the pad of his index finger over the small, bright curl. And I wonder if this is her hair?

He had no answers, but he was going to ask Jennifer as soon as he saw her again. There were lots of things he wanted to know about her. Their one date— and the best sex he’d ever shared—had only led him to be more intrigued about her.

Butch whined and nudged his damp nose against Chance’s knee.

“Okay, big guy,” Chance told him. “I’ll let you out.”

He grabbed his jeans from the closet and pulled them on. Then he jogged barefoot down the stairs and through the kitchen to open the back door. Butch barreled happily past him and out into the small backyard.

“I’ve got to teach him better manners,” Chance muttered to himself. He turned back into the kitchen to make coffee—and wondered if Jennifer was thinking of him, as he was thinking of her.

Jennifer stepped out of the silk slacks and folded them atop the hamper. She knew by the label that the slacks had probably cost more than her monthly salary, the nubby raw silk pure tactile pleasure to touch.

I’ll drop them at the cleaners after work tomorrow, she thought. Along with the top. Then I’ll mail them back to Chance.

She pulled the tank off over her head, folding it neatly atop the slacks, before she turned on the sink taps. Cupping her hands, she splashed cool water on her face, reaching blindly for a hand towel. She blotted moisture from her skin before tugging the band from her ponytail. As it pulled free and let her hair tumble about her shoulders, she ran her fingertip over the base of her throat. The gesture was pure habit. She’d worn the locket with Annie’s picture and lock of hair since her daughter was born.

But this time…the chain wasn’t there.

Dismayed, Jennifer stared with consternation at her reflection in the mirror. She knew she’d been wearing it earlier in the day when she’d dressed to go out to brunch. Frowning, she mentally reviewed the afternoon and realized that the last time she’d noticed the locket was after they’d returned to the town house. Chance had rushed her upstairs and stripped off their clothes before tossing her on the bed. He’d joined her immediately and she remembered the slide of cool metal over her skin when Chance’s lips brushed the locket aside, replacing it with his mouth.

Maybe I lost it in his bed, she thought. She hoped the locket had ended up tangled in Chance’s sheets rather than broken and lost on the street or the bus.

She would have to call Chance and ask if he’d found her missing locket. Misgiving warred with delight at the thought. She wasn’t sure she had the fortitude to walk away from him a second time.

The night with Chance was a fairy tale—a few days stolen for herself, Jennifer thought later that evening.

With Annie tucked into bed after telling Jennifer about the fun things she did with Linda’s children, Jennifer walked back into the living room and dropped onto the sofa.

She switched on the television, browsing through channels with the remote control and finally settling on a news station. Dressed in pajama bottoms and a white cotton camisole, she tucked her legs under her and stared blindly at the TV screen. She couldn’t make herself care about the political news or the latest scandal caused by a local state representative.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Chance.

It wasn’t just the sex—which had been amazing. It was his sense of humor, the discovery that they both loved or disliked some of the same movies. They’d argued hotly in defense of book titles the other had merely shrugged over but, each time, the contention had ended with laughter and kisses.

She’d never met anyone like Chance before.

And now that her night with him was over, she had to admit that spending time with him meant more to her than a brief, spicy interlude to her nonexistent dating life.

She had feelings for him. She wasn’t sure exactly what those feelings were, or how deeply they ran, but the ache in her heart wasn’t simple. That nothing could ever grow between them only made her chest hurt more.

There was no possible future between a waitress at the Coach House Diner and a doctor at the Armstrong Fertility Institute. Their lives were too different; the disparity in their background and income too great. She wouldn’t see him anymore, outside the diner.

Jennifer knew it was for the best but somehow the thought of going back to pouring Chance his morning coffee while knowing she’d never be more than a one-time date made her pain grow.

It’s no good yearning for the moon, she told herself stoutly, wiping dampness from her cheeks. I knew when I agreed to go out with him that it was a one-shot deal. No future dates, no building dreams of a relationship.

She switched off the television and the living-room lights, entering her bedroom where the bedside lamp threw a pool of soft white over her solitary bed.

It’s time for Cinderella to go back to her real life, she told herself as she climbed into bed and switched off the lamp. The room was plunged into darkness except for the faint glimmers from the streetlights outside marking the edges of the window blinds.

Resolutely, she closed her eyes but when at last she slept, she dreamed of Chance.

Chance had barely shrugged into his lab coat on Monday when the phone on his desk rang. The caller was Paul Armstrong’s secretary, who relayed a message that he was needed in Paul’s office immediately.

Wondering what could possibly have happened to impact his research funding this time, he left his office and headed down the hall.

He tapped on the half-open door to Paul’s office and stepped inside. “Morning, Paul…Ramona.”

“Good morning, Chance.” Paul leaned against the front of his desk, hands tucked into his slacks pockets. Ramona Tate, the institute’s blonde, blue-eyed public relations expert—and Paul’s fiancée—smiled warmly.

Chance didn’t miss the worry on both their faces, however, and he mentally braced himself. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m afraid not,” Paul said grimly. “There’s no easy way to tell you this so I’ll just say it—a former patient has filed a paternity suit and named you as the father of her baby.”

Chance was stunned. Of all the possible subjects for bad news, this one had never occurred to him.

“That’s crazy,” he said when he could speak. “Totally insane. Who filed the suit?”

“Georgina Appleby.”

Chance bit off a curse.

“I know.” Paul grimaced, shifting to cross his arms across his chest. “The institute is behind you one hundred percent in this, Chance. Whatever we can do to help, we will. Just let us know.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ramona said with sympathy. “The timing of this lawsuit is just terrible. You’ve barely had time to relax after proving how false those outrageous allegations were about funding for your research with Ted.”

“I have no doubt you’ll win the day in this, too,” Paul told him resolutely.

“Thanks.” Chance frowned and raked one hand through his hair, thinking out loud. “I should call my attorney. Has the institute been officially served with copies of the documents?”

“Yes. I had my secretary run a copy for you.” Paul picked up a sheaf of papers and handed them to Chance. He turned back to his desk and picked up a copy of the Boston Herald, passing that over, as well. “The newspapers already have the details.”

Chance took the paper, folded open to the society page. Heavy black marker circled two paragraphs of the gossip column with quotes from Georgina Appleby. “She stops just short of slander,” he said grimly.

“No one who knows you will believe it,” Ramona stated firmly.

“Maybe,” Chance commented, rereading the last paragraph, coldly furious. “I’d like to take this to my attorney, as well.”

“Keep it,” Paul told him. “I read it on the way to work this morning.”

“I’d also like to take a short leave of absence to deal with this,” Chance suggested. “The smear against my reputation is probably unavoidable, at least temporarily, but I don’t want to damage the institute’s image with bad personal publicity.”

“Take as much time as you need,” Paul said.

“Thanks. My hope is that my attorney can expedite arrangements for an HLA paternity test. Once the results are back, I can prove the case has no merit and I can come back to work. Without being followed by reporters and bad press,” he added, shaking his head.

“Sounds good,” Paul replied.

“I didn’t get to see much of you at the Founder’s Ball,” Chance noted in a purposely abrupt change of subject.

“We saw you with a stunningly lovely blonde woman,” Ramona commented, following his lead. “But you left before we had a chance to learn who she was.”

“I’m keeping her identity a secret,” Chance told her with a faint grin.

“Oh, yeah?” Paul lifted an eyebrow, the look he gave Chance speculative.

“Yeah.” Chance didn’t respond further, guessing that Paul had picked up on the possessive note in his voice. “How’s your mother, Ramona?”

Ramona brightened, exchanging a quick glance with Paul. “My half sister, Victoria, has agreed to donate bone marrow so I’m very hopeful that her prognosis will improve.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Chance told her. “Very glad.”

“Dr. Armstrong?” Paul’s secretary tapped on the door panel, then peered into the room. “I’m so sorry to intrude, but Senator Johnson is on the line. He wants to talk to you about a potential donation from a constituent.”

“I’m sorry, Chance. I have to take this call.” Paul pushed away from the desk.

“Of course. I’ll let you know about any developments.” Chance headed for the door.

“Take care,” Ramona called after him. “Remember, we’re here if there’s anything we can do to help.”

“I appreciate that.” Chance lifted a hand in reply and left the office, striding down the hallway and back to his own office.

He shrugged out of his lab coat and pulled on his leather jacket. Within seconds, he left the office with the sheaf of lawsuit papers in his hand. His partner, Ted, was at his desk and apparently deeply immersed in a report when Chance paused in the doorway.

“Hey, Ted.” He waited until Ted looked up. “I’ll be out of the office for a few days but if anything comes up, you can reach me on my cell phone.”

Ted blinked in surprise, frowning. “What’s up? You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Chance lifted the lawsuit documents. Ted’s gaze flicked to the papers and he frowned as he looked back at Chance. Before he could ask, Chance interrupted him. “Long story. I’ll explain later.”

“All right.”

Chance nodded and turned to leave, stopping when Ted called after him. “Hey, if you need me, call.”

Chance glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “I will. A guy never knows when he might need help disposing of a body. I’ll keep you on speed dial.”

Ted snorted and Chance strode off down the hall.

It was good to know he had friends who would stand by him if he needed help.

Not that he’d need help with this, he thought with a dismissive frown. Georgina Appleby was a young woman with emotional problems. Even if he’d wanted to compromise his professional principles to sleep with her, her emotional vulnerability would have stopped him.

He’d been concerned about her stability when she’d originally come to him for help with fertility issues. His doubts had deepened when her actions became erratic. He’d referred her to a fellow physician who specialized in patients with her particular combination of conception problems and emotional issues.

Though he’d known she was emotionally unstable, it hadn’t occurred to him to consider whether she was mentally unbalanced.

Which is what she must be to file a paternity suit when a blood test will easily prove I’m not the father of her child, he thought grimly. He could only imagine the kind of lawyer who would agree to take such a frivolous case.

He dialed his attorney’s office while walking to his car and having confirmed a meeting within a half hour, drove away from the institute. The route to his attorney’s office took him down the street, past the Coach House Diner.

Damn it, he thought with frustration. He didn’t want to spend the day fighting another unfounded allegation against his good name. He’d been scheduled to run a test analysis in the research lab today. Then he’d planned to order a dozen roses and knock on Jennifer’s door to deliver them in person. The night she’d spent in his bed had rocked his world and he was uncharacteristically unsure of her. He felt driven to cement their connection as soon as possible.

He smacked the heel of his hand against the leather-covered steering wheel in frustration. He had to get rid of the paternity suit and return to his normal life—and Jennifer.

The meeting with his attorney went well. He advised Chance to go home and search through his patient files to identify all contact with Georgina Appleby. The attorney wanted details of each time she’d had an appointment with Chance.

He had also been adamant that Chance maintain a low profile—and specifically told him not to date anyone, warning him that he was likely to be followed by reporters in search of fuel for the gossip columns.

Their conversation convinced Chance that he needed to protect Jennifer from unwanted publicity—which meant that just as he would stay away from the Armstrong Fertility Institute offices, he also had to stay away from the diner.

Fortunately, an appointment for the HLA blood test was set within the week and once the results were back, Chance knew he’d be cleared—and free to see Jennifer again.

Still, putting his plans on hold, though necessary to protect her, didn’t sit well.

He dialed her home number from his cell phone but reached her answering machine. Finally, unwilling to explain the situation without speaking to her in person, he left a brief explanation telling her that something important had come up and he would be in touch in about a week.

Edgy and restless, frustrated that he hadn’t been able to talk to Jennifer in person, he drove home. His neighborhood was bursting with spring color—pale green leaves unfurling on trees and window boxes blooming with brilliant purple, blue, yellow and pink flowers. Although he’d chosen to buy his town house in part because of the charming neighborhood, today Chance barely noticed his surroundings. He was preoccupied with how much he’d wanted to talk to Jennifer in person. If he couldn’t see her, he needed to hear her voice.

He tossed his car keys on the kitchen’s tiled island countertop and switched on the coffeemaker. Within moments, the aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. Just as the timer beeped to announce the coffee was ready to pour, the door knocker sounded, its rapping echoing through the entryway and into the kitchen.

Chance strode down the hallway and pulled open the door. A distinguished, silver-haired man in a gray suit stood on the porch, a chauffeur-driven, long black town car parked at the curb behind him.

“Hi, Dad.” Chance stepped back, holding the door wide. “This is a surprise—I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I have a dinner meeting with a group of investors tonight.” Jonathon Demetrios walked past his son and into the oak-floored entryway. “Since I have a free hour, I thought I’d drop by to say hello.”

Not bloody likely, Chance thought, wondering what had really brought his father to Boston. Whatever it was, he knew from past experience that it was easier to let John Demetrios have his say, then usher him out the door as quickly as possible.

“Come into the kitchen,” he said aloud. “I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

When his father was seated on one of the chrome and black suede stools, a mug of coffee on the counter in front of him, Chance picked up his own steaming mug.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here, Dad,” he said, leaning his hips against the cabinet counter behind him.

“All right.” John took a newspaper clipping from his inner jacket pocket and slid it across the counter toward Chance. “Your mother and I are concerned about this woman you’re dating.”

Chance picked up the clipping, his gaze narrowing over the black and white picture. The photographer for the Boston newspaper’s society page had captured him dancing with Jennifer. There was no use denying the expression on his face or hers—the photo highlighted the smoldering attraction between them.

“Nice snapshot,” he commented.

“That’s not the point,” John said impatiently, frowning.

“What is the point, Dad?”

“The point,” John urged with emphasis, “is that this young woman is a waitress at a local diner. Certainly not the kind of person my heir should be escorting to an important social event.”

Chance bit off a curse. He didn’t bother asking his father how he knew Jennifer was a waitress and where she worked. John Demetrios had a staff of attorneys at his beck and call. He’d probably had an investigator’s detailed report about Jennifer on his desk within twenty-four hours of seeing the photo. He scrubbed his hand down his face and eyed his father wearily. “Don’t tell me that you’re here to deliver the proper-behavior-for-the-Demetrios-heir lecture again, Dad. I thought you realized I won’t listen after the last time we did this.”

“The last time you dated inappropriate women was your senior year in college,” John snapped. “In the intervening years, your mother and I assumed you’d matured and now had better sense. You have obligations, Chance, whether you want to acknowledge them or not.”

Chance held up his hand, palm out. “Don’t, Dad. Just…don’t.” He drew a deep breath to keep from raising his voice. “Who I date is my business. And I will never choose a woman based on a set of antiquated rules created by you and Mom. Certainly not based on whether the woman is suitable for a Demetrios heir. And when I marry—if I ever marry,” he added when his father flushed with anger, his mouth opening to speak, “I’ll choose the woman. And it’s not likely she’ll be someone from the handful of families approved by you and Mom.”

“You have an obligation to the family name,” John spoke tightly. “For years, your mother and I have been tolerant of your rebelliousness, hoping you’d eventually take your proper place…”

“Father.” Chance held on to his temper with an effort. “My proper place is helping my patients. I’m a doctor. I’m never going to live the life of a trust fund baby. I told you and Mother when I entered med school—my first obligation will always be to my patients.”

“I suppose this waitress you’re dating thinks she’s struck gold,” John condemned scathingly. “Not only is she dating a doctor, but you’re a Demetrios.”

Chance considered the older man while he fought to hold on to his temper. “You know,” he said slowly, “I doubt she even knows who the Demetrios family is. Or that she would give a damn.”

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