Jacob Was Marrying Her For Money, Not Love.

Money, and the undeniable passion that flared between them. He wasn’t thinking of forever. Only three nights ago, Claire had actually been relieved to learn that he didn’t love her. How could so much change so quickly?

She held out her hand and hardly noticed as the jeweler slipped a ring on.

Last night, saying yes had been so easy. She loved him. He needed her. Given time, he might well come to love her, and last night, in the private darkness they’d shared, answers had formed and flowed easily.

“Do you want a larger stone?” Jacob asked.

“If the diamond was any bigger, I’d have to start working out just to lift it. It’s a beautiful ring. I just…” She turned to look at him. His eyes were frowning, intent. He wasn’t taking this business of getting a ring—of getting married—as lightly as it seemed….

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire, where every month you’ll find six passionate, powerful and provocative romances.

October’s MAN OF THE MONTH is The Taming of Jackson Cade, part of bestselling author BJ James’ MEN OF BELLE TERRE miniseries, in which a tough horse breeder is gentled by a lovely veterinarian. The Texan’s Tiny Secret by Peggy Moreland tells the moving story of a woman in love with the governor of Texas and afraid her scandalous past will hurt him.

The exciting series 20 AMBER COURT continues with Katherine Garbera’s Some Kind of Incredible, in which a secretary teaches her lone-wolf boss to take a chance on love. In Her Boss’s Baby, Cathleen Galitz’s contribution to FORTUNES OF TEXAS: THE LOST HEIRS, a businessman falsely accused of a crime finds help from his faithful assistant and solace in her virginal embrace.

Jacob’s Proposal, the first book in Eileen Wilks’ dynamic new series, TALL, DARK & ELIGIBLE, features a marriage of convenience between a beauty and a devastatingly handsome financier known as the Iceman. And Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION marches on with Last Virgin in California, an opposites-attract romance between a tough, by-the-book marine drill instructor and a free-spirited heroine.

So celebrate the arrival of autumn by indulging yourself with all six of these not-to-be-missed love stories.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Jacob’s Proposal
Eileen Wilks

MILLS & BOON

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EILEEN WILKS

is a fifth-generation Texan. Her great-great-grandmother came to Texas in a covered wagon shortly after the end of the Civil War—excuse us, the War Between the States. But she’s not a full-blooded Texan. Right after another war, her Texan father fell for a Yankee woman. This obviously mismatched pair proceeded to travel to nine cities in three countries in the first twenty years of their marriage. For the next twenty years they stayed put, back home in Texas again—and still together.

Eileen figures her professional career matches her nomadic upbringing, since she’s tried everything from drafting to a brief stint as a ranch hand—raising two children and any number of cats and dogs along the way. Not until she started writing did she “stay put,” because that’s when she knew she’d come home. Readers can write to her at P.O. Box 4612, Midland, TX 79704-4612.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Prologue

“We have to get married.”

Outside, wind thrashed the shrubbery and snatched leaves from the oaks. Inside, three brothers stood in silence—two of them stunned, one grim. All three were tall, strong men, but that was the only obvious resemblance. They weren’t full brothers, after all. A close observer might notice a certain shared grace, the identical long-fingered hands, a likeness about the jaws and strong throats. Those few people who knew the West brothers well knew of other traits their father had passed on to his sons. Less visible traits than physical strength and grace.

Less desirable ones.

Luke, the middle brother, gave a quick bark of laughter. “What, the three of us? This is Texas. I’m pretty sure there are laws against that sort of thing.”

“Don’t be any more of an ass than you have to.” That came from Michael, the youngest, who sat in one of the wing chairs facing the empty fireplace. His eyes were as dark as his hair; he had the build of a dockworker and the face of a scholar. “The treatments are that expensive, Jacob?”

The oldest and tallest of the brothers stood in front of the mantel. Jacob West was a lean, broad-shouldered man with harsh features and a remote expression. His hair was dark enough to look black in the artificial light; his eyes were oddly pale, as nearly colorless as human irises can be. “Each treatment takes eight days and costs just under a hundred thousand dollars. None of it, of course, is covered by insurance, since it’s experimental.”

Michael whistled soundlessly.

“Even you don’t have that kind of money.” Luke pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “God. The last time I saw Ada, she looked fine. It’s hard to take in…how long have you known?”

“Four months.”

“Four months?” Luke stopped, his head swiveling toward his brother. He was a restless man, lighter than the others in build and coloring, with the face of a fallen angel and more charm than was good for him. “Four months, and you didn’t tell us?” He took a step toward Jacob. It looked as if he might take a swing at him, too.

Michael stood and put a hand on Luke’s arm. “Easy.”

“Ada insisted that I promise not to tell anyone. I wouldn’t have known about her condition myself if I hadn’t found her collapsed one day…” Jacob’s thin lips closed tightly on that memory. “I’m breaking my promise now because there’s something we can do.”

Michael spoke. “Where’s Ada now, Jacob? In the hospital?”

“No, she’s in Switzerland, at the Varens Institute. They specialize in rare blood diseases. I’ve made copies for both of you of the information I’ve gathered so far about Timur’s Syndrome, and about the institute.” He passed them each a folder.

Silence fell once more while the two younger brothers looked over the multipage report. After skimming several pages, Luke grinned. “You had her doctor investigated.”

“Of course. It’s always useful to know who you are dealing with.”

Michael set the report down. “This treatment she’s undergoing is experimental. Is it safe? Is it helping?”

“At this point Ada is responding well. Well above expectations. This isn’t a cure, but it looks like her symptoms can be almost completely alleviated with continued treatments. That’s why I sent for you.”

“I’ve never used more than the interest on my coming-of-age money,” Michael said. “I can live well enough without it.”

“A generous offer, but it wouldn’t be enough. Ada will need between two and four treatments a year for the rest of her life. The cost will come down if the treatment becomes approved in this country, but that’s at least five years in the future, possibly more.”

“You’re talking about between two and three million dollars over the next five years. More after that.”

“Yes.”

Silence fell once more, broken only by the limb of one young tree tapping repeatedly against the window, sounding like fretful fingers.

There was only one way they could help Ada. Marriage.

“Well.” Luke raised his eyebrows. “Anyone want to place a bet on which of us can do the deed first?”

Michael ignored that. “How long will it take to wind up the trust once we’ve fulfilled the conditions?”

“At least a month,” Jacob said. “Ada will need another treatment in three to six months. I can cover the cost myself, but I’ve got a deal trying to go south. If it does, it will be…expensive.”

“So we marry sooner, rather than later. No problem.” The glitter in Luke’s eyes contrasted with the lightness of his voice. “I can think of several ladies who would be delighted to help me out, considering how much will be left even after we take care of Ada. Jacob, of course, will ask Maggie.”

Jacob’s lips tightened. “Arranging my affairs for me?”

There was challenge in the look Luke gave his brother. “Don’t tell me you’ve been leading the poor girl on.”

“Are you talking about Maggie Stewart?” Michael’s eyebrows lifted when Jacob nodded. “Are you serious about her, then?”

Jacob’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I’ve been considering marriage. It seemed time.”

“What about you, Mick?” Luke’s use of Michael’s nickname was an olive branch of sorts. “You wouldn’t meet many women in your line of work. Sneaking into hostile countries, blowing up things—it can’t leave you much time for socializing.”

“Luke has a point,” Jacob said. “Will your duties interfere with finding a bride? You said you’d be leaving the country again soon.”

“Yes. On the third.”

Luke whistled. “Eight days? I’m a fast worker, but that’s not much time, even for me. With all those millions that will land in your lap soon, though, it can be done. Want me to send a few candidates your way?”

Michael scowled. “I think I can find a wife on my own.”

“One more thing,” Jacob said. “The treatment seems to have worked, but there’s no guarantee subsequent treatments will have the same effect.” He paused. “We might marry, dissolve the trust, set up another one to pay for Ada’s care—and a month or a year later, she could be dead anyway.”

Luke and Michael exchanged glances. For once, the two understood each other perfectly. Michael spoke for them both when he said, “A month, a year, twenty years—it doesn’t matter. Any time we can buy her will be worth the price. This is for Ada.”

It was settled. The three of them would find women willing to marry quickly, and so dissolve the bizarre trust their father had set up. They would do this in spite of the fact that each of them had at some point vowed never to marry.

Because this was for Ada. The one woman they all loved.

Their housekeeper.

One

Rain washed the window where Jacob stood staring out at a wet, dreary world. He didn’t know why some people claimed to like rainy days. Rain sucked the color out of everything and sniffled in self-pity while it did, sounding like one great, endless sob. And a December rain was the worst, cold and endlessly gray.

Storms, now—storms were all right. When the air cracked open and flashed threats across the sky in million-volt arcs of light, it woke a man up. But three endless rainy days made Jacob want to put his fist through something.

Not that he would do such a thing, of course. He took a sip from the mug in his hand, then frowned. Cold coffee was as bad as rainy days.

Of course, if he wanted to be honest, he’d admit that his mood this morning had a great deal to do with what had happened last weekend. It wasn’t every day a man asked a woman to marry him. And got turned down.

He’d rushed things. He knew that, but what choice had he had? He had to marry soon, and Maggie had been his choice. She was perfect for him, a warm, outgoing woman with dozens of friends both male and female, and a ruthlessly competitive streak when she was on the back of a horse. But sexually she was shy, inexperienced. He’d rather liked that about her. Jacob hadn’t objected to taking his time, letting her get used to him.

Hadn’t he spent two months proving she could trust him, that he wouldn’t pounce on her? It hadn’t been easy, either. And the reason she’d given for refusing him had come as a shock. Like hell he didn’t want her! Maybe he didn’t feel some blind, all-consuming passion, but she was a cute little thing and he’d been looking forward to taking her to bed. Passion was like fool’s gold, anyway—lots of sparkle, no substance. He’d expected her to agree with him about that.

Of course, Maggie had been shocked, too. But she liked him, dammit. They could have been good for each other, comfortable together. If he’d just had a little more time…

When the door behind him opened, he spoke without turning. “The office line rang a minute ago.”

“Then you should have answered it,” a tart voice said. “Since you’ve apparently got nothing better to do.”

He turned around. “I’m taking a break. You’re always telling me I work too hard.”

A tiny, wrinkled woman in baggy slacks came into the room bearing an insulated carafe of coffee—no doubt her excuse for barging in on him. “There’s a difference between taking a break and brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

It had been three weeks since Ada had returned from Switzerland and learned that he’d told his brothers about her condition. She had yet to forgive Jacob for spilling her secret. She was looking better, though. That was what mattered. Oh, she was still too skinny, but she had always been a bony little thing. Her movements were reassuringly brisk.

“I like the hair.”

One child-size hand came up to pat the orange frizz that made such an interesting contrast with her tanned-to-leather skin. “Do you? I was afraid Marilyn used too much Tropical Sunrise this time.”

“Very cheerful.”

She snorted and set the carafe down on his desk. “As if you cared about cheerful. You want me to call a temp agency? Cosmo’s down with a stomach bug, and I’ve got better things to do than answer your office line.”

Damn. “My new assistant should be capable of answering the phone. If she ever gets here.”

“She called. She’s on her way.”

He glanced out the window. This damned rain! “I suppose the roads are difficult.” Although Jacob’s house was built on high land, several of the roads nearby flooded when they had a heavy rain. That was one reason he preferred to have his staff live in.

“They’ve got travelers’ advisories out. Here.” She held out a fresh cup of coffee. “Maybe a little caffeine will stop your snarling.”

Jacob took the mug. He wasn’t looking forward to breaking in a new assistant. He’d always hated having strangers around him. Sonia, his regular assistant, thought highly of Ms. McGuire, but Jacob remained skeptical. “I know her name from somewhere.”

Ada gave him a pitying look. “They do say the brain is the first to go. She compiled a report for Sonia a month ago. You read the report. No doubt her name was on it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He sipped the coffee and sat down behind his desk. “It sounds like I’ve got time to put a call through to Marcos in Rome. When my new assistant finally shows up, bring her to me right away. You can fill her in on my faults later.”

“Aren’t enough hours in the day to do that,” she said, going to the door, where she paused, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Jacob…”

“Yes?”

“Did Maggie turn you down?”

He knew very well his expression hadn’t given him away, but apparently something had. He nodded.

“She wasn’t right for you, anyway,” she said gruffly. “You might as well get some work done. Better than brooding.” She pulled the door shut behind her,

In spite of everything, he smiled. Ada was definitely feeling better.

And that, he reminded himself, was what mattered, not who he married. Marriage was an unholy risk, no matter who he asked. Maybe, he thought, sipping his coffee, he would ask his new assistant to marry him as soon as she stepped in the door. Good morning, Ms. McGuire. I’m pleased to see you didn’t drown on the way here. You’ll need to answer the phone today, since my secretary is sick. Also, I would like to get married as soon as possible. Is Friday good for you?

Jacob chuckled and put down his mug. He was still smiling as he powered up his computer, accessed the latest market quotes—and promptly forgot his coffee, the rain and the woman who had rejected him.

It was still raining when Claire pulled up in front of the West mansion. Or castle, she thought, eyeing the massive house where she would be living for the next month or more.

Someone had already decorated for Christmas, though Thanksgiving was only a few days behind them. Lights were strung in a zigzag along the pediments topping the first floor windows, making a bright, incongruous splash of scarlet against the gray stone. Off to the left, she glimpsed a turret through the blur of rain. And could the roof really be crenelated?

Good grief. Tucking her laptop beneath her raincoat and shielding herself as much as possible with her umbrella, she climbed out of her cousin’s Bronco and dashed up the steps.

The doorbell was tucked inside a gargoyle’s snarling mouth. She grinned and pressed it, wondering who would open the door. A house like this deserved an ancient family retainer. A terrifyingly dignified butler, maybe? Or a hunchback with a scar that knit half his face into a hideous scowl? Igor, in fact.

The door didn’t creak when it opened, unfortunately. And that was definitely not Igor.

“Good God,” exclaimed the wrinkled elf in the doorway. “This is worse than I’d expected. Or maybe better.”

The woman was no bigger than a twelve-year-old child. A scrawny twelve-year-old. Frizzy hair the color of marigolds and the texture of a dandelion puff framed a face that had been browned by the sun of at least fifty Texas summers. She wore a sweatshirt, baggy olive-green slacks, an apron and a pair of diamond earrings with stones so big they should have come out of a Cracker Jack box.

But Claire was pretty sure they hadn’t. “Ah—I’m Claire McGuire.”

“Of course you are. Who else would show up in this weather, looking the way you do?” She shook her head. “You may as well come in. Sonia did warn me. She also assured me you wouldn’t try to seduce the boy, but you wouldn’t have to try very hard, would you?”

Claire stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind.” The tiny woman chuckled. “Damned if I know what Sonia was thinking, but it’s going to be interesting around here. Come with me.”

Claire followed her into the foyer, dripping onto the creamy marble floor. She supposed a brilliant, eccentric recluse ought to have an unusual housekeeper, especially if he didn’t have an Igor. “You’re Ada, I take it?”

“I should have introduced myself, shouldn’t I? I figured Sonia had told you about me.”

“She said I would like you.”

“Some people do. You don’t have any luggage? Here, give me your raincoat so I can hang it up in the kitchen to dry.”

Obediently Claire slipped out of the dripping coat. “I left my suitcases in the car. If it ever stops raining, I can get them then.”

Ada accepted the coat. “There’s a powder room under the stairs if you want to mess with your hair or face.” She gave Claire another once-over, then grinned. “Not that you need it. Oh, my,” she said, turning away. “It will be interesting around here.”

Claire shook her head in amusement as the tiny woman trotted under an arched doorway, and off down the hall beyond.

The foyer was classical in style—square, marble and oversize, with a twelve-foot ceiling rimmed in ornate moldings. To her left was a closed door flanked by an enormous Christmas tree. A grand sweep of a staircase lay to her right, and directly in front of her were two arched door-ways—the one Ada had gone through, that led to a hallway, and another that opened onto a shadowy, unlit living room.

Her hair felt flat and damp to the touch, so she pulled a brush out of her purse. She didn’t bother to hunt up the powder room, though. She had her share of vanity, but she already knew what she looked like. She didn’t know nearly enough about her new employer. She hadn’t even met him yet.

Oh, she’d heard about him. Who in the Dallas financial community hadn’t heard of the Iceman? Jacob West was said to be brilliant, reclusive and eccentric. Some disliked him, many envied him. A few feared him. All agreed on two things: he was uncannily good at making money, and he never lied. He might be secretive, he might be ruthless, but his word was more dependable than a signed contract from most men.

One of West’s eccentricities was that he didn’t have an office. He lived and worked here, in the huge old house his grandfather had built, and he insisted that his immediate staff live here, too. So here Claire was, for now. She was replacing her friend Sonia, who’d flown to Georgia to pamper her daughter and spoil her brand-new grandbaby for a month or two.

Normally, Claire wouldn’t have accepted a job that took her away from home and the business she’d been building, not even for a chance to work with a wizard like West. After putting in her time in the investment department of a large bank, last year Claire had moved out on her own as an investment analyst, specializing in reports to and about midsize companies. She loved it. Dissecting and interpreting a dry financial report appealed to the tidy part of her nature—not surprising in a woman who organized her closet by color, style and season.

But the part of her work that excited her, the part she truly loved, was digging for the hidden gold or buried secrets that made or ruined an investment. Claire might be as tidy as a cat about some things but, like a cat, she enjoyed the hunt. And she liked to win.

So far, she’d won often enough to keep her head above water, but building a clientele took time. The salary she would earn from Jacob West wouldn’t hurt her personal financial picture, she admitted.

But that wasn’t why she’d taken the job. Not the biggest reason, anyway. More important was that she would be living here. According to Sonia, the West mansion had an excellent security system.

Things weren’t normal now. Not since she’d gotten Ken’s letter.

Claire shivered and stuffed her brush back in her purse. To distract herself, she wandered over to the huge Christmas tree. It was impressive, a decorator’s delight, covered in old-fashioned ornaments. Impressive and lovely…and rather cold, she thought.

“Sorry I took so long.” Ada’s voice came from the arched entry to another hallway, startling Claire. “I made the mistake of checking on Cosmo. Never was a man yet who didn’t think he was dying whenever he catches some little bug.”

“Cosmo—?” Claire started to ask who that was, but the little woman had already spun around.

“Come on.” Ada hurried briskly down the hall without looking to see if Claire was following. “He’s probably finished talking to Rome by now. And if not, he should be.”

Bemused, Claire followed. The housekeeper stopped in front of the first door on the left, knocked once, then shoved it open. “She’s here,” Ada announced. “You owe me twenty.”

Claire reminded herself that she’d been Sonia’s choice for the position, and Sonia knew her background. Probably she’d told Jacob West about it…and if not, no doubt he would recognize her. A lot of people did. Even after six years, people often took one look at her and remembered the gossip, the scandal and the trial.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Claire stepped into Jacob West’s office. She had a quick, vague impression of wood—an enormous wooden desk, carved wooden wainscoting, cabinets of some kind.

Mostly, though, she noticed the man.

Power. That was her first, overwhelming impression. The physical details filtered through that aura of power. Jacob West was a hard man, dark-haired and harsh-featured, with a lean, strong body clothed in custom-tailored trousers and a crisp dress shirt. He was also tall, she realized when he stood up behind his desk. She was five foot nine, and he stood at least six inches taller.

He nodded at Claire, but spoke to his housekeeper. “The bet was for ten o’clock. It’s twelve minutes after.”

“She got here before ten. Pulled up in the driveway at five minutes till, but you were on the phone.” She held out her hand, wiggling the fingers. “Pay up.”

“Why don’t we let it ride? Double or nothing that you won’t follow the doctor’s orders this afternoon and nap.”

Ada snorted. “You won’t get me that easy. Pay up.”

The glimmer in those icy eyes might have been anger, or amusement, or even fondness. Impossible to tell. He pulled out a money clip and peeled off a bill. Ada took it, tucked it into her apron pocket and trotted for the door.

She paused long enough to say, “Lunch is at one. Burritos. Don’t let Jacob push you around. The boy has things too much his way, too much of the time.”

The door closed behind her with a firm click.

“Well.” Claire couldn’t keep from smiling. “Sonia told me I would like Ada. I think she was right.”

The trace of emotion that had lived in his face when he spoke to his housekeeper left when she did. He looked directly at Claire.

Such odd eyes, she thought. The color of a cloudy winter sky, neither blue nor gray, and very pale, fringed by lashes as dark as his hair. Pale, sexy, cold…at first.

It wasn’t recognition she saw in his eyes. It was heat, rich and dark and starkly sexual.

He hid the reaction quickly, so she ignored it, crossing to him and holding out her hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr. West.”

His hand was hard and warm and slightly callused—and heat licked up her spine, followed by the quick, sharp bite of panic. Dammit, of all the times for her hormones to kick in—! She’d handle it, she assured herself as she dropped his hand a little too quickly. She wasn’t a wild kid anymore.

“Sonia speaks highly of you.” His voice was as cool and contained as his expression. “I’m glad you were able to accept my offer. I intend to make the fullest use of your talents.”

“Good. I hope to learn a lot from you while I’m here.”

“Perhaps you will,” he murmured, and moved away from the desk. “I’ll put you to work as soon as possible, but you’ll need to familiarize yourself with some of my projects first.”

The file cabinet he went to was one of four lined up neatly against one wall. Instead of the usual gray or beige metal, though, these were made from the same rich cherry wood as his desk.

All in all, West’s office was more manor house than castle or mansion, she decided. Beautiful, expensive, with a restrained elegance.

Rather like the man. Not that he was beautiful, not with those harsh features, but he did have a certain elegance. Funny. She hadn’t thought power and elegance had much in common, but when she looked at him…

Sternly Claire brought her thoughts back to business. “You want me to read up on your current projects before I tackle anything concrete?”

“Yes.” He brushed aside a dangling stem and unlocked the top drawer in one cabinet.

The stem he’d pushed aside belonged to an ivy. Not any ordinary ivy, however. This one sprawled across the tops of all four file cabinets like an invading army. Having claimed its immediate territory, the plant now had designs on the floor, judging by the way tendrils snaked down here and there.

A single red Christmas ball dangled from one of those tendrils. She smiled. “Don’t look now, but I think your ivy has eaten your files.”

“The damned thing won’t stop growing.” He pulled out one file folder, closed that drawer and opened another one. “Two years ago, when Sonia gave it to me for Christmas, it was in a six-inch pot.”

“Have you considered feeding it less?”

“I don’t feed it. Sonia does, though I’ve never caught her at it. She won’t let me get rid of it.”

The Iceman’s assistant wouldn’t let him get rid of a plant? Claire accepted the stack of files he held out. “I think it’s massing for an assault. You’d better be careful. Your desk is only a few feet away.”

He smiled. And her knees went weak. “It’s pretty fast as vegetation goes, but as a member in good standing of the animal kingdom, I’m faster. I think I can evade any sneak attacks.”

“Yes, of course.” And she was an idiot, chattering about the man’s plant and trying to keep from panting. Or grabbing him. What was wrong with her? She smoothed out her expression. “If you’ll show me to my office, I’ll start reading.”

“This way.” He moved to the opposite wall, where a door was nearly hidden in the elaborate wainscoting. “Pay particular attention to everything relating to the Stellar Security deal. I’ll be needing a report on one of the participants as soon as possible.”

She followed him into the adjoining office—and stopped dead.

There was a bed in the room. Well, in one section of a very long room, the half that wasn’t office. There was also a television, easy chairs and other furniture, with a tiny kitchenette tucked in one corner.

The other corner held the bed.

“Unfortunately my secretary is ill,” he was saying. “So— What’s wrong?”

“I, ah, hadn’t realized that my living quarters and my office were going to be one and the same.”

“I had this room converted when Sonia’s arthritis made using the stairs difficult. Is there a problem with it?”

“Oh, no. No problem. I was just surprised. It’s a pleasant room, actually. In a green sort of way.”

And it was, on both sides of the divider. The ten-by-twelve-foot office area held an L-shaped desk with the usual computer paraphernalia, a bright green swivel chair, a visitor’s chair, file cabinets, a bookcase and floor-to-ceiling shelves. And what looked like a couple hundred plants.

African violets basked under a special light in the shelves; several varieties of ferns snuggled into one corner, nearly hiding the bookcase. A ficus competed with a small palm and some other tropical plant for space in front of the window, while more plants that she couldn’t identify occupied every bare spot on the desk, shelves and bookcase. A relative of the ivy in West’s office was trying valiantly to cover the latticed screen that separated the office section from the bed/sitting room.

Claire shook her head wonderingly. “Sonia asked me to look after her plants while I was here. She didn’t mention that she lives in a jungle.”

“Sonia likes plants.”

“So I see. I suppose you have to count yourself lucky she’s only given you one.”

“I threatened to spray her room with weed killer if she did it again.”

“That’s a joke, right?” But there was no glimmer of amusement in those eyes…quite fascinating eyes, really, the sort that made a woman wonder what they looked like when—

“Would you mind if I called you Claire? I prefer to be on a first-name basis with my staff.”

A cowardly part of her wanted to say “the more formality, the better.” She suppressed it. “Of course—Jacob.”

He nodded. “Ada will give you a key to the front door and explain the security system. I prefer to leave the door connecting our offices open during the workday.”

She smiled. “So you can yell for me when you need me?”

“I don’t yell. When you’ve acquainted yourself with the basics in those files, I have some letters I need to get out.”

“Ah—letters?”

“You are familiar with the term?”

Her lips tightened. “I’ve heard of it. However, I’m an investment advisor. I prepare reports, in-depth summaries, financial evaluations. I don’t do letters. Or windows. And now, I suppose, I’d better start reading.”

A phone rang. There were two of them on her desk, one yellow, one green.

“The yellow phone is the office line. Answer it.”

She raised her eyebrows at his tone, but went ahead and picked up the banana-shaped receiver. “Jacob West’s office. Mr. West is…” She looked a question at him.

“Unavailable. Unless it’s Michael or Luke.”

“…unavailable right now. If you’d like me to take a message—yes, just a moment.” She took the message, hung up and swiveled. “Did you ever go to kindergarten?”

She had the pleasure of seeing him startled. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. The ‘please and thank you’ magic seems to have missed you.” She held out the message. “That was Bill Prescott. He’d like you to call back as soon as possible.”

“Later. I don’t want to talk to anyone today, unless one of my brothers calls.”

Claire had met Bill Prescott—William Prescott the Third, actually. He was the chairman of the board of a large electronics firm, among other things. He wasn’t a man accustomed to being kept waiting. “Am I supposed to screen your calls, then? And handle your correspondence?”

“Until my secretary is well, yes.”

“No doubt I can fit in any reports you’d like prepared in my spare time. Perhaps you want me to take dictation? Or get you a cup of coffee?”

“Do you take dictation?” he asked politely.

“It wasn’t a requirement for my degree in Economics.”

“Pity.” He studied her a moment. “I pay my staff well. In return I expect a great deal, even from temporary employees such as yourself. If your dignity won’t allow you to depart from the strict letter of your duties, tell me now so I can make other arrangements.”

Tell him she wouldn’t type his letters and she could go home, where she wouldn’t have to compete for space with a jungle, or put up with a highhanded, irritatingly sexy man.

And wait there for Ken to show up. “I will try to be flexible.”

“Good.” He stopped in the doorway. “By the way, Ada supplies us with coffee, the windows are cleaned by a window-washing company and my secretary’s name is Cosmo Penopolous.”

“Cosmo what?”

“Penopolous. When he isn’t suffering from a stomach virus, he’s also my personal trainer and occasional sparring partner. I do expect a lot from my employees, but my expectations are based on their individual talents, not on stereotypes.” He smiled that slow, killer smile. “I look forward to discovering where your particular skills lie, Ms. McGuire. And putting them to use.”

Two

Claire couldn’t hear Jacob’s footsteps when he left. The Oriental carpet in his office was too thick. She did hear the creak of leather when he sat in his chair, followed by the quiet click of keys that indicated he was using his computer. She opened the top folder. Instead of reading the contents, though, she stared straight ahead.

He wanted to put her skills to use?

The look in his eyes…well, she wouldn’t call it obvious. Jacob West was not an obvious man. But it had been personal. And sexual.

The faint tapping of keys in the other room stopped. Claire found herself listening, wondering what he was doing now. He hadn’t said a word about her past. Did that mean he wasn’t aware of it? Or was he possessed of an extraordinary degree of tact?

Jacob West didn’t strike her as a man much interested in tact. But he was interested in her. And she…but it was her body that was interested, not her. She’d get over that.

It would have been simpler if her new boss had been old or fat or interested in men, though.

She’d handle it, she assured herself. Men hated rejection. Once she’d figured that out, it had made her life a lot easier. Most men tested the waters before risking rejection with an outright pass, and she’d learned to give the right signals to discourage them. Of course, a few were so blinded by youth, hormones or sheer conceit that the only signal they would notice involved a two-by-four.

Claire didn’t think Jacob West was blind. She thought he was unusually observant. That was the problem. The man made her hot, and he knew it.

This time it was his voice that distracted her. It was pitched low, as if he were talking on the phone.

I don’t yell, he’d said. No, she thought, a man with a voice like that—crisp and smooth at the same time, like good whiskey—wouldn’t have to raise his voice.

She huffed out an exasperated breath. Enough. West had seen her response to him, and in return he’d let her know he was interested. So, okay, that was nothing to get upset about. Eventually her lustful thoughts would die a natural death. In the meantime, she would keep them to herself.

It occurred to her that this was the man her cousin had advised her to have a screaming affair with. The thought was so absurd she chuckled. No way was she that foolish.

In the other room, he stopped speaking. Leather creaked, and she pictured him shifting in his chair, maybe stretching out those long legs of his, the thigh muscles taut beneath the pressed slacks…

There was a radio on her desk next to the yellow phone. Claire punched the power button, and some country singer started crooning about a fool-hearted man.

She listened for a moment, but couldn’t hear anything from the other room over the music. Satisfied, she leaned back in her own chair and started reading.

From his office, Jacob heard the radio come on and scowled. He had five things he needed to do right now, and another ten that should be handled promptly. And all he could think about was the woman in the room next to his.

What in the hell had Sonia been thinking of?

Claire McGuire. He’d thought the name sounded familiar, but he hadn’t made the connection. Not until he saw her.

He reached for the coffee he’d forgotten an hour ago. It was, of course, cold. Frustrated, he saved the data he’d been unable to concentrate on and leaned back in his chair.

Claire McGuire. The woman who had driven Ken Lawrence mad.

That was nonsense, of course. A sane man didn’t lose his grip on reality because of a woman. But the phrase had made a great sound bite, and the media had played up the femme fatale angle. They’d had help with that from Ken Lawrence’s parents, who had made Claire sound like a woman who could teach “fast” to a rabbit.

The Lawrences moved in the same circles Jacob did. He knew them socially, but they didn’t interest him. They were snobs—dull people who made up for what they lacked in imagination by owning the right things and knowing the right people.

Six years ago when the story broke, he’d felt sorry for the parents, contempt for the son and very little interest in the whole sordid story.

Yet he’d remembered her face, had known who she was within seconds of seeing her. No surprise there, he thought, opening his address book. That face was, quite simply, unforgettable. Add to that a body made for sin, and you had a combination that could make any man beg.

Almost any man, he amended mentally as he picked up the phone.

He punched in a number he used frequently in the course of business, but his mind wasn’t on what he did. Instead he saw a smooth curve of cheek and a full, unsubtle mouth. Eyes bright as the summer sky after a storm. The flare of a hip against pleated linen slacks, and a narrow waist mostly hidden by a blazer the color of those eyes.

She was nothing like Maggie. Maggie had suited him, made him relax. Claire McGuire was anything but relaxing.

“North Investigations,” a pleasant voice said into his ear.

“This is Jacob West. I need to speak to Adam North.”

“Just a moment, sir. He’s on another line.”

Jacob waited. And he saw, again, Claire’s smile. It was crooked, disturbing the symmetry of that perfect face and making her seem more human. Dangerously so. And he remembered the thought that had hit him the second he saw her, before he recognized her—before, even, the impact of her beauty had time to register.

Mine.

On her fifth morning at the West mansion, Claire awoke with her pulse throbbing between her legs and dreams sleeting off her, brightly colored images slipping away with each sleepy blink of her eyes.

Erotic images. Though she couldn’t remember the content of the dream, she knew it had been highly erotic. And she knew who had starred in it. Good grief. She stared up at the ceiling, throbbing and restless. Is this what men have to put up with every morning?

More to the point, was this what she would have to put up with every morning she stayed in this house?

Her real problem wasn’t her boss. Jacob had behaved himself. Oh, she’d caught him watching her sometimes. And sometimes, his pale eyes went from ice to white-hot for a second, before he realized he’d been spotted and promptly slammed the shutters closed again. But he never said or did anything objectionable. Aside from the occasional display of a sneaky sense of humor that a less observant woman might have missed altogether, Jacob had been a model of businesslike behavior—demanding, yes, but respectful. Distant, for the most part. Though he had begun to seem cautiously friendly the past couple of days…

She was vastly relieved that he’d picked up on her hands-off signals. And vastly aggravated, because relief wasn’t all she felt.

It was her own unruly imagination she had to watch out for. No surprise there, she thought, and grimaced. At least, it shouldn’t be. Hadn’t she always been the cause of her troubles? Her impulses, her lack of judgment, had snarled up more than just her own life.

Well, she wasn’t going to give in to any impulses with Jacob West. She was doing her damnedest not to have any impulses, but she couldn’t control her sneaky, hormone-prompted unconscious when she was asleep. Claire sighed and squinted at the clock. Time to get up. At least today was Friday. She could pick up Sheba this evening.

Claire was looking forward to having her cat with her again. She hummed as she popped under the shower—leaving the water cooler than usual, to discourage those wayward hormones and flush out the lingering traces of her dream.

Right now, her cat was at home with her cousin Danny, who was house-sitting. Sheba was a cat with attitude. She also possessed a worse set of impulses than Claire owned. The two traits had resulted in a serious disagreement with a neighbor’s German shepherd the day before Claire started working for Jacob, followed by a quick trip to the vet. The vet had stitched up Sheba and kept her a few days, but she was doing fine now.

Clean, dry, with her hair and makeup done, Claire stood in front of her open closet door and tried to find something to wear. It shouldn’t have been difficult. She liked clothes, and she’d brought a fair portion of her closet with her. But for some reason nothing looked right this morning.

Finally she settled on loosely shaped black slacks in a heavy silk that felt like pure sin against her skin, pairing them with a short yellow jacket. She slipped tiny gold hoops through her ears and glanced at the clock. She didn’t want to be late for her date this morning. With Ada.

She smiled. Ada was quite a character. So was Cosmo, though of a different stripe. Even the maid who came three days a week to help keep this huge old house clean was out of the ordinary. Maude was a grandmother with enough college credits for two degrees, and no intention of getting a “real” job. She just wanted enough money to keep taking courses in whatever interested her.

They said you could tell a lot about people by the company they kept. Claire wasn’t sure what Jacob’s odd household said about him, but it sure didn’t fit with his Iceman image.

Normally the inmates of the big old house fended for themselves at breakfast and on weekends, but during the week everyone gathered in the big kitchen for lunch and dinner. Often Jacob was there, sometimes not, depending on whether he was in town and remembered to stop working. Last night Ada had honored Claire with an invitation for breakfast. Blueberry pancakes. Claire’s stomach rumbled, but she paused on her way out, glancing at the door that joined her office to Jacob’s.

It was closed, of course. Every day when she shut off her computer she shut that door. And every morning when she opened it he was already in his office, already working. Sometimes she wondered if he slept there.

Acting on impulse, she snuck the door open and peeked inside. His office was dark, unoccupied. Of course it was. Jacob had a perfectly good bed in his bedroom on the second floor. Ada had pointed out his room when she gave Claire a tour of the house. Right now he was probably asleep in that king-size bed, stretched out beneath the silky black-and-brown comforter… Don’t go there, she ordered herself, and inched the door closed once more.

She was reaching for the other door—the one to the hall—when her phone rang.

Dang it. Well, the pancakes could wait one minute, but no more. She picked up the receiver. “This is Claire.”

“And this is your hardworking house-sitter with a good news, bad news report,” her cousin’s voice said cheerfully.

“Danny! I didn’t expect to hear from you this early.” She resigned herself to being a few minutes late. “Sheba’s okay, isn’t she?”

“Oh, she’s fine. She got her medicine last night just like the vet ordered. And don’t worry about me—the bleeding stopped eventually. You are coming to get that hell-spawned beast tonight, aren’t you?”

She chuckled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Not as much as I am,” he said fervently.

“You’re earning stars in your crown, as Mom used to tell us. I take it that was the good news. What’s busted? Did the disposal spit up again?”

Danny paused. “A disposal, I could fix. This is a little more complicated. When I opened the door this morning to bring in the paper, there was something else on the stoop. A rose.”

Claire’s pulse began pounding in her ears. “Red,” she said, her voice flat. “It was red, wasn’t it, Danny?’

“I’m afraid so.”

A single rose. Bloodred, the petals barely unfurled. She could see it so clearly. Red for passion, Ken used to tell her. Only one rose, always just the one. Because they were meant to be one. Claire’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “You didn’t see him?”

“I wish I had. If I’d caught him—”

“Dammit, Danny, do not do anything macho and stupid!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let your cop buddy know if the son of a bitch comes sneaking around. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to catch him at it, just so we could prove he’s violating parole.”

The police wouldn’t consider a rose evidence of anything. She bit her lip and changed the subject, trying to push the fear down, where it wouldn’t show. To either of them. “Are you going to be home tonight, when I come get Sheba?”

“I’ve got a meeting at seven, but I’ll be here after that. No more wild Friday nights for me,” he said wryly.

His words warmed her. Danny just might make it work this time. She wasn’t fooling herself. He had a lot of hard work ahead, and he might fail and fall many times. But this time he was attending AA meetings because he wanted to, not because he needed to please or fool someone else. Like her. Or a judge.

“How about you?” he asked. “Going to have a wild time tonight with your new boss, maybe?”

“Hardly.”

“You do have that haughty, duchess tone down pat. How long has it been since you went out on a real date, Claire?”

“Come on, you know I don’t have the time or energy for much of a social life. I’m trying to get my consulting business off the ground.”

“Your career’s an excuse. No, listen to me for a minute. You enjoy the money game, and you’re good at it. But at heart, you aren’t an ambitious person. You just like playing the game.”

“Jut playing the game won’t pay the bills,” she said dryly. “And that, I do take seriously.”

“You’re hiding, Claire. Just look at your clothes.”

She bristled. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to dress. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Those power suits of yours are just as much camouflage as the bag lady clothes you wore for a while.”

“I realize you don’t get the whole dress-for-success concept, but take my word for it. I need to look professional. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, people do judge us on how we look.”

His voice was sad. “I understand why you think that. But—oh, hell, Claire. Sometimes I miss you. The person you used to be, the cousin who laughed all the time and did crazy stuff just for the hell of it. The one who didn’t plan her life on a blasted spreadsheet.”

Silence fell, trapping too much of the past between them. “That person made too many mistakes,” she said at last. Danny ought to know that. One of her impulses was partly responsible for the hell he’d been living in the past few years.

“Maybe, but she was human. I’m learning a whole lot about being human and making mistakes these days. Claire…I’m glad you got out of this house, where Ken Lawrence can’t find you. Just don’t keep running away from him in other ways, too.”

“Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

After she hung up, Claire took a deep, calming breath. Danny was wrong. He was one hundred percent wrong, and she was an idiot to let him upset her. She wasn’t running away. She was running to something—the future she’d been building and the person she was becoming: a woman who would never make the kind of mistakes that had wrecked more lives than just her own. No, she didn’t miss her old self at all.

She took another slow breath, opened the door to the hall and stepped out—right into a solid male body.

A startled shriek rose in her throat. She bit it back. Her head felt light and dizzy.

“Whoa!” Two strong hands gripped her arms, steadying her.

Not Jacob. That was her first thought, and she shook her head to rid herself of it. Not Jacob—and not Ken, either, of course. He couldn’t get to her here.

This was a stranger.

“Sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

His hands dropped and his eyes widened. “Surely you aren’t Claire McGuire.”

“I hate to disagree, but I am.”

“Feel free to disagree with me anytime.” A smile grew in his eyes until it reached his mouth. “Especially when I say something stupid. Of course you’re Claire McGuire. I’m Michael West.”

“Jacob’s brother?”

“Guilty.”

Michael was a good-looking man, but his features were even, not harsh, and rather Latin. His eyes were as dark as Jacob’s were pale—no resemblance there. His body, now…yes, physically he had something in common with his brother. Power. And control. “So you’re one of the two people Jacob was willing to talk to on my first day. Glad to meet you, Mr. West.”

“Make it Michael, please. Or Mick. That way I won’t have to call you Ms. McGuire. Has Jacob been difficult?”

“It varies. On a scale of teddy bear to grizzly, he usually hits somewhere between rattlesnake and wolverine.”

Amusement deepened in his eyes. “Sounds as if you’re getting to know him quickly. Are you on your way to breakfast?”

“Yes, Ada asked me to join her. And you?” She shouldn’t pump him for information about his brother, but if he happened to volunteer something…

“Unfortunately I’ve already eaten. I’ve got a ten o’clock flight.”

“Oh.” Looked like her curiosity was doomed to disappointment. “Well, it was nice meeting you.” She smiled. “I almost said ‘running into you,’ but that’s precisely what I did do, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t mind that part.”

She chuckled. “I’ll bet you were a hell-raiser as a kid.”

“As a matter of fact, I was. I didn’t think I gave that impression these days, though.”

“Oh, you don’t. But it takes one to know one.”

He lifted his eyebrow. With that subtle shift, the resemblance she hadn’t seen before snapped into focus, and he looked very much like his brother. “Are you a hell-raiser?”

“Not anymore, but when I was younger—well, who has any sense at eighteen? You remind me of my ‘making up for it’ period, when I was terribly serious about everything.”

He studied her so gravely that she wondered if she’d offended him. “You know, I think I do have time for a quick cup of coffee before I leave. If you wouldn’t mind some company—?”

“I’d love it.” She started down the hall with him, slanting him a mischievous glance. “I’ll bet Ada knows all sorts of stories about you and Jacob when you were boys.”

“Just don’t mention the apple pie incident. Or anything from when I was a teenager. Or—hmm. Maybe it would be better if I left without a last cup of coffee, after all.”

She laughed. “I think I’m going to like you, Michael. And there is no way I’ll let you duck out of that cup of coffee now.” Claire thrust aside all thought of the rose that had been left on her doorstep. She was safe for the moment. Ken had no way of finding her here.

And if her haven was only temporary, then, like Scarlet, she’d worry about it tomorrow. Because there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it today.

The kitchen was Michael’s favorite room, maybe because it had changed so little over the years. The window box in the corner, with its crop of herbs adding a sweet whiff of oregano and mint to the air, was a recent addition. Sonia’s doing, most likely. Michael sipped his coffee and enjoyed the steam and the mingling of scents. It always smelled good here.

None of his father’s wives had been allowed to tamper with Ada’s domain. That window box was the only tangible evidence that any woman other than Ada had ever lived in this house…that, and the woman who sat next to Ada at the big, scarred table.

Claire McGuire was a surprise. Especially after the talk he’d had with his brother last night.

Michael enjoyed watching her. What man wouldn’t? But her beauty wasn’t as interesting as the way she obviously enjoyed Ada, who was taking shameless advantage of the opportunity to embarrass Michael.

When Ada finished her latest story, Claire’s smile broke into a laugh. “He didn’t. Really? A smoke bomb?” She shook her head. “Michael, you’re worse than I was. At least I never blew anything up.”

“Can I help it if I like things that go boom?”

Ada shot him a darkling look. She didn’t approve of Michael’s frequent, lengthy absences. “The boy always did like making a commotion. That hasn’t changed.”

“Sounds like you had your hands full when they were younger.”

“Hellions, all three of them,” Ada said proudly. “Now, Jacob has always been sneakier about it than the other two, but he got into his share of trouble. There was this girl he was crazy about when he was fourteen. She was sixteen, so he—”

“Not the one about my first driving experience,” Jacob said dryly from the doorway. “Please.”

“It’s your turn,” Michael said. “Claire has already heard about the smoke bomb I set off at St. Vincent’s.”

“I’m the eldest. I should go last.” He poured a cup of coffee, turned and leaned against the counter. “I vote that we tell her about Luke’s gambling career next.”

Claire hadn’t precisely stiffened when Jacob entered the room. It was more subtle than that—a loss of ease, as if she were suddenly conscious of her expression, her body, in a way she hadn’t been before. As if she were intensely conscious of Jacob’s presence.

Interesting, Michael thought.

“Luke is your other brother, right?” she asked Jacob.

He nodded. He looked entirely at ease, but Michael knew better. The hunter had his prey in sight, and didn’t want to spook it. “Technically,” Michael said, “if we go by years rather than maturity level, Luke is my older brother. Not as ancient as the graybeard leering at you now, but—”

“Watch it,” Jacob said lazily. “I can still take you, as long as you don’t try any of those sudden-death tricks the army taught you.”

“Not in my kitchen, you can’t.” Ada pushed her chair back and stood. “Jacob, you sit down instead of perching there like a vulture checking out the remains, and I’ll fix you some pancakes.”

A phone rang. Not the one in the kitchen, but nearby.

“That’s your line, Ada,” Jacob said helpfully, sipping his coffee.

“Don’t you think I know that? But since I’m busy and you’re not, you might offer to get it for me.”

“I’d rather stay here and leer at Ms. McGuire.”

Ada smirked at him. “I guess you would.” She turned and trotted for the hall door, calling over her shoulder, “Claire, you keep these boys from tearing up my kitchen while I’m gone.”

“I hope the two of you aren’t feeling violent this morning,” Claire said as Ada vanished down the hall. “I’d hate to let Ada down.”

“I’m a gentle soul,” Michael assured her. “Unlike my rowdy brother.”

Jacob raised one eyebrow in that cool, mocking way that used to make Michael want to smash him when he was a teenager. Of course, he’d wanted to smash a lot of things back then.

Claire was amused. “Yes, I can see how rowdy Jacob is. A real troublemaker. You’re in the army, Michael?”

“Special Forces. My brothers treat me with much more respect now that I know how to kill a man in thirteen seconds.”

Her eyebrows went up. “At least I can tell when you’re joking. I think.”

“Jacob was born with a poker face. When the doctor slapped his bottom, he didn’t cry—he slapped him back. Then he bought the man’s practice.”

“It was my first buyout,” Jacob said seriously. “The man had excellent labor relations, but he’d dabbled too heavily in futures.”

“That,” Claire said, her lips twitching, “was a joke. A bad one, but definitely a joke.”

Jacob continued to lean against the counter, sipping his coffee and talking casually with his new employee. He didn’t fool Michael for one minute. Jacob had always gone after what he wanted with the single-minded focus of a lion stalking a gazelle—no nerves, no mercy and the great patience that is possible only in the absence of doubt. His big brother wasn’t so much unaware of the chance of failure as he was impervious to it. A lion whose prey escaped didn’t slink off and moan about his failure, or decide he wasn’t really cut out for this hunting business. He went out and found another gazelle.

But had Jacob ever gone on the hunt for a woman—one particular woman? Michael didn’t think so. Maggie had been—well, handy. Not prey.

“If you have any brothers,” Jacob was saying, “you’ll know you can’t believe half of what Michael tells you about me.”

“No brothers or sisters, I’m afraid, though I do have a cousin I’m close to.” Her eyes softened with memory and affection. “We were hell-raisers together, way back when.”

“Were you?” Jacob set his coffee cup down. “I have trouble picturing you raising hell. Raising temperatures, yes.” He smiled slowly, all sorts of suggestions in his eyes. “That, you do very well.”

Her eyebrows lifted in a wonderfully haughty way. “If that’s supposed to be a compliment, please don’t bother.”

“A statement of fact, rather.” He straightened, moving away from the counter. “It’s not eight o’clock yet.”

She glanced at her watch—a pretty, but inexpensive piece, Michael noted. “If you’d like me to get to the office early—”

“No. I was pointing out that we aren’t on the clock yet. If we were, it would be inappropriate for me to tell you how desirable I find you.”

“You’re out of line.”

“Even in these days of political correctness,” Jacob said, “surely a man can indicate his interest in a beautiful woman, as long as he’s willing to accept a refusal. You don’t look like a woman who would have trouble saying no…if that’s what you want to say.”

There was a tiny crease between Claire’s eyebrows. “I’m not. And ‘no’ is definitely the answer.”

She didn’t look as if she believed it would be that simple. Michael knew it wouldn’t. He pushed his chair back, letting it scrape loudly enough to interrupt the staring match the other two were engaged in. “I’d better be going if I don’t want to risk a speeding ticket. Walk with me to my car, Jacob?”

Jacob’s eyes met his. For a moment, Michael thought his big brother would refuse—and he knew why. He grinned.

Jacob sighed. “All right. At least the damned rain has stopped.”

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