“Why didn’t you tell me when you found out you were pregnant?”

It was the question Jessica had been dreading ever since she’d made the decision not to tell him.

It had been the wrong decision. Or at the very least, the wrong thing to do. There had been so many factors to consider, though, and she’d been so very frightened and alone.

To Alex, however, she said simply, “I didn’t think you’d want to know. Most men wouldn’t.”

“I’m not most men,” he said slowly and very deliberately, almost as though each word was a statement unto itself. “I would have stepped up to the plate. And I most certainly would have wanted to know I’d fathered a child.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jessica didn’t know what else to say, not without saying far too much.

Dear Reader,

I am absolutely delighted to share Secrets, Lies & Lullabies with you because … well, here’s a little secret of my own—this story has been playing at the back of my mind for quite some time. It’s actually an idea I first began working on several years ago. Which is proof, I guess, that one should never give up on an idea one feels strongly about, even if it has to be set aside for a while to focus on other things.

A bit of replotting and a lot of rewriting were required, but I’m finally able (and delighted!) to share Alex and Jessica and their passionate romance with you. It has a little of everything, too—a torrid affair, an attempt at revenge, a secret baby and definitely a happily-ever-after.

I hope you enjoy!

Heidi Betts

About the Author

An avid romance reader since junior high, USA TODAY bestselling author & HEIDI BETTS knew early on that she wanted to write these wonderful stories of love and adventure. It wasn’t until her freshman year of college, however, when she spent the entire night before finals reading a romance novel instead of studying, that she decided to take the road less traveled and follow her dream.

Soon after Heidi joined Romance Writers of America, her writing began to garner attention, including placing in the esteemed Golden Heart competition three years in a row. The recipient of numerous awards and stellar reviews, Heidi’s books combine believable characters with compelling plotlines, and are consistently described as “delightful,” “sizzling” and “wonderfully witty.”

For news, fun and information about upcoming books, be sure to visit Heidi online at HeidiBetts.com.

Secrets, Lies
& Lullabies

Heidi Betts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Rob and Michelle (Timko) Massung,

for all of their amazing computer help recently.

You saved my butt more than you will ever know,

and I just can’t thank you enough.

One

Alexander Bajoran swiped his key card and pushed open the heavy oak door to his suite. He’d been halfway down the winding mile-long drive leading away from the luxurious yet rustic resort—aptly named Mountain View Lodge—when he realized he’d forgotten a stack of much-needed paperwork. Now he was late for his meeting, and it was going to be nearly impossible to make it into downtown Portland on time.

He let the door swing closed behind him as he marched toward the large cherrywood desk on the far side of the sitting area. Six steps in, he stopped short at the sound of someone else moving around in the suite. Turning toward the bedroom, he paused in the doorway, taking note of the woman stripping his bed and shaking her rear end to a song only she could hear.

She was wearing a maid’s uniform, but sadly not one of the sexy French variety. Just a simple gray dress that did nothing to compliment her figure or coloring.

Her blond hair was pulled up and twisted at the back of her head, held in place by a large plastic clip, but he could still see bits of color peeking out here or there. A thin streak of black, then auburn, then blue running down one side and blending into the rest.

Yes, blue. The woman had blue hair. At least a few bits of it.

She was humming beneath her breath, the occasional odd lyric tripping off her tongue as she whipped back the top sheet, then a corner of the fitted one. The quilted coverlet was already in a heap on the floor.

As she danced around, oblivious to his presence, he noticed the glitter of earrings lining the entire length of one ear. Studs, hoops, dangles; there must have been seven or eight in her right ear alone. The left had only four that he could see—three near the lobe and one higher up near her temple.

Despite all the silver and gold and jeweled settings, he knew they had to be fake. No way could a chambermaid afford the real thing. Which was a shame, because she’d look good in diamonds. And he should know—diamonds were his business.

Soiled sheets balled up in her arms, she turned suddenly, jumping back and giving a high-pitched shriek when she saw him standing there.

He held his hands up in the universal I-mean-you-no-harm gesture. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offered by way of apology.

Reaching up, she yanked the buds from her ears and tucked them into the pocket of the white apron that must have held her MP3 player. He could hear the heavy beat of her music as she fumbled to turn down the volume.

Now that he could look at her straight on, he noticed she wasn’t wearing makeup … or not much, at any rate. Strange, considering her hair and jewelry choices. She even had a small gold hoop with a tiny fleck of cubic zirconia hanging from the outer edge of her right eyebrow.

Eyes still wide from the scare he’d given her, she licked her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anybody would be here. I didn’t see the sign on the knob.”

He shook his head. “There wasn’t one. I expected to be gone for the day, but forgot something I need for a meeting.”

He didn’t know why he was telling her this. He didn’t normally spend a lot of time explaining himself to anyone. But the longer he stood here talking, the longer he got to look at her. And he did enjoy looking at her.

That, too, was unusual for him. The women he dated tended to be socialites from wealthy families. Polished and sophisticated, the type who spent their days at the garden club doing nothing more strenuous than planning their next thousand-dollar-a-plate fundraiser for the charity du jour.

Never before had he found himself even remotely attracted to someone with multicolored hair and excessive piercings. But the young woman standing in front of him was fascinating in an exotic-animal, priceless-piece-of-artwork way.

She seemed to be slightly disconcerted by his presence, as well, staring at him as if she expected him to bite.

“Is there anything you need, as long as I’m here?” she asked, nervously licking her lips over and over again. “Extra towels or glasses, that sort of thing?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Then, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say or any other reason to stand there, staring at the help as though she was on display, he moved away, heading back across the sitting room and grabbing up the file he’d forgotten. It was her turn to stand in the bedroom doorway while he slapped the manila folder against his free hand a couple of times.

“Well,” he murmured, for no particular reason, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment, still watching him warily.

Walking to the suite’s main door, he pulled it open and set one foot across the threshold into the hall. But before walking off, he couldn’t resist turning back and taking one last glance at the intriguing young woman who had already returned to her job of changing his sheets.

“It was Alexander Bajoran,” Jessica said in a harsh whisper, leaning so far across the small round deli table that her nose very nearly touched her cousin’s.

“You’re kidding,” Erin returned in an equally hushed voice, her eyes going wide in amazement.

Jessica shook her head, crossed her arms over her chest and flopped back in her chair, causing her cousin to move forward in hers. Their sandwiches sat untouched in front of them, their ice-filled fountain drinks slowly producing rivulets of condensation down the sides of the paper cups.

“Did he recognize you?” Erin asked.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say anything, but he was looking at me a little funny.”

“Funny, how?”

Jessica flashed her a tiny grin. “The usual.”

“Well, you do tend to stand out.”

Jessica stuck her tongue out at her cousin’s teasing. “We can’t all be prim and proper Jackie O wannabes.”

“Nobody’s asking you to be Jackie O. The family just wishes you weren’t quite so intent on being the next Courtney Love.”

Following through on the natural instincts that had probably earned her that reputation in the first place, Jessica flipped her cousin a good-natured hand gesture. Not the least offended by the response, Erin merely rolled her eyes.

“Actually, your unique personal style may work in our favor. You don’t look at all the way you did five years ago. Chances are, Bajoran won’t have a clue who you are.”

“I hope not. I’ll try to switch floors with Hilda, though. That should keep me from accidentally bumping into him again.”

“No, don’t do that!” Erin said quickly. “The fact that he doesn’t recognize you is a good thing. You can move around his suite freely without arousing suspicion.”

“Arousing suspicion?” Jessica repeated. “Who am I—James Bond?”

“If I could do it, I would, believe me,” Erin told her with no small amount of bitterness leeching into her voice. “But you’re the one he already thinks is a chambermaid.”

Jessica narrowed her eyes. “Why does that matter?”

“Because it means you can move around the lodge without being noticed. You know what men like Bajoran are like. Rich and self-absorbed … to him, you’ll be all but invisible.”

Jessica understood her cousin’s anger, really she did. Fifty years ago, Alexander Bajoran’s grandfather and great-uncle had launched Bajoran Designs. Soon after, they’d begun a partnership with Jessica’s and Erin’s grandfathers, who owned Taylor Fine Jewels. Both companies had been based in Seattle, Washington, and together they’d been responsible for creating some of the most beautiful and valuable jewelry in the world. Million-dollar necklaces, bracelets and earrings worn by celebrities and royalty across the globe.

The Taylor-Bajoran partnership had lasted for decades, making both families extremely wealthy. And then one day about five years ago, Alexander had taken over Bajoran Designs from his father, and his first order of business had been to steal her family’s company right out from under them.

Without warning he’d bought up a majority of shares of Taylor Fine Jewels and forced Jessica’s and Erin’s fathers off the Board of Directors so he could absorb the company into his own and essentially corner the market on priceless jewels and their settings.

Thanks to Alexander’s treacherous move, the Taylor family had gone bankrupt and been driven out of Seattle almost overnight. They were far from destitute, but all the same, the Taylors were not used to living frugally. Jessica didn’t think her mother was used to her new, more middle-class lifestyle even now, and Erin’s mother had taken the reversal of fortune hardest of all.

Jessica was doing okay, though. Did she enjoy being a maid at a resort where she used to be a guest? Where she used to stay in a three-thousand-dollar-a-night suite and that her family could easily have purchased with a flick of the wrist?

Not always. But being a maid, working at a normal job like a normal person, gave her a freedom she’d never felt as a rich, well-known socialite. No way could she have gotten away with streaks in her hair and pierced everything when she’d been one of those Taylors. When she’d been attending luncheons at the country club with her mother and been the subject of regular snapshots by local and national paparazzi.

Money was good, but she thought anonymity might be a little bit better. For her, at least. For Erin, she knew the opposite was true.

“Why do I need to be invisible?” she asked finally. “It’s lucky enough he didn’t recognize me the first time. I should switch floors and maybe even shifts with one of the other girls before he does.”

“No!” Erin exploded again. “Don’t you see? This is our chance! Our chance to get back at that bastard for what he did to us.”

“What are you talking about?” Thoroughly confused, Jessica shook her head. “How could we possibly get back at him for that? He’s a millionaire. Billionaire. The CEO of a zillion-dollar company. We’re nobodies. No money, no power, no leverage.”

“That’s right, we’re nobodies. And he’s the CEO of a zillion-dollar company that used to be ours. Maybe it could be again.”

Before Jessica had the chance to respond, Erin rushed on. “He’s here on business, right? That means he has to have business information with him. Paperwork, contracts, documents we could use to possibly get Taylor Fine Jewels back.”

“Taylor Fine Jewels doesn’t exist anymore. It’s been absorbed into Bajoran Designs.”

“So?” Erin replied with a shrug of one delicate shoulder. “It can always be un-absorbed.”

Jessica didn’t know how that would work. She wasn’t sure it was even possible. But whether it was or it wasn’t, what Erin was suggesting was insanity.

“I can’t go poking around in his things. It’s wrong. And dangerous. And corporate espionage. And definitely against Mountain View policy. I could lose my job!”

Her cousin made a sound low in her throat. “It’s only corporate espionage if you’re employed by a rival company. Which you’re not, because Alexander Bajoran stole our company and put us all out on the street. And who cares if you lose that stupid job? Surely you can scrub toilets for the wealthy elite at some other high-priced hotel.”

Jessica leaned back, stunned by the venom in her cousin’s voice, as well as her obvious disdain for Jessica’s occupation. Yes, she scrubbed toilets and stripped beds and vacuumed carpets instead of folding scarves and dressing mannequins at an upscale boutique like Erin, but she kind of liked it. She got to spend most of her time alone, got along well with the rest of the housekeeping staff and didn’t have to claim her sometimes quite generous tips on her taxes.

And it kept her busy enough that she didn’t have time to dwell on the past or nurse a redwood-size grudge against an old enemy the way her cousin obviously did.

“Come on, Jess. Please,” Erin begged. “You have to do this. For the family. We may never get another opportunity to find out what Bajoran is up to, or if there’s some way—any way—to rebuild the business and our lives.”

She wanted to refuse. Should refuse. But the pain in Erin’s voice and in her eyes gave Jessica pause.

She could maybe poke around a little.

“What would I have to do?” she asked carefully. “What would I be looking for?”

“Just … see if you can find some paperwork. On the desk, in his briefcase if he leaves it. Interoffice memos, maybe, or documents outlining his next top secret, underhanded takeover.”

Against her better judgment, Jessica gave a reluctant nod. “All right, I’ll do it. But I’m not going to get caught. I’ll glance around. Keep my eyes open. But I’m not going to rummage through his belongings like a common thief.”

Erin’s nod was much more exuberant. “Fine, I understand. Just look around. Maybe linger over fluffing the pillows if he’s on the phone … listen in on his conversation.”

She wasn’t certain she could do that, either, but simply acting like she would seemed to make her cousin happy enough.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Erin. This has ‘Lucy and Ethel’ written all over it, and you know how their crazy schemes always turned out. I’m not going to jail for you, either. A Taylor with a criminal record would get even more press than one having to work a menial, nine-to-five job cleaning other people’s bathrooms.”

Two

This was insane.

She was a former socialite turned chambermaid, not some stealthy spy trained to ferret out classified information. She didn’t even know what she was looking for, let alone how to find it.

Her cart was in the hall, but she’d dragged nearly everything she needed to clean and restock the room in with her. Sheets, towels, toilet paper, the vacuum cleaner … If there were enough supplies spread out, she figured she would look busier and have more of an excuse for moving all over the suite in case anyone—specifically Alexander Bajoran—came in and caught her poking around.

The problem was, his suite was pretty much immaculate. She’d been cleaning it herself on a daily basis, even before he’d checked in, and the Mountain View’s housekeeping standards were quite high. Add to that the fact that Alexander Bajoran was apparently quite tidy himself, and there was almost nothing personal left out for her to snoop through.

Regardless of what she’d let her cousin believe, she was not going to ransack this room. She would glance through the desk, under the bed, in the nightstands, maybe inside the closet, but she was not going to root through his underwear drawer. Not when she didn’t even know what she was supposed to be looking for.

Business-related what? Compromising … what?

Jessica couldn’t blame her cousin for wanting to find something incriminating. Anything that might turn the tables on the man who had destroyed the Taylors’ livelihood and a few members of the family personally.

But how realistic was that, really? It had been five years since Bajoran’s hostile takeover. He had moved on and was certainly juggling a dozen other deals and business ventures by now. And even if those weren’t entirely on the level, she doubted he was walking around with a paper trail detailing his treachery.

The sheets were already pulled off the bed and in a heap on the floor, so it looked as though she was busy working. And since she was close, she quickly, quietly slid open one of the nightstand drawers.

Her hands were shaking, her fingertips ice-cold with nerves, and she was shivering in her plain white tennis shoes. Sure, she was alone, but the hallway door was propped open—as was lodge policy—and at any moment someone could walk in to catch her snooping.

She didn’t know which would be worse—being caught by Alexander Bajoran or by her supervisor. One could kick up enough of a stink to get her fired … the other could fire her on the spot.

But she didn’t need to worry too much right that second, because the drawer was empty. It didn’t hold so much as a Bible or telephone directory. Mountain View wasn’t that kind of resort. If you needed a Bible or phone book or anything else—even items of a personal nature—you simply called the front desk and they delivered it immediately and with the utmost discretion.

Closing the drawer on a whisper, she kicked the soiled sheets out of her way and shook out the clean fitted sheet over the bare mattress as she rounded the foot of the bed. She covered one corner and then another before releasing the sheet to open the drawer of the opposite nightstand.

This one wasn’t empty, and her heart stuttered in her chest at the knowledge that she was actually going to have to follow through on this. She was going to have to search through her family’s archenemy’s belongings.

The bottom drawer of the bedside bureau held a decanter of amber liquid—scotch, she presumed, though she’d never really been in charge of restocking the rooms’ bars—and a set of highball glasses. The top drawer held a thick, leather-bound folder and dark blue Montblanc pen.

She swallowed hard. Once she moved that pen and opened the folder, that was it … she was invading Alexander’s privacy and violating the employee agreement she’d signed when she’d first started working at the lodge.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for just a split second, then reached for the pen. As quickly as she could she flipped open the folder and tried to get her racing mind to make sense of the papers inside.

Her eyes skimmed the print of the first two pages, but nothing jumped out at her as being important or damaging. And the rest was just pictures of jewelry. Snapshots of finished pieces and sketches of what she assumed were proposed designs.

Beautiful, beautiful jewelry. The kind her family used to create. The kind she used to dream of being responsible for.

She’d grown up pampered and protected, and was pretty sure her parents had never expected her to do anything more than marry well and become the perfect trophy wife. But what she’d truly aspired to all those years she’d spent primping and attending finishing school was to actually work for Taylor Fine Jewels. Or possibly more specifically their partner company, Bajoran Designs.

Like any young woman, she loved jewelry. But where most of her peers had only wanted to wear the sparkly stuff, she’d wanted to make it. She loved sifting through cut and uncut gems to find the perfect stone for a setting she’d drawn herself.

All through high school her notebooks and the margins of her papers had been filled with intricate doodles that were in reality her ideas for jewelry designs. Her father had even used a few for pieces that had gone on to sell for six and seven figures. And for her sixteenth birthday, he’d surprised her with a pearl-and-diamond ring in a setting that had always been one of her very favorites.

It was still one of her favorites, though she didn’t get many opportunities to wear it these days. Instead, it was tucked safely at the bottom of her jewelry box, hidden amongst the much less valuable baubles that suited her current level of income.

But, heavens above, these designs were beautiful. Not perfect. She could see where the size of one outshone the sapphire at its center. Or how the filigree of another was too dainty for the diamonds it surrounded.

She could fix the sketches with a sharp pencil and a few flicks of her wrist, and her palms itched to do just that.

When she caught herself running her fingers longingly across the glossy surface of one of the photographs, she sucked in a startled breath. How long had she been standing there with a target on her back? All she needed was for Alexander or another maid to walk in and catch her staring at his portfolio as if she was planning a heist.

Slamming the folder shut, she returned it to the bedside drawer and placed the pen back on top in exactly the same position it had been to begin with. She hoped.

With the nightstand put to rights, she finished stretching the fitted sheet over the other two corners of the mattress, then added the top sheet. She needed to get the room cleaned, and the best way to snoop was to search the areas nearest where she was working, anyway.

So she got the bedroom fixed up and cleaned but didn’t resupply the bathroom before moving back into the main sitting room. She ran the vacuum over every inch of the rug, just like she was supposed to, but took her time and even poked the nose of the sweeper into the closet near the hallway door. The only thing she found there, however, was the hotel safe, which she knew she didn’t stand a chance of getting into.

The only place left that might hold something of interest to her cousin was the large desk along the far wall. She’d avoided it until now because she suspected she didn’t really want to find anything. She didn’t want to be put in that spot between a rock and a hard place; didn’t want to hand something over to Erin that might put her cousin in an even more precarious situation; didn’t want to stir up trouble and poke at a sore spot within her family that she’d thought was beginning to heal over. She’d thought they were all moving on.

Apparently, she’d been wrong.

Leaving the vacuum nearby, she did a quick sweep of the top of the desk. There were a few sheets of hotel stationery with random notes written on them, but the rest seemed to be the typical items supplied by the lodge. Hotel directory, room-service menu, et cetera.

Inside the desk, though, she found a heck of a lot more. Namely a small stack of manila folders and a laptop computer.

Jessica licked her lips, breathing in shallow bursts that matched the too-fast beat of her heart against her rib cage.

She was not opening that laptop, she just wasn’t. For one thing, that would be too much breaking and entering, and sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, for her peace of mind. For another, it would take too long. By the time it booted up and she figured out how to explore the different files and documents, her supervisor would surely be kicking in the door demanding to know why she was still in this suite when she should have been done with the entire floor.

She was sticking to her guns on this one. Erin might not like that decision, but she would just have to deal with it.

So she stuck with the folders lying beside the laptop, opening them one at a time and scanning them as quickly as possible.

Nothing jumped out at her as being out of the ordinary—not that she really had a clue what she was looking at or for. It was all just business jargon, and she certainly hadn’t gone to business school.

But there was no mention of Taylor Fine Jewels in any of the papers … not that she’d expected there to be. And there was no indication of anything else that put her instincts on red alert.

She was just letting out a huff of air that was part frustration, part relief when she heard a creak and knew someone was entering the suite behind her. Her eyes flashed wide and she all but slammed the desk drawer shut—but slowly and quietly to keep from looking as guilty as she felt.

Putting her hand on the rag that she’d left on top of the desk, she started to wipe it down, just as she was supposed to. Act natural. Act natural. Try not to hyperventilate. Act natural.

Even though she knew darn well someone was behind her … likely standing there staring at her butt in the unappealing, lifeless gray smock that was her work uniform … she didn’t react. She was alone, simply doing her job, as usual. The trick would be to feign surprise when she turned around and “discovered” that she wasn’t alone.

Schooling her breathing … act natural, act natural … she hoped her cheeks weren’t pink with the guilt of a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Luck was on her side, though, because as she finished wiping down the desktop and twisted toward where she’d left the upright vacuum cleaner, whoever was standing behind her, silently monitoring her every move, cleared his throat.

And it was a he. She could tell by the timbre of that low rumble as it reached her ears and skated straight down her spine.

The air caught in her lungs for a moment, and she chastised herself for having such a gut-level, feminine response to something so simple. This man was a complete stranger. Her family’s sworn enemy. And since he was a guest of Mountain View, and she worked for the lodge, he might as well be her employer.

Those were only the first of many reasons why her breathing should not be shallow, her blood should not be heating, and the clearing of his throat should not cause her to shiver inside her skin.

Doing her best to snap herself out of it, she straightened and twisted around, her hand still on the handle of the vacuum cleaner.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, letting her eyes go wide in mock startlement, praying the man standing in front of her wouldn’t see right through it. “Hello again.”

“Hello there,” Alexander Bajoran returned, his mouth curving up in a small smile.

Jessica’s pulse kicked up a notch.

It was nerves, she told herself. Just nerves.

But the truth was, the man was devilishly handsome. Enemy or no enemy, a blind woman would be able to see that.

His ink-black hair was perfectly styled, yet long enough in places to look relaxed and carefree. Eyes the color of blue ice glittered against skin that was surprisingly tan for a resident of the Pacific Northwest. But she knew for a fact it wasn’t the result of time spent in tanning beds or spray-on booths; the entire Bajoran family leaned toward dark skin, dark hair … and ruthless personalities.

She had to remember that. The ruthless part, anyway.

Never mind how amazing he looked in his black dress slacks and dark blue blazer. Like he belonged on the cover of GQ. Or Forbes, thanks to his ill-gotten millions.

Never mind that if she saw him on the street, she would probably give herself whiplash spinning around to get a second look.

“We seem to have conflicting schedules this week,” he said in a light, amused tone. His voice immediately touched deep, dark places inside of her that she really didn’t want to think about.

He gave her a look, one she’d seen thousands of times in her adult life and had no trouble recognizing. Then his voice dropped a fraction, becoming sensual and suggestive.

“Or maybe they’re matching up just right.”

The heat of his voice was like sunshine on budding little seedlings, making something low in her belly shiver, quiver and begin to unfurl.

Oh, no. No, no, no. No more charming-but-dangerous men for her—and Alexander Bajoran was the most dangerous of all.

She’d been hit on and leered at by any number of male guests in her time at Mountain View. Traveling businessmen, vacationing husbands with a wandering eye, rich but useless playboys with a sense of entitlement.… But whether they’d pinched her on the rear, slipped her hundred-dollar tips or attempted simple flattery, she had never once been attracted to a single one of them.

Yet here she was, face-to-face with the man who had stolen her family’s company and whom she was supposed to be spying on, and caterpillars were crawling around under every inch of her skin.

He took a step toward her, and her hands fisted, one around the handle of the vacuum, the other near her right hip. But all he did was set his briefcase—which was really more of a soft leather messenger bag—on the nearby coffee table before sinking into the overstuffed cushions of the sofa behind it.

Releasing a pent-up breath and sending some of those annoying creepy-crawlies away with it, Jessica reached down to unplug the sweeper and started to coil up the cord. The sooner she got out of there now that he was back, the better.

“I can leave you alone, if you need to work,” she said, because the growing silence in the room was killing her.

But even though he had the brown leather satchel open on the glass-topped table and had pulled out several stacks of paperwork, he shook his head.

“Go ahead and finish what you were doing,” he told her. “I’ve just got a couple of things to look over, but you won’t distract me. In fact, the background noise might do me some good.”

Well, shoot. How was she supposed to make a smooth but timely exit now?

She guessed she wasn’t.

Dragging the vacuum across the sitting room, she set it in the hallway just outside the door of the suite. Then she gathered up an armful of fresh towels and washcloths for the bathroom.

It wasn’t hard to go about her business this far away from Alexander. It was almost as though the air was normal in this tiled, insulated room instead of thick with nerves and guilt and unspoken sexual awareness. From her standpoint, at any rate. From his the air probably seemed absolutely normal. After all, he wasn’t the one snooping, breaking the law, fighting a completely unwanted sexual attraction to someone he was supposed to hate.

She spent an inordinate amount of time making sure the towels hung just right on the towel rods and were perfectly even in their little cubbies under the vanity. Even longer putting out new bottles of shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash and shaving cream.

There were decorative mints and chocolates to go on the pillows in the bedroom, but she didn’t want to go back in there. From the bathroom she could wave a hasty goodbye and get the heck out of Dodge. But if she returned to the bedroom, she would have to pass by Alexander. See him, smile at him, risk having him speak to her again.

That was one corner she was willing to cut today. Even if he complained to her superiors and she got in trouble later, missing mints were easier to apologize for than snooping or blushing herself into heat stroke in front of a valued guest.

Stepping out of the marble-and-gilt bathroom, she rounded the corner and was just congratulating herself on a narrow escape when she lifted her head and almost ran smack into Alexander, who was leaning against the outside wall waiting for her.

She made a tiny eep sound, slapping a hand over her heart as she bounced back on her heels.

“Sorry,” he apologized, reaching out to steady her. “Didn’t mean to scare you, I just wanted to catch you before you took off.”

If ever there was a word she didn’t want to hear pass this man’s lips, it was catch. Was she caught? Had he noticed something out of place? Figured out that she’d rifled through his things?

She held her breath, waiting for the accusations he had every right to fling at her.

Instead, as soon as he was sure she wasn’t going to topple over, he let go of her elbow and went back to leaning negligently against the wall. It was a casual pose, but all Jessica could think was that he was standing between her and the door, blocking her only exit from the suite.

“I know this is probably out of line,” he murmured, “but I was hoping you’d have dinner with me tonight.”

His words caused her heart to stutter and then stall out completely for several long seconds.

“I’m here on business, so after I finish with meetings and such during the day, my evening hours are a bit … empty.”

He shrugged a shoulder, and because he’d taken off the blazer, she could see the play of muscle caused by the movement beneath his crisp white dress shirt. Something so minor shouldn’t make her hormones sit up and take notice, but they did. Boy, howdy, did they ever.

Licking her lips, she cleared her throat and hoped her voice didn’t squeak when she tried to speak. It was bad enough that her face was aflame with nerves; she could feel the heat all but setting her eyelashes on fire. She already looked like a clown, in many people’s estimation—she didn’t need to open her mouth and sound like one, too.

“Thank you, but fraternizing with guests is against resort policy.”

Ooh, that sounded good. Very confident and professional—and squeak-free.

Alexander lifted a brow. “Somehow I find it hard to believe a woman with blue hair is afraid of breaking a few rules.”

She reached up to toy with the strip of chemically altered hair he was referring to. “It’s not all blue,” she muttered.

That bought her a too-handsome grin and flash of very white, perfectly straight teeth. “Just enough to let the world know you’re a rebel, right?”

Wow, he had her pegged, didn’t he? And he wasn’t taking no, thank you, for an answer.

Dropping the hank of hair, Jessica pushed her shoulders back. She was a rebel, as well as a confident, self-reliant woman. But she wasn’t stupid.

“I could lose my job,” she said simply.

He cocked his head. She wasn’t the only self-assured person in the room.

“But you won’t,” he told her matter-of-factly. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Would it make you feel better if I said I won’t let that happen?”

With anybody else she would have scoffed. But knowing who Alexander Bajoran was and the power he held—even here in Portland—she had no doubt he meant what he said and had enough influence to make it stick.

“You’ll be on your own time, not the resort’s,” he pointed out. “And I’ll let you decide whether we order from room service or go out somewhere else.”

She should say no. Any sensible person would. The entire situation screamed danger with a capital D.

But she had to admit, she was curious. She’d had male guests proposition her before, give her that salacious, skin-crawling look reserved for when they were on out-of-town business trips without their wives and thought they could get away with something.

Alexander was the first, though, to ask her to dinner without the creepy looks or attempts at groping. Which made her wonder why he was interested.

Did he suspect her of snooping around where she didn’t belong, or was he just hitting on a pretty, no-strings-attached maid? Did he recognize her as a Taylor and think she was up to something, or just hope to get lucky?

Of course she was up to something, but now she wanted to know if he was up to something, too.

So even though she knew she should be running a hundred miles an hour in the opposite direction, she opened her mouth and made the biggest mistake of her life.

“All right.”

Three

Jessica didn’t get many opportunities to dress up these days. But she was having dinner this evening with a very wealthy, very handsome man, and even though she knew it was a terrible idea, she wanted to make the most of it. Not so much the man and the dinner but simply the act of going out and feeling special for a little while. Putting on something pretty rather than functional. Taking extra time with her makeup and hair. Wearing heels instead of ratty old tennies.

She even went so far as to dab on a couple drops of what was left of her favorite three-hundred-dollar-an-ounce designer perfume, Fanta C. Alexander Bajoran might not be worth a spritz or two, but she certainly was.

She was wearing a plain black skirt and flowy white blouse with a long, multi-strand necklace and large gold hoop earrings in her primary holes. The others held her usual array of studs and smaller hoops.

As she strode down the carpeted hallway, she fiddled with every part of her outfit. Was her skirt too short? Did her blouse show too much cleavage? Would the necklace draw Alexander’s eye to her breasts? Or worse yet, would the earrings pull too much of his attention to her face?

Flirting—even flirting with danger this way—was one thing. Truly risking being recognized by her family’s greatest enemy, though … No, she didn’t want that.

Which was why she’d chosen to meet him here, in his room at the resort, rather than going out to a public restaurant where they might be seen by someone they—especially she—knew.

Getting caught in a guest’s room after work hours would be bad, but being spotted out on a date with Alexander by one of her relatives or somebody who might tell one of her relatives would be exponentially worse. She would rather be fired than deal with the familial fallout.

Reaching the door of his suite, Jessica stopped and took a deep breath. She straightened her clothes and jewelry for the thousandth time and checked her small clutch purse to be sure she had her cell phone, a lipstick, a few bucks just in case. She didn’t know if she would end up needing any of those things, but wanted to have them, all the same.

When there was nothing left to double-check, no other reason to put off the inevitable, she took another deep, stabilizing breath, held it and let it out slowly as she tapped on the door.

The nerves she’d tamped down started to wiggle back toward the surface as she waited for him to answer. Then suddenly the door swung open, and there he was.

Six foot something of dark, imposing good-looks. Slacks still smooth and pressed, despite being worn all day. Pale, pale lavender dress shirt unbuttoned at his throat and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but no less distinguished than when he’d been wearing a tie and suit jacket.

He smiled in welcome and a lump formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow. Suddenly she was almost pathologically afraid to be alone with him. It was two mature adults sharing a simple meal, but almost as though she was watching a horror movie, she could see around all the corners to where scary things and maniacal killers waited.

A thousand frightening scenarios and terrible outcomes flitted through her brain in the nanosecond it took him to say hello—or rather, a deep, masculine, “Hi, there”—and step back to let her into the suite.

She could have run. She could have begged off, hurriedly telling him she’d changed her mind, or that something important had come up and she couldn’t stay.

She probably should have.

Instead, a tiny voice in her head whispered, What’s the worst that can happen? and showed her images of a lovely, delicious meal at an establishment where she worked but never got the chance to indulge, with an attractive man the likes of which she probably wouldn’t meet again for a very long time. Not given her current circumstances.

So she didn’t run. She told herself she was here, he was a gentleman, and everything would be fine.

“Thank you,” she murmured, surprised when her voice not only didn’t crack, but came out in a low, almost smoky tone that sounded a lot sexier than she’d intended.

She stepped into the suite, and he closed the door behind her with a soft click. More familiar with these rooms than she cared to admit, she moved down the short hallway and into the sitting room where there was already a table set up with white linens and covered silver serving trays.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering,” Alexander said, coming up behind her. “I thought it would save some time.”

True enough. Mountain View employed one of the best chefs in the country and served some of the best food on the West Coast, but room service was room service. It sometimes took longer than guests might have liked for their meals to arrive, especially if the kitchen was busy trying to get food out to the dining room.

Cupping her elbow, he steered her around the table and pulled out her chair. She tried not to let the heat of his hand do funny things to her pulse. Of course, her pulse had a mind of its own.

He helped her get seated, then began uncovering plates of food. The smells hit her first, and they were divine. Even before she could identify them all, she saw that he’d ordered a sampling of some of the very best culinary creations the resort had to offer.

From the appetizer section of the menu he’d asked for watermelon gazpacho with tomato; cucumber and borage; seafood tomato bisque; eggplant ravioli; and oysters in red wine mignonette.

As entrées, he’d gone with pheasant with green cabbage, port wine-infused pear and black truffle shavings, and something she could rarely resist—crab cakes. Mountain View’s particular recipe consisted of large chunks of Dungeness crab, tiny bits of lobster, corn and faro lightly seared to a golden brown.

He had no way of knowing they were one of her all-time favorites, though. Most likely he’d ordered them because they were nearly world renowned and one of the most popular items on the resort’s menu.

But her stomach rumbled and her mouth began to water at the very sight. She might work here, might have skated past the kitchen or dining room a time or two, but since she couldn’t exactly afford fifty-dollar-a-plate dinners any longer, she’d never been lucky enough to actually taste them.

“I hope there’s something here you’ll like.”

Like? She wanted to take her clothes off and roll around on the table of food, then lick her body clean.

Because she wasn’t certain she could speak past the drool pooling on her tongue, she merely nodded and made an approving mmm-hmm sound.

“I ordered dessert, as well, but let’s wait until we finish this before we dig into that.”

Oh. She’d heard wonderful things about Mountain View’s desserts, too.

“So …” he murmured, “where would you like to start? Or should I just hand over the crab cakes before someone gets hurt?”

The mention of crab cakes and the slight amusement in his tone brought her head up, and she realized she’d been concentrating rather intensely on that particular platter.

“Sorry, they just … smell really good.”

He grinned at her candid response. Reaching to the side and lifting the plate, he set it back down directly in front of her.

“They’re all yours,” he told her. “As long as you don’t mind if I keep the pheasant to myself.”

Well, she would have liked at least a tiny bite—she’d never had the pleasure of trying that particular dish, either—but if the crab cakes were as delicious as they looked, smelled and she’d heard they were, she supposed it was a sacrifice worth making.

Her silence seemed to be answer enough. He moved the pheasant to his place setting, then reached for the bottle of wine in the center of the table and pulled the cork. While she shook out her napkin and laid it across her lap, he poured two glasses of the rich, dark liquid and handed one to her.

She took it with a murmured thank-you and brought it to her nose for a sniff. Mmm. It had been a while since she’d enjoyed a glass of really good, expensive wine. This one was full-bodied, with the scents of fruit, spice and just a hint of chocolate.

She was tempted to take a sip right away, but didn’t want to ruin her first taste of the crab cakes and had also promised herself she would be careful tonight. A little bit of wine with dinner wouldn’t hurt, but she didn’t want to risk drinking too much and forgetting who she was … who he was … and exactly how much was on the line if she accidentally let any part of the truth slip past her lips.

So she set the glass aside and picked up her fork instead.

“At the risk of scaring you off now that you’re already here,” Alexander said, shaking out his own napkin and placing it across his lap, “it occurred to me that I invited you to dinner tonight without even knowing your name. Or introducing myself, for that matter.”

Jessica paused with her first bite of crab cake halfway to her mouth. Uh-oh. She hadn’t been concerned with introducing herself to Alexander because she already knew who he was. And keeping her own identity under wraps was critical, so she hadn’t exactly been eager to share that information, either.

Now, however, she was cornered, and she’d better come up with a response soon or he would start to get suspicious.

To buy herself a little bit of time, she continued the trajectory of her fork and went ahead with that first bite of food she’d so been looking forward to. Her anticipation was dampened slightly by the tension thrumming through her body and causing her mind to race, but that didn’t keep her taste buds from leaping with joy at the exquisite spices and textures filling her mouth.

Oh, this was so worth the stress and subterfuge of pretending to be someone she wasn’t. With luck she would only have to lie to him for one night, and not only would he be none the wiser, but she’d have the experience of a lovely meal with a handsome, wealthy playboy-type tucked away in her memory banks.

The part about deceiving him and searching his suite like a wannabe spy would maybe have to be deleted, if she hoped to live with herself for the next fifty years, though.

Making a satisfied sound deep in her throat, she swallowed and finally turned her attention to Alexander—since she couldn’t justify ignoring him any longer.

“My name is Jessica. Madison,” she told him, using her middle name instead of her last. If he questioned anyone at the resort, they would either deny knowing her or correct her little fib without realizing they were revealing anything significant. He obviously hadn’t asked around about her or he would already know her name, and she doubted he would bother after this, as long as she didn’t give him cause to become curious.

He offered her a small grin and held his hand out across the table. She had to put her fork down to take it.

“Hello, Jessica. I’m Alexander Bajoran. You can call me Alex.”

A shiver of heat went through her at both the familiarity of his invitation and the touch of his smooth, warm hand.

Darn it! Why did she have to like him so much? And she really did. He was charming and good-looking and self-assured. Knowing he had a nice, hefty bank account certainly didn’t hurt, but it was his easy friendliness that made her regret her bargain with Erin and the fact that she was a Taylor.

If she didn’t have that baggage, she suspected she would be extremely flattered by his apparent interest in her and excited about tonight’s “date.” But she would be self-conscious about the fact that she was a lowly chambermaid, while he was clearly blessed financially, even though there was a time when her fiscal worth possibly rivaled his own.

She would have been fidgeting in her seat, careful to say and do all the right things in hopes of having him ask her out again.

And she probably also would have been imagining going to bed with him. Maybe not tonight, on their first date, or even on their second or third. But eventually—and sooner rather than later considering her deep and sudden hormonal reaction to him.

Shifting in her chair, she returned her attention to her plate, playing with her food in an attempt to get her rioting emotions under control. Not for the first time, she realized how truly foolish it was for her to have agreed to spend any more time alone with him than absolutely necessary.

Alexander—Alex—didn’t seem to be suffering from any such second guesses, however.

“So …” he muttered casually, digging into his own perfectly roasted pheasant. “Tell me something about yourself. Were you born here in Portland? Did you grow up here? What about your family?”

All loaded questions, littered with pitfalls that could land her in very hot water. Without getting too detailed or giving away anything personal, she told him what she could, stretching the truth in some places and avoiding it altogether in others.

Before long, their plates were clean, their glasses of wine had been emptied and refilled at least once and they were chatting comfortably. More comfortably than Jessica ever would have expected. Almost like new friends. Or new ones, hoping to become even more ….

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