Dynasties

January 2020

Dynasties: The Jarrods

February 2020

Dynasties: The Ashtons

March 2020

Dynasties: The Danforths

April 2020

Dynasties: The Barones

May 2020

Dynasties: The Lassiters

June 2020

Dynasties: The Montoros

About the Authors

MAUREEN CHILD is the author of more than 130 romance novels and novellas that routinely appear on bestseller lists and have won numerous awards, including the National Reader’s Choice Award. A seven-time nominee for the prestigious RITA® award from Romance Writers of America, one of her books was made into a CBS-TV movie called The Soul Collector. Maureen recently moved from California to the mountains of Utah and is trying to get used to snow.

TESSA RADLEY loves travelling, reading and watching the world around her. As a teen, Tessa wanted to be a foreign correspondent. But after completing a bachelor of arts degree and marrying her sweetheart, she ended up practicing as a lawyer in a city firm. A break spent traveling through Australia re-awoke the yearn to write. When she’s not reading, travelling or writing, she’s spending time with her husband, her two sons or her friends. Find out more at www.tessaradley.com

Bestselling author and Rita finalist EMILIE ROSE has been writing for Mills & Boon since her first sale in 2001. A North Carolina native, Emilie has 4 sons and an adopted mutt. Writing is her third (and hopefully her last) career. She has managed a medical office and run a home day care, neither of which offers half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. She loves cooking, gardening, fishing and camping.

EILEEN WILKS is the New York Times best-selling author of over thirty books and novellas. Eileen came to writing the usual way: by reading compulsively and daydreaming a lot. She likes quilting, dark matter, chocolate, books on brain science, yoga (even though she’s not good at it), and painting things – walls, boxes, furniture, floors, even canvases sometimes…but not the cats. The cats do not wish to be painted.

USA TODAY bestselling author, KATHIE DENOSKY, writes highly emotional stories laced with a good dose of humour. Kathie lives in her native southern Illinois and loves writing at night while listening to country music on her favourite radio station.

BARBARA MCCAULEY has written more than twenty books for Mills & Boon, and lives in Southern California with her own handsome hero husband, Frank, who makes it easy to believe in and write about the magic of romance. Barbara’s stories have won and been nominated for numerous awards, including the prestigious RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America, Best Desire of the Year from Romantic Times and Best Short Contemporary from the National Reader’s Choice Awards. Barbara loves to hear from her readers.

KATHERINE GARBERA is a strong believer in happily-ever-after. She’s written more than thirty-five books and has been nominated for career achievement awards in series fantasy and series adventure from RT Book Reviews. Her books have appeared on the Waldenbooks/Borders bestseller list for series romance and on the USA TODAY extended bestseller list. Visit Katherine on the Web at www.katherinegarbera.com

LEANNE BANKS is a New York Times bestselling author with over sixty books to her credit. A book lover and romance fan from even before she learned to read, Leanne has always treasured the way that books allow us to go to new places and experience the lives of wonderful characters. Always ready for a trip to the beach, Leanne lives in Virginia with her family and her Pomeranian muse.

CAROLINE CROSS writes romance because life is endlessly challenging and she believes we all need an occasional reminder that good people and true love do exist—if one just looks hard enough and has faith in happy endings. Winner of numerous awards, including a RITA® Award for Best Short Contemporary, she lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband of two decades, has two wonderful daughters, and depends on her family and friends to keep her grounded. A devoted romance reader herself, she always hopes that her books can bring others a little of the enjoyment and satisfaction she feels when she reads her own favourite authors.

SHERI WHITEFEATHER is an award-winning, national bestselling author. Her novels are generously spiced with love and passion. She has also written under the name Cherie Feather. She enjoys travelling and going to art galleries, libraries and museums. Visit her website at www.sheriwhitefeather.com where you can learn more about her books and find links to her Facebook and Twitter pages. She loves connecting with readers.

ROBYN GRADY has sold millions of books worldwide, and features regularly on bestsellers lists and at award ceremonies, including The National Readers Choice, The Booksellers Best and Australia’s prestigious Romantic Book of the Year. When she’s not tapping out her next story, she enjoys the challenge of raising three very different daughters as well as dreaming about shooting the breeze with Stephen King during a month-long Mediterranean cruise. Contact her at www.robyngrady.com

Since her first venture into novel writing in the mid-nineties, KRISTI GOLD has greatly enjoyed weaving stories of love and commitment. She’s an avid fan of baseball, beaches and bridal reality shows. During her career, Kristi has been a National Readers Choice winner, Romantic Times award winner, and a three-time Romance Writers of America RITA finalist. She resides in Central Texas and can be reached through her website at http://kristigold.com

A typical Piscean, award winning USA Today! bestselling author, YVONNE LINDSAY, has always preferred the stories in her head to the real world. Which makes sense since she was born in Middle Earth. Married to her blind date sweetheart and with two adult children, she spends her days crafting the stories of her heart and in her spare time she can be found with her nose firmly in someone else’s book.

In 2002 JANICE MAYNARD left a career as an primary school teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and is very happy to be part of the Mills & Boon family – a lifelong dream. Janice and her husband live in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. They love to hike and travel. Visit her at www.JaniceMaynard.com

USA Today bestselling author KATHERINE GARBERA is a two-time Maggie winner who has written more than ninety books. A Florida native who grew up to travel the globe, Katherine now makes her home in the Midlands of the UK with her husband, two children and a very spoiled miniature dachshund. Visit her on the web at http://www.katherinegarbera.com, connect with her on Facebook and follow her on Twitter @katheringarbera

ANDREA LAURENCE is an award-winning contemporary author who has been a lover of books and writing stories since she learned to read. A dedicated West Coast girl transplanted into the Deep South, she’s constantly trying to develop a taste for sweet tea and grits while caring for her boyfriend and her old bulldog. You can contact Andrea at her website: http://www.andrealaurence.com

Dynasties Collection

Dynasties: The Jarrods

Maureen Child, Tessa Radley and Emilie Rose

Dynasties: The Ashtons

Eileen Wilks, Kathie DeNosky and Maureen Child

Dynasties: The Danforths

Barbara McCauley, Maureen Child and Katherine Garbera

Dynasties: The Barones

Leanne Banks, Caroline Cross and Sheri WhiteFeather

Dynasties: The Lassiters

Robyn Grady, Kristi Gold and Yvonne Lindsay

Dynasties: The Montoros

Janice Maynard, Katherine Garbera and Andrea Laurence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90744-0

DYNASTIES COLLECTION

Claiming Her Billion-Dollar Birthright © 2010 Harlequin Books S.A. Falling for His Proper Mistress © 2010 Harlequin Books S.A. Wedding His Takeover Target © 2010 Harlequin Books S.A. Entangled © 2005 Harlequin Books S.A. A Rare Sensation © 2005 Harlequin Books S.A. Society-Page Seduction © 2005 Harlequin Books S.A. The Cinderella Scandal © 2004 Harlequin Books S.A. Man Beneath the Uniform © 2004 Harlequin Books S.A. Sin City Wedding © 2004 Harlequin Books S.A. The Playboy & Plain Jane © 2003 Harlequin Books S.A. Sleeping Beauty’s Billionaire © 2003 Harlequin Books S.A. Sleeping With Her Rival © 2003 Harlequin Books S.A. Taming the Takeover Tycoon 2014 Harlequin Books S.A. From Single Mum to Secret Heiress © 2014 Harlequin Books S.A. Expecting the CEO’s Child © 2014 Harlequin Books S.A. Minding Her Boss’s Business © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A. Carrying A King’s Child © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A. Seduced by the Spare Heir © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dynasties: The Jarrods

Claiming Her Billion-Dollar Birthright

Dedication

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Falling for His Proper Mistress

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Wedding His Takeover Target

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Dynasties: The Ashtons

Entangled

Dedication

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

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

A Rare Sensation

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Society-Page Seduction

Dedication

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

Dynasties: The Danforths

The Cinderella Scandal

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Man Beneath the Uniform

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Sin City Wedding

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Epilogue

Dynasties: The Barones

The Playboy & Plain Jane

Dedication

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Sleeping Beauty’s Billionaire

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Sleeping with Her Rival

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Epilogue

Dynasties: The Lassiters

Taming the Takeover Tycoon

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

From Single Mum to Secret Heiress

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Expecting the CEO’s Child

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Dynasties: The Montoros

Minding Her Boss’s Business

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Carrying a King’s Child

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Seduced by the Spare Heir

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

About the Publisher

Dynasties: The Jarrods

Claiming Her Billion-Dollar Birthright

Maureen Child

Falling for His Proper Mistress

Tessa Radley

Wedding His Takeover Target

Emilie Rose

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Claiming Her Billion-Dollar Birthright

Maureen Child

To family.

Mine. Yours.

And to all the wonderful, irritating moments

we share with them.

Prologue

Christian Hanford refused to sit in a dead man’s chair.

So instead, he walked to the front of Don Jarrod’s desk and perched uneasily on the edge. The old man’s study was in the family living quarters on the top floor of Jarrod Manor. Here at Jarrod Ridge resort, everything was luxurious. Even a study that the public never saw. Paneled walls, thick carpets, original oils on the walls and a massive fireplace built of river stones. Of course, there was no cheerful blaze in the hearth, since summer had settled over Colorado.

He imagined none of the people in the room felt cheerful anyway. How could he blame them? They’d lost their father only a week before and now, they’d just had the proverbial rug pulled out from under them.

Years ago, each of the Jarrod children had left Jarrod Ridge, the plush resort that had been in their family for generations, to make their own way. Their father had pushed them all so hard to succeed that he’d managed to drive them away, one by one. To come back now, when it was too late to mend fences, was a hard thing to accept.

Not to mention the fact that in death, Don had figured out a way to not only bring them all home—but to keep them there. Something he hadn’t been able to do in life.

The huge Jarrod estate was to be divided equally among his children—on the condition that they all move home and take over running their legacy. Each of the Jarrod siblings had been slapped hard and none of them were happy about it. The old man had found a way to control them from the grave.

Which wasn’t sitting well.

Christian watched them all, understanding how they must feel, but sworn to abide by his late client’s wishes. God knows he’d tried to talk Don out of this, but the old man had been nothing if not stubborn.

Blake Jarrod and his brother Guy were the oldest. Though not identical, the twins each carried the stamp of their father. Blake was more the buttoned-down type, while Guy was a bit more easygoing. Gavin was two years younger than the twins, but he and Blake had worked together for quite a while out in Vegas.

Trevor Jarrod was the most laid-back of the bunch—or at least that was the demeanor he showed

the world. Then there was Melissa. The youngest and the only girl.

Or so she thought.

Christian sent a mental kick out to his now deceased mentor for leaving him in this position. But even in death, Don had wanted to rule the Jarrod clan and no doubt, wherever he was now, he didn’t really care that it was Christian getting stuck with the dirty work.

Blake stood up as if he couldn’t bear sitting still another minute. Just a week since Don Jarrod’s death, none of his children had had a chance to come to terms with his passing. And now they’d all been sucker punched.

They’d left the cemetery just an hour before and after reading through most of the will’s bequests, emotions were running high. Well, Christian thought, they were about to go even higher.

“Why are we still here, Christian?” Guy asked from his seat, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You’ve read the will, what’s left to say?”

“There’s one more thing to cover.”

“What haven’t you covered?” Trevor asked, shifting a glance around the room at his brothers and sister. “Seems pretty clear to me. Dad’s arranged things to get us back to Jarrod Ridge. Just like he always wanted.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” Melissa whispered.

Gavin dropped one arm around her shoulders and gave her a supportive hug. “It’ll be okay, Mel.”

“Will it?” Blake asked. “We’ve all got lives separate from the Ridge. Now we’re supposed to walk away

from whatever we’ve built to come back home and take over?”

“I understand how you feel,” Christian said softly and waited until all eyes were on him. “I do. I told Don this wasn’t the way to handle things.”

“Let me guess,” Guy interrupted, “Dad wouldn’t listen.”

“He had his own ideas.”

“Always did,” Trevor mused.

“The point is,” Blake said, voice loud enough that everyone settled down to hear him, “Dad split the estate up equally between the five of us. So what’s left to talk about?”

There was his opening, Christian thought, bracing himself for what would come in response to his next statement. “The fact that the estate’s been split, not into five equal shares, but six.”

“Six?” Gavin repeated, glancing around at his siblings as if doing an unnecessary head count. “But there are only five of us.”

“Don’s last surprise,” Christian said quietly. “You have a sister you’ve never met.”

One

“Please send him in, Monica.” Erica Prentice checked her hair and smoothed the front of her sleeveless black dress. She turned to glance out the narrow window behind her desk and took a quick moment to enjoy the pitifully small glimpse of the ocean afforded her.

Situated firmly at the bottom of the totem pole at Brighton and Bailey, a PR firm in San Francisco, Erica didn’t exactly rate the best view. But that was okay, she told herself. She’d prove herself—both to her employers and her father, no matter how long it took.

But right now, she was meeting with an attorney who had refused to tell her what he wanted to see her about. Which accounted for the jangle of nerves in the pit of her stomach. She was enough her father’s daughter to realize that the sudden appearance of a lawyer rarely heralded good news. The Prentice Group, one of the largest clothing manufacturers in the country, were constantly dealing with attorney-led problems. Briefly, she thought about calling her father to ask him if he knew anything about a lawyer from Colorado, but then realized she didn’t have time for that.

Behind her, the office door opened and she turned to greet her visitor. But whatever she might have said died unuttered at her first look at the man standing in the doorway.

The elegantly cut dark blue business suit he wore only emphasized the muscular body beneath. His shoulders were broad, his legs were long and his dark brown eyes were narrowed on her. He had a strong, square jaw, neatly trimmed brown hair and a mouth that looked as though it didn’t smile often.

It only took seconds for Erica to get an impression of cool confidence. It took even less than that for her to feel an attraction to him that sent what felt like champagne bubbles shooting through her veins.

When she was sure she could speak without making embarrassing gulping noises, she held out her hand and said, “Mr. Hanford, I’m Erica Prentice.”

He crossed the room, shook her hand and then held on to it for just a bit too long before releasing her. “Thanks for seeing me.”

As if she’d had a choice, she mused. He’d arrived at her office ten minutes ago, unannounced, to claim to have something important to discuss with her. The fact that he hadn’t even hinted at what that might be made her wary even as her hormones continued to do a dance of appreciation.

Erica waved him to one of the two chairs opposite her desk. “I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Why would a lawyer from Colorado come all this way to see me?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, glancing around her office.

She knew what he was seeing and that he was probably singularly unimpressed. The beige walls of the tiny room were mostly bare but for two paintings she’d brought from home to lessen the grim atmosphere. Erica’s office was nearly claustrophobic, as befitting someone just getting started on their career. Of course, she thought, not for the first time, if she’d been offered a job in the family company, things would have been different.

Though her older brothers all ran different arms of the Prentice Group, Erica’s father had made it clear that she wouldn’t be a part of the family business. They’d never been close, she thought, but she’d hoped that she’d be given at least a chance to prove herself, as her brothers had. But her father wasn’t a man you could argue with and once his mind was made up, the decision might as well have been set in concrete.

Still, she thought, dragging her brain away from the problems of family, now wasn’t the time to be thinking about any of that. As tempting as it might be to indulge in a long meeting with a gorgeous lawyer watching her through amazingly dark chocolate eyes, she simply didn’t have time for it today. As it was, she’d only managed to squeeze out a few minutes from her already packed schedule to accommodate Christian Hanford. She couldn’t give him more.

Leaning forward, she folded her hands on her desktop and smiled. “I’m sorry, but your long story will have to wait for another time. I have another appointment in fifteen minutes, Mr. Hanford, so if you wouldn’t mind, could you just tell me what you’re doing here?”

His gaze met hers and held. Erica couldn’t have looked away if she had wanted to.

“I represent the estate of Donald Jarrod,” he said quietly.

“Jarrod.” Erica thought about the name, trying to place it, when suddenly, she made the connection. “Colorado. Jarrod. You mean the Jarrod resort in Aspen, Jarrod?”

He gave her a brief smile and inclined his head. Reaching down for the briefcase at his feet, he pulled it onto his lap, opened it and took out a legal-size, manila envelope. Sliding it across the desk to her, he said, “Yes, that Donald Jarrod.”

Confused but curious, Erica picked up the envelope and opened it. She pulled out a document and glanced at the title. “His will? Why do I have a copy of the man’s will?”

“Because, Ms. Prentice, you’re one of the beneficiaries.”

She glanced from the document to him and back again. Her stomach did a wild spin and flutter that left her feeling off balance.

“That makes no sense,” she murmured, slipping the will back into the envelope and deliberately flattening the brass clasp. “I’ve never met the man. Why would he leave me anything in his will?”

His features tightened and Erica thought she caught a glimpse of sympathy shining in his eyes before he took the envelope back from her and slid it into his briefcase. “I told you it was going to be a long story.”

“Right.” She watched him close up his black leather case and wished she had the document in her hands again. She’d like the chance to read it herself before they went any further. But apparently, Christian Hanford wanted his say first. Which didn’t do a thing to ease the tension flooding her system.

What was happening here? How had her average, run-of-the-mill day taken such a bizarre turn? And what did a dead empire builder from Colorado have to do with her?

“Then perhaps we can meet later, when you have more time.”

She didn’t want to wait, but didn’t see how she could avoid it.

“Time. Yes. That’s probably a good idea. I’m …” Erica shook her head, met his gaze and said, “I’m sorry. This is just all so confusing. Maybe if you gave me some idea what this was about. Why I was mentioned in his will …”

“I think it’s best to get this done all at once,” he said. “No point in getting into it now when we can’t finish it.”

He stood up and Erica was forced to tip her head back to look up at him. That frisson of attraction was still there, but now there was more. There was a sense that once she met with Christian Hanford and heard the whole story, nothing in her life was ever going to be the same.

She could see the truth in his eyes. He was watching her as if he could read her mind and knew exactly what a tumult her thoughts were in. She read understanding in his eyes and once again thought she caught a flicker of sympathy.

Nerves rattled through her and Erica knew she’d never make it through her whole day now without knowing what was going on. How could she possibly meet with clients and do the myriad other little jobs that required her attention with this mystery hanging over her head?

Nope, an impossible task. On impulse, she stood up and said, “On second thought, I think we should have that talk now. If you could give me a half an hour to clear up a few things, we could meet …”

Where? Not her apartment. She wasn’t inviting a strange man into her home, even if he was a lawyer. Not here in the office. If she was about to get hit with bad news, she’d rather it wasn’t done in front of people she had to work with every day.

As if he were still reading scatter-shot thoughts, Christian offered, “Why don’t we meet for lunch? I’ll come back in an hour and then we’ll talk.”

She nodded. “One hour.”

Once he’d left, Erica took a deep breath in a futile attempt to steady herself. Her stomach was jumping with nerves and her mind was whirling. What in the world was going on? Once again, she was tempted to call her father and ask his advice. But at the same time, she knew he would simply tell her to think it through and make her own decisions. Walter Prentice had never been the kind of man to “mollycoddle” his children. Not even his youngest child and only daughter.

No, she would meet with Christian Hanford, get to the bottom of this and then decide what to do about it.

But before she could do that, she had to clear her appointments for the day. She had no idea how long this meeting with Christian Hanford was going to take—or if she’d be in any kind of mood to deal with business once their meeting was over. She hit a button on her phone. Her assistant, Monica, opened the office door an instant later. Her blue eyes sparkling, she asked, “What’s up with Mr. Gorgeous?”

Erica sighed. Monica was more friend than assistant. They’d bonded shortly after Erica had come to work for B&B nearly a year ago. The two of them were the youngest employees in the company and they’d forged a friendly working relationship that had resulted in lots of after-business drinks and dinners. But today, Erica was feeling too jumbled to enjoy her friend’s teasing.

“I have no idea.”

Monica’s smile faded. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’ll let you know later,” she said, sitting down at her desk again. “For now, I need you to cancel today’s meetings. I’ve got something important to take care of.”

“That won’t be difficult. When do you want everything rescheduled?”

“Work everyone in as quickly as possible,” Erica told her. “We’ll just double up a little and stay late if we have to.”

“Okay,” Monica said. “This does sound important. Is everything all right?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” The unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach kept warning her that things were about to get very weird.

And there wasn’t a thing she could do to avoid it.

Christian was waiting for her when Erica came down the elevator and crossed the lobby of the office building. Something inside him stirred at the sight of her. He’d felt it earlier, too. The moment he’d looked into her whiskey-brown eyes, Christian had known that this woman was going to be trouble.

He didn’t do trouble. Not for years, now. He had exactly what he’d spent most of his life working toward. A position of respect and more money than he could spend in two lifetimes. He hadn’t worked his ass off for years to get where he was just to let it all go because his body had reacted to the wrong woman.

And Erica Prentice was definitely off-limits to him.

Not only was she the illegitimate daughter of his long-time employer … there was also the fact that any “fraternization” with members of the Jarrod family could see him lose the job he valued so much.

Hadn’t ever been an issue for him before this. Melissa Jarrod was a sweetheart, but she’d never interested him. But he had the distinct feeling that Erica Prentice was going to be a different matter altogether.

As she crossed the glossy floor, his gaze took in everything about her. Shoulder-length light brown hair, soft and touchable. Smooth, pale skin, amber eyes and a mouth that had a tendency to quirk to one side as if she were trying to decide whether to smile or not. She was short, but curvy, the kind of woman that made a man want to sweep her up and pull her in close. Not that he had any intention of doing anything like that.

Her eyes met his and Christian told himself to take care of business and get back to the jet waiting for him at the airport. Safer all around if he concluded this trip as quickly as possible.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she joined him.

“No problem.” Of course the fact that he wanted to take her hand again just for an excuse to touch her might be looked on as a problem. Shaking his head to dislodge that thought, he said, “Look, I saw a café just down the street. Why don’t we go have some lunch and get this situation taken care of?”

“Fine.” She headed for the glass doors and walked outside when they swished open automatically. She stopped on the sidewalk and pushed her hair out of her eyes when a cold San Francisco wind tossed it into the air. Looking up at him, she asked, “Tell me this much first. Are you about to make me happy? Or is this going to screw up my world?”

Christian looked down into eyes shining with trepidation. “To tell the truth, maybe a little of both.”

Two

“You must be crazy,” Erica said fifteen minutes later.

The outdoor Italian café sat at the corner of a busy intersection in downtown San Francisco. Only a few of the dozen small round tables covered in bloodred tablecloths were occupied by people stopping for an early lunch. Inside the restaurant there were less hardy souls, diners not wanting to deal with the capricious wind. Fabrizio’s was one of Erica’s favorite places, but now she was sure this visit was going to forever take the shine off the restaurant for her.

Staring across the table at the man who watched her through steady eyes, she repeated what she’d said only moments before. “You’re wrong. This is crazy. I am not Donald Jarrod’s illegitimate heir.”

Their waiter came up to the table just as she finished speaking and Erica felt heat rush up her neck and fill her cheeks. She only hoped the man hadn’t heard her. That would be perfect. She was known here. People would talk. Speculate.

They would anyway, she realized. The Jarrod family, much like the Prentice family, was big news. Even if this wasn’t true—which, she assured herself silently, it wasn’t—word would get out and soon Erica would be the subject of tabloid gossip and whispered innuendos from those she knew.

She could just imagine the reactions from her father and stepmother, Angela. Walter Prentice loathed scandal. He’d raised his children to believe that family business was private and that getting one’s name in the paper was not something to be desired. Now, Erica thought, ancient dirty laundry would be spread out for the world to read about and enjoy and she and her family would be the punch line to mean-spirited jokes told at cocktail parties.

Oh, God, this just couldn’t be happening.

“Iced tea for the lady,” the waiter was saying as he divested his tray of drinks, “and coffee for the gentleman. Have you decided on lunch?”

“No,” Christian said. “We need a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” the young man told him, then gave them each a smile and left them alone with their menus.

Erica didn’t even glance at hers. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be hungry again. She grabbed her tea, took a long drink to ease the dryness in her throat and then set the glass down. Keeping her voice low enough that Christian was forced to lean across the table to hear her over the discordant hum of traffic, she said, “I don’t know what this is about, or what you’re up to, but …”

“If you’ll hear me out, I’ll try to explain.”

He looked as if he wished he were anywhere but there and Erica knew exactly how he felt. She wanted nothing more than to jump up, vault over the iron railing separating the café tables from the sidewalk and disappear into the crowds. But since that wasn’t going to happen, she told herself to remain calm and listen to him. Once he was finished saying his piece, she’d simply walk away and put this hideous conversation out of her mind forever.

He threw a quick glance at the table closest to them as if to assure himself he wouldn’t be overheard, then he looked back to Erica. His dark chocolate eyes shone with determination as he said quietly, “I realize this is a shock—”

“It would be if it were true,” she allowed.

“It is true, Ms. Prentice.” His voice dropped another notch. “Would I be here if this were all some elaborate joke?”

“Maybe,” she said. “For all I know this is some sort of extortion attempt or something.”

Now those dark eyes of his fired with indignation. “I’m an attorney. I’m here at the behest of my late employer. It was his final wish that I come to you personally to deliver this news.”

Erica nodded, seeing the insult her jibe had delivered and said, “Fine. It’s not a joke. But it is a mistake. Believe me when I tell you, I’m the daughter of Walter Prentice.”

“No,” he said tightly. “You’re not. I have documentation to back me up.”

She took a breath of the cold, clear air, hoping it would brace her for what was coming. If this was a mistake, she’d find out soon enough. If it was all true, she needed to see proof. “Show me.”

He delved into his briefcase and handed her a smaller manila envelope than the one he’d shown her earlier at her office. Warily, she took it, her fingers barely touching it, as if she half expected the thing to blow up in her hands. But it didn’t and she opened the clasp and slid free the three sheets of paper inside.

The first document was a letter. Written to Don Jarrod and signed by … Erica’s mother. Her heart lodged in her throat as she stared at the elegant handwriting. Her mother had died in childbirth, so Erica had always felt cheated out of a relationship with the woman her brothers remembered so clearly. Danielle Prentice had kept a journal though, one that had been passed on to Erica when she was sixteen. She’d spent hours reading those pages, getting to know the mother she’d never known. So she recognized that beautiful, familiar handwriting and it was almost as if her mother were there with them at the table.

The note was brief, but Erica felt the grief in the words written there.

My dear Don,

I wanted you to know that I don’t regret our time together. Though what we shared was never meant to last, I will always remember you with affection. That said, you must see that you can never acknowledge our child. Walter has forgiven me and has promised to love this child as he has our sons. And so I ask that you stay away and let us rebuild our lives. It’s best for all of us.

Love,

Danielle

Shock faded into stunned, reluctant acceptance as Erica’s eyes misted over with tears. Not once in her journals had Danielle ever even hinted at the affair she had had with Don Jarrod. Yet these few, simple words were impossible to deny even as the page before her blurred and she blinked frantically to clear her vision. Slowly she traced the tip of one finger across the faded ink, as if she could actually touch her mother. Though a ball of ice had settled in the pit of her stomach, she realized that this letter explained so much.

Walter had never been an overly affectionate father, even with Erica’s older brothers. But with her, Walter had been even more … distant. Now at least, she knew why. She wasn’t his child. She was, instead, a constant reminder of his wife’s infidelity. Oh, God.

Christian was sitting there across from her and not speaking, and for that she was grateful. If he tried to say something kind or sweet or sympathetic, she’d lose what little control she was desperately clinging to.

She lifted her gaze to look at him and said in a last-ditch attempt to avoid the inevitable, “How do I know my mother actually wrote this letter? For all I know you’ve had it forged for your own reasons.”

“And what could those be?” Christian asked. “What possible reason could the Jarrod family have for lying about this?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted as she frantically tried to come up with something, anything that might explain all of this away. Her family wasn’t a close one, but they were all she had. If she accepted this as truth, wouldn’t that mean she would lose them all?

“Look at the other two papers,” he urged, taking a sip of his coffee.

She didn’t want to, but didn’t know how to avoid it. Pretending this day had never happened, that Christian Hanford had never appeared at her office, wouldn’t work. Hiding her head in the sand wouldn’t change anything. If this were actually true, then she had to know. And if it were all some elaborate lie, then she had to know that, too.

Nodding to herself, she looked at the next paper and froze in place. It was a letter from her father to Donald Jarrod and it managed, in a few short lines, to completely disintegrate the last of her doubts.

Jarrod,

My wife is dead, delivering your daughter. This letter is as close as you’ll ever get to the child, make no mistake. If you try to get around me, I’ll see to it that you regret it.

Walter Prentice

“Oh, my God.” Erica slumped against her chair and looked at Christian.

“I’m sorry this is so hard.” His voice was without inflection, but she thought she caught the sheen of sincerity in his dark brown eyes. Still, his being sorry didn’t change anything.

“I don’t even know what to say,” she whispered, staring at her father’s handwriting. She’d have known that scrawl anywhere. She knew it was genuine because as her older brothers had long said, what forger could ever reproduce such hideous writing?

God. Her brothers.

Half brothers.

Did they all know? Had they been lying to her, too, all these years? Was nothing in her life what she’d thought it was? If she wasn’t Erica Prentice, then just who was she?

“Ms. Prentice … Erica,” Christian said, “I know you’re having a hard time with this.”

“I don’t think you could have the slightest idea,” she told him.

“Fair enough,” he said. “But I do know that your biological father regretted never being able to know you.”

“Did he?” She shook her head, unsure just what she felt about Donald Jarrod. What kind of man was it who slept with another man’s wife? Who created a child and then never made an attempt to acknowledge it? Had Walter’s letter really kept Don Jarrod away? Was he that easily put off? Had his affair with Danielle and Erica’s birth meant nothing to him?

As if he knew exactly where her thoughts had taken her, Christian said, “Donald’s wife, Margaret, died of cancer, leaving him with five children to raise alone when the youngest, your sister Melissa, was only two.”

“My sister,” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said, “and Melissa is eager to meet you, by the way. She’s delighted she’s not the only girl in the family anymore.”

“I’m the only girl in my family, too—” Erica laughed shortly as she looked at him. “But then, apparently I’m not.”

An icy wind blasted down the street and the sun slipped behind a bank of gray clouds. Erica shivered, but didn’t know if it was the emotional reaction or the sudden drop in temperature that caused it.

Christian said, “Don met your mother at a vulnerable point in his life—”

“And that excuses him?”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, his features tightening even as his voice grew clipped. “I’m simply trying to explain it to you the same way Don did for me. He knew how you’d feel hearing this news.”

“I’m surprised he gave it a thought,” she said. “Not one word from him my whole life and now I’m supposed to be grateful that my biological father is popping up after his death?”

“He didn’t contact you because he thought it would make your life more difficult.”

“Putting it lightly.”

“Exactly. Don’t think you weren’t on his mind, though.” Christian folded his hands around his coffee cup. “I knew him for a lot of years and I can tell you that to him, family was most important. It must have driven him insane knowing you were here and completely out of his reach.”

“So my father’s—Walter’s—threat worked. Donald stayed away from me to avoid scandal.”

“No.” Christian smiled a little at that. “Don wasn’t worried about what other people thought of him. My guess is he stayed away out of respect for you and your father. He wasn’t the kind of man to go out looking to destroy marriages.”

“And yet …”

Christian shook his head. “Just before he died, Don talked to me about all of this because he knew I’d be the one coming to see you.”

“So even when he knew he was dying, he didn’t get in touch with me.” Erica wasn’t sure how she felt about that. If Donald Jarrod had contacted her, would she have believed him? Would she have welcomed him? She couldn’t say. Her relationship with her father had never been a good one, but she did love Walter. He was her father. The only one she’d ever known.

Didn’t she at least owe him loyalty?

Frowning, the man across from her admitted, “I argued with him about that. I thought he should talk to you. Tell you this himself. But he refused to go back on his word. He’d sworn to Walter he would stay away and he did, though I believe it cost him a great deal to keep that promise.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that, won’t I?”

“I guess so.” Their waiter appeared with a coffeepot to refill Christian’s cup, but when he would have stayed to take their order, he was waved away again. “Look,” Christian continued when they were alone again. “Just do me a favor and read the last letter in that envelope before I say any more.”

She really didn’t want to. What more was there to tell? What in her life was left to shake up and rearrange? Yet, morbid curiosity had a grip on her now and Erica knew she’d have to satisfy it.

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised when she glanced at the bottom of the page and saw the name Donald Jarrod in a bold signature. Lifting her gaze to the top of the paper, she read,

My Dear Erica,

I know how you must be feeling right now and I can’t blame you. But please know that if I had been given the opportunity, I would have loved you as I cared for your mother.

People—even parents—aren’t perfect. We make mistakes. But if we get the chance we try to correct them. This is my chance. Come to Colorado. Meet your other family. And one day, I hope you’ll be able to think of me kindly.

Your father,

Donald Jarrod

Again her eyes misted over. She had never known her mother. She’d grown up with a stepmother, Angela, who had been as distant in her own way as Walter had. Now, it turned out, she’d never known her father, either.

“Did you read these letters?”

“No. Don gave them to me in the closed envelope and they’ve stayed sealed up until just now.”

She looked at him. “And I’m supposed to take your word for that, too?”

He met her gaze. “I’ll never lie to you, Erica. That is one thing you can depend on.”

Since she’d only just discovered that her entire life had been based on a lie, that should have been a comforting statement. On the other hand, she didn’t know if the statement itself was a lie.

A headache burst into life behind her eyes and Erica knew it was only going to get worse. So it was best if she just finished this meeting as quickly as possible. Then she could get away. Think. Plan. Try to make some sense out of this insensible situation.

Pushing her hair out of her eyes as the wind whipped it into a frenzy, she said, “All right. Say I believe you. I’m Donald Jarrod’s daughter. What now?”

He reached down for his briefcase, opened it and extracted the manila envelope he’d shown her earlier. “As a beneficiary of Don’s will, you receive an equal share of his estate.”

“What?”

He gave her a small smile. “The estate’s been split between all six of his children.”

Erica sighed and took a gulp of her iced tea. “I can imagine how news of me went over at the reading of the will.”

“As you might guess. Surprise. Shock.”

“Sounds like we’ll have a lot in common,” she said wryly, still reeling from the information overload she’d experienced.

“More than you might think,” he told her as he slid the envelope across the table toward her. “There’s a catch to your inheritance, though.”

“Of course there is,” she mused, laying her fingertips atop the will as if she needed the physical contact to assure herself that this was all for real.

“Each of you has to move to Aspen to help run the family business. If you don’t …”

“If we don’t, then no inheritance.”

“Basically.”

“Move to Aspen?” She glanced around her at the city she’d grown up in and loved. The city sidewalks were at the bottom of canyons built of steel and brick. Sly sunlight poking through gray clouds appeared and disappeared as if performing magic tricks. Crowds of pedestrians hustled along, everyone hurrying, fighting the wind and the snarls of traffic. Car horns blared, music from a street corner musician peeled out and somewhere close by, a tiny dog yapped impatiently.

The city was hers.

What did she know about Colorado?

But was that even the point? How could she not go? Yet, if she did, how would her father and brothers react?

Christian watched her features and knew just by looking at her that her thoughts were tumultuous. Why wouldn’t they be, though? He’d known that what he’d had to say to her would shake the foundations of her life. Make her question everything she had ever known.

And he still resented the hell out of the fact that Donald had left this mess in his hands.

“You don’t have to make any decisions right now,” he said after a few long minutes had passed.

She gave him a reluctant, halfhearted smile. “That’s good, because I don’t think I could.”

Nodding, Christian offered, “Why don’t you take a few days? Make your decision, then call me.” He scribbled his cell number on the back of his business card, then handed it to her. “According to the will, you’ve got a couple of weeks to take up your place at the resort. Use the time. Think about what you want to do.”

She held his card and ran her thumb over the embossed lettering in a slow stroke that mesmerized Christian. His body stirred and he shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He didn’t need this attraction to her and wished he could shut it all down.

Unfortunately, the longer he was with her, the stronger that attraction became. What he’d like to do was blow off the business talk, take her for an elegant meal and then off to his hotel where he could lay her down across his bed and they could spend a couple of hours enjoying themselves. If she was any other woman, that’s exactly what he would do.

That thought made him even more uncomfortable than he had been before.

Erica Prentice was off-limits and if she ended up going to Aspen—which he thought she would—then his body had better get used to living with disappointment.

“A decision,” she said softly, locking her gaze with his. “We both know what that decision will be.”

“I think I do,” he told her. “You’re going to accept the conditions of the will.”

“How can I not?”

He smiled in approval. “You have more of your father in you than you know.”

“Which one?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” he countered.

Christian studied the woman across from him and tried once again to take a mental step back from the raging lust pounding through him. He’d never had such an immediate reaction to any woman before, and it was disconcerting as hell when he was trying to concentrate on business.

Her face was an open book. Every emotion she felt was written there for the world to see and he had to admit that he liked that about her. There were no artifices. What you saw with Erica Prentice was what you got.

She was strong, as well. The kind of news he’d just delivered might have flattened most women, but she was already finding a way to deal with it. Might not be easy, but he didn’t think she was the kind of woman to run from a challenge. Her whiskey-colored eyes shone with tears she refused to shed and that, too, struck a spark of admiration in him. She could control her emotions, which would be good once she hit Aspen.

Dealing with a whole new family wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to bet she’d make it work. But he had to wonder how the Jarrod siblings were going to handle it. They’d all been shocked of course, but he’d expected that. He hadn’t counted on the outright hostility he’d sensed from Blake and Guy. If they tried taking their outrage at their father out on Erica, Christian would just have to stop them.

Surprised at the thought, he realized that he was feeling … protective of her. Which didn’t make a bit of sense since he’d only just met her. But there it was. She’d had her whole life turned upside down and inside out and damned if he’d let the Jarrod twins make her feel even worse about it.

“Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

He looked at Erica. “What? No. Why do you ask?”

“Because you suddenly looked fierce enough to bite through steel.”

“Oh.” Apparently his legendary poker face, his ability to mask his emotions, was slipping today. “No, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about some business I have to take care of back in Aspen.”

“Right. You live there, too.”

“I do.” He smiled to himself, thinking about the home he had built on the Jarrod property. “I’ve got a house on the resort grounds. Don wanted his lawyer close by.”

“Handy.”

“It has been.” He shrugged and expanded on that a little. “I grew up in Aspen. Worked at the Jarrod Resort as a teenager.”

“So you knew my—” she stopped and rephrased what she’d been about to say “—Don Jarrod a long time.”

“Since I was a kid.”

“So you know his children, too.”

“Sure. We didn’t hang out together as kids, but I knew them. Got to know them better later on.”

“What’re they like?”

“You know,” he said, glancing around for the waiter that had apparently given up on them ordering lunch, “we should get a meal while we talk.”

“I’m not hungry, thanks.”

“Oh.” He should have figured she’d still be too shaken to eat. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Just tell me how they took this news. Are they furious? Am I going to be facing a firing squad in Colorado?”

He gave her a smile he hoped was reassuring. “Nothing so dramatic. I admit they were as stunned as you. But they’re nice people. They’ll deal with it.”

She took a deep breath and blew it out again. “I suppose we’ll all have to.”

There it was, he thought, that thread of steel running through her slender, feminine body. “I have to say, I’m surprised at how well you’re taking this. I actually expected you to need more convincing.”

She shook her head and thought about that for a moment before answering. When she did, her voice was soft and low. “I’ve just discovered that my entire life has been built on lies.” Her eyes met his and Christian felt the power of her stare slam into him. “I have to know the truth. I don’t expect you to understand this, but I feel as though I have to go. Not for the inheritance. I don’t need Don Jarrod’s money. I have to go for me. I have to find out who I really am.”

He had the oddest urge to reach across the table and cover her hand with his. His palm actually burned to touch her, but he resisted, somehow knowing that one touch would be both too much and not enough. Instead, he kept his voice deliberately businesslike as he said, “I do understand. You need to see both of your lives to be able to accept either one.”

She tipped her head to one side and studied him. “You do understand.” After a long moment, she turned her head to look out at the street pulsing with life behind them. “Until this morning, I thought my life was pretty dull. Routine. The biggest problem facing me this morning was getting through the morning meeting at the office. Now, I don’t know what to think.”

“Maybe you should give yourself a break. Don’t try to figure anything out yet.” He saw confusion and hurt in her eyes and he didn’t like the fact that it bothered him. “All I’m saying is, wait. Go to Aspen. Meet your other family. Take some time.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Before I can do that, I have to go see my father,” she said. “I need to hear what he has to say about this.”

“Of course.” He stood up as she did and held out one hand toward her. When she slid her palm against his, heat skittered up the length of his arm to reverberate through his chest. Oh, yes, touching her was an invitation to disaster. Instantly, he released her hand again. “I’ll be flying back to Aspen tomorrow, so if you have any other questions, I’m at the Hyatt at the Embarcadero.”

She smiled. “I love that hotel. Good choice.”

“Nice view of the bay,” he admitted. As she picked up her purse and the manila envelopes he’d given her, Christian heard himself say, “Call me when you’re ready to come to Colorado. I’ll tell you what to expect when you arrive.”

“I will.” She swung her purse up onto her shoulder, held on to the manila envelopes he’d given her and said, “I guess I’ll be seeing you again soon, then.”

“Soon.” He nodded and stood there alone to watch her leave. Sunlight slanted through a bank of clouds and dazzled her hair with light. Her hips swayed and his gaze fixed on her behind so he could enjoy the view.

The next time he saw her, they would be in Aspen. Surrounded by the Jarrod family, he would be forced to keep his distance from her, and Christian didn’t like the thought of that at all. He had a feeling that cleaning up the mess Don had left behind was going to be a lot harder than he’d believed it would be.

Three

Erica was always nervous when she walked into the headquarters of the Prentice Group. Of course, that was the impression her father wanted to make on prospective clients or competitors. Walter wanted people to be intimidated by their surroundings, because then he would always have the psychological advantage.

The building itself was massive, a glass-and-steel tower. Its tinted windows kept the sun at bay and prevented prying eyes in neighboring buildings from peeking in. As if that weren’t enough, the décor had all the warmth and comfort of the great man himself. Cold tile, white walls and stiff, modernistic furniture set the scene in the main lobby and that tone was echoed on every floor.

Walter Prentice was a firm believer in the saying “Perception is everything.” He showed the world what he wanted them to see and that picture became reality. Erica thought about her father—or the man she’d always considered her father—for a second and felt an old ripple of anger slide beneath the surface of the confusion and hurt rampaging through her.

She’d been raised to uphold the family name. To be a shining beacon of respectability and decorum. This building was the heartbeat of the Prentice family dynasty. Where her brothers worked with their father. Where family meetings she was never included in were held. Where the men of the family made plans that the women were expected to follow. This was the place she had never felt good enough to enter.

Her father hadn’t wanted her here. He’d made that clear enough. Wouldn’t even consider her working in the family business, no matter how she had tried to convince him. Erica had never understood why, but she had been on the outside looking in for most of her life. Today, she had discovered the reasons behind her sense of seclusion.

Did her older brothers know the truth? Was that why they’d never really been close? As a kid, she’d wondered why her big brothers weren’t like those of her friends. Sure, they were much older than she was, but still, they’d never paid attention to her. They’d never had the kind of relationship she had once wished for. Had they known the truth all along? Was she the only one who’d been in the dark?

It was time to find out.

She walked across the gleaming, cream-colored tile floor to the security desk. The general public could just walk up to the bank of elevators on the south wall and take them up to any number of floors. But to reach the top floor, where her father’s and brothers’ offices were, required a stop at security where you were given a badge that would get you onto the penthouse elevator. As a child, she’d always felt “special” going through these motions. Today, she only felt even less a part of the Prentice world.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Prentice.”

“Hi, Jerry,” she said. The older man had been working in her father’s lobby for twenty years. When she was a child, Erica remembered, Jerry had kept candy at his station so he always had some for her when she arrived. Now that she thought about it, she realized Jerry had always been happier to see her than Walter had. “I’m going up to see my father.”

“That’s good. Nice for a father and daughter to stay close,” he said as he made a notation in his log, then handed her a badge. “Now that my Karen’s moved out to college I don’t see her nearly enough.”

Erica smiled and hoped it looked more convincing than it felt. Fathers and daughters. She wondered wistfully if Don Jarrod had been a good father. Had her sister, Melissa, had the kind of connection with her father that Erica had always hungered for? Or had her biological father been cut from the same cloth as Walter? After all, they were both wealthy, important men. Maybe it was in their natures to be closed off and more concerned with business than with their children.

Some relationships were so much closer than others. And some, she mused, with a thought for the father she would never know, were never realized at all.

“You have a nice day now,” Jerry said as she took the badge and headed for the private elevator.

Nice day. Two words rattling around inside her mind as she pushed the call button. Confusing day. Terrifying day. Nice? Not so much. In seconds, the doors swished open, she stepped inside and listened to the muted music that drifted down around her.

Now that she was here, Erica’s stomach was churning. What was she going to say? What could she say? “Hello, Father, or should I call you Walter?”

Tears stung at her eyes, but she blinked them back. She hadn’t cried in front of Christian Hanford and she wouldn’t cry now. For one brief moment, the Colorado attorney’s gorgeous face rose up in her mind and Erica thought if only he hadn’t been there to tear down the foundations of her life, she would have been seriously attracted to him. But it was hard to notice a hum in your body when your heart was breaking.

Even now, her heart hurt and her knees were trembling. Music played on as the elevator silently streamed skyward. She should have thought this through more before coming to the office, Erica told herself. Figured out what she was going to say before coming here. But her feelings had pushed her here. That wild rush of anger and confusion and hurt was simmering inside her and waiting wouldn’t have made a difference. She wouldn’t have calmed down. If anything, the tension riding her would have only increased with a wait.

Besides, she thought as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal the rarefied air of the penthouse suite of offices, it was too late to back out now. She was here and it was past time for answers.

Thick, cream-colored carpet stretched on forever. Her father didn’t want to be bothered by the clipping sound of shoes on tile. And what Walter Prentice wanted, he got. So the carpet was thick and the music soft. It was like stepping into a cloud, she thought. The view out the glass walls was impressive, the city stretched out all around them and the bay just beyond.

Taking a deep breath, Erica walked down the long hall to the desk of her father’s assistant. Jewel Franks was fiftyish, no-nonsense and had her fingers on the pulse of the entire company. She had iron-gray hair neatly coiffed, cool blue eyes and the patience of a saint. She had to, to be able to work with Walter on a daily basis as she had for the last thirty years.

“Erica!” Jewel smiled at her. “What a lovely surprise. Your father isn’t expecting you, is he? I don’t have you on my list for the day….”

Erica felt a reluctant smile curve her mouth. Jewel’s lists were legendary. If it wasn’t written on her legal pad, it didn’t exist.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “This is a spur-of-the-moment thing, Jewel. Does he have a few minutes?”

The older woman gave her a wink. “You just managed to catch him between calls, honey. Why don’t you go on in?”

“Thanks.” Erica’s stomach spun and dipped, as if her insides were dizzy and looking for a way to sit down. Another deep breath to fortify already flagging nerves and she was walking to the double-door entrance to her father’s office. A soft knock, then she turned the brass knob and entered.

“What is it, Jewel?” Walter didn’t even look up from the sheaf of papers on his desk.

Erica took a second to study him as he sat there. All of her life, she’d looked up to this man, tried to please him and wondered why she continually failed. His hair was thick and cut short, white mingling with the black now, and his navy blue suit fit him like a uniform. Which it was, she supposed, since she had rarely seen her father in anything but a suit and tie. That tie was power-red today and as he lifted his gaze to look at her, she saw his eyes narrow in question.

“Erica? What are you doing here?”

Not exactly a warm greeting, but Walter never had cared for being interrupted at the office. “Hello, Father.”

Openly frowning now, he asked, “Is there something wrong? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

She watched his face, searching for some sign of warmth or pleasure, but there was nothing. So she walked across the floor, never taking her eyes from his. When she was standing opposite his desk, she said, “I had a visitor today. A lawyer from Colorado.”

Walter jerked as if he’d been shot. Then he stiffened in his chair and set his sterling silver pen onto the desk top. His features went deliberately blank.

“Colorado?” He repeated the word without the slightest inflection in his voice.

“Don’t,” Erica said, staring into those distant green eyes of his as she had her whole life, hoping to see love shining back at her. But again, she was disappointed. “Don’t pretend to not know what I’m talking about.”

His eyes narrowed as he sat back in his chair and gave an impatient tug to his suit vest. “Young lady, don’t take that tone with me.”

Erica almost laughed and would have if her heart wasn’t aching in her chest. She hadn’t heard that particular phrase from him since she was seventeen, and telling her father she was going to a concert with her friends. Of course, she hadn’t gone to the concert, since he’d refused permission and sent her to her room. She wasn’t a rebellious girl anymore though, fighting her own nerves and her father for the right to spread her wings. And she no longer needed his permission to do what she felt she had to do. She was all grown-up and she deserved some answers.

“Father,” she said quietly, “the attorney told me some things. Things I need to talk to you about.”

“I can imagine he did. But I’m not going to discuss this with you.” His jaw jutted out, his eyes narrowed and he silently dared her to continue.

“I need to know, Father,” she said, doing just that. “I have the right to hear it from you. I have to know if everything he said was true.”

“You want to talk about rights? What about my rights to not have this distasteful matter resurrected?” he muttered, tapping his fingers against the desk in a nervous tattoo. “You’re Erica Prentice. My daughter, and by heaven, that should be enough for you.”

God, she wished it were. She wanted it to be enough. But just looking at Walter’s face told her that there was so much more she needed to know. All her life, she’d loved this man. Wanted him to be proud of her. Had strived to be the best—at everything—just to win his approval.

Now, she wanted him to tell her this was all a mistake. Some cruel trick. Yet even before she’d come here, she’d known it wasn’t. “Father, please. Talk to me. I don’t even know what to think about all of this.”

He ground his teeth together, his jaw working furiously before he said, “That bastard Jarrod. This is all his fault. Even from the grave he tries to steal from me.”

“What?” That was not the opening she’d been expecting.

Walter pushed back from his desk and stood up. “He left orders in his will to contact you, didn’t he?” He shoved one hand through his hair, startling Erica. It was the first time she’d ever seen him actually rattled.

“I knew he would,” Walter was muttering. “It was the one sure way he could get around me. Should have known he wouldn’t keep his word.”

This was getting more confusing by the moment. “Don Jarrod left me an equal share in his estate.”

Walter snorted derisively. “Of course he did. He knew I couldn’t stop him and this was the only way he had left to stick it to me.”

“To you?” Erica shook her head and felt the sting of tears she wouldn’t allow burning in her eyes again. “This isn’t about you, Father, this is about me.”

“Don’t you fool yourself.” Walter stabbed his index finger at her. “This was always about Don Jarrod and what he could take from me. No better than a damn thief, that man.”

Heart sinking in her chest, Erica watched as Walter’s features went florid with the rush of temper. Even knowing it was foolish, she’d been harboring one small flicker of doubt inside her. The hope that this was all wrong. That Don Jarrod had made a mistake. That Walter was her father and really did love her. So much for hope.

“So he really was my father?”

“Yes.” Walter bit the word off as if it had tasted foul. “The bastard.” He glanced at her, then looked away again and stalked across the room to stare out at the gloomy view of gray sky and sea. “Your mother and I were having … problems. No point in getting into them now, it’s over and done years ago. But we separated for a time. I went to England for several months, setting up the European branch of the company. Thought it best if Danielle and I each had some space. Some time to consider what we wanted.”

She stared at his broad back as he kept his gaze fixed on the window and the world beyond the glass. He couldn’t even look at her as he spoke and that ripped another tiny shred out of her heart.

He had thought it best to leave her mother for a while, Erica told herself and wondered what her mother’s wishes had been. Then Walter was talking again and she paid attention.

“Don Jarrod was here, in town, supposedly buying up a hotel or two. They met at the theater. Introduced by mutual friends,” he said that last word with a sneer, as if the sting of betrayal were still too sharp. Then he inhaled deeply and exhaled on a rush of words. “The bastard took advantage of her. I was out of the country, and Jarrod saw she was vulnerable, sad. He romanced her, seduced her and got her pregnant.”

Erica swayed unsteadily, but kept standing. It all sounded so awful. So … tacky. How was she supposed to feel about this? She was the unplanned result of a hurried affair. Not the sort of thing a woman wants to hear.

Walter was still talking. “Of course,” he told her, with a glance over his shoulder, “I didn’t realize your mother was expecting you until after we’d reconciled …”

That’s when it hit her. “So you were separated when—” It didn’t really make it better, but at least her mother hadn’t been cheating.

“Hardly matters,” Walter argued. “We were still married. Not that Don Jarrod would care about that. I loved my wife. I wanted our marriage back. Danielle assured me the affair was long over. Jarrod had returned to Colorado and we put it behind us. When she discovered she was pregnant, she went against my wishes and told him because she felt he had the right to know about his child.”

“He knew all these years.”

Walter snorted. “Yes. Naturally he got in contact. He wanted to be a part of your life—as if I would ever have allowed that. The scandal of it would have rocked this city. Ruined business, cost me clients. I couldn’t have that.”

“Of course not,” she whispered, feeling another sharp slice of pain. Scandal was the one thing Walter wouldn’t tolerate. The idea of his friends and business associates knowing about his wife’s affair would have been unbearable for him. He hadn’t hidden the truth because of his desire to protect and love her, but to save himself embarrassment.

This explained a lot, she told herself, her mind racing, darting from one thought to the next so quickly she could hardly keep up. As a girl, she had dreamed of a daddy who doted on her. After all, she was the youngest in the family by quite a bit. The youngest of her older brothers was still fifteen years older than she. Erica had grown up practically an only child. Her brothers were out and building lives of their own by the time she was a teenager.

But Walter had never been the kind of father she’d yearned for. At last, she knew why. And Erica wondered sadly if Don Jarrod would have been any different. He was—or had been—much like Walter, a businessman first last and always.

And yet.

“He wanted me,” she said softly, more to herself than to Walter.

“He wanted to ruin me,” Walter told her flatly. Some of the hot color drained from his features. “He tried to convince your mother to leave me. Go with him to that backwater out in the country. But she knew what was best. What was right.” He nodded with satisfaction. “Besides, I told her I wouldn’t hold her mistake against her.”

“No,” Erica said softly. “You held it against me.”

He stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

Erica’s pain was enveloped by a rising tide of regret and sadness. “Father, my whole life you’ve looked at me with barely concealed revulsion.”

“Not true,” he said, but his gaze slipped to one side, avoiding her eyes.

Even now, he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t meet her gaze and admit to the truth. But she wouldn’t play the game anymore. She finally understood why she’d always been a little less worthy than her brothers and that in itself was liberating.

“Yes,” she said, “it is. I used to wonder what I’d done that was so wrong. So awful to make you dislike me so much.”

“I don’t dislike you, Erica,” he said, surprise coloring his voice. “I love you.”

She wished she could believe that, but with her heart aching it was simply impossible. “You’ve never acted as if you do.”

He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I’m not an emotional man, Erica, but you should be well aware of my feelings.”

“Until this moment, I wasn’t sure you had any,” Erica snapped, then lifted one hand to cover her mouth, almost as stunned as he was that she’d said such a thing.

He looked at her as if she was someone he didn’t even recognize, and to be fair, Erica thought, she could understand his reaction. In her whole life, she’d never once spoken back to him this way. Stood up for herself. Always, she had tried to be the perfect daughter. To win a smile or a nod of approval from him. At this moment though, none of that meant anything to her. Right now, all she felt was her own hurt. Her own disappointment. Her own wish that things were different.

“Erica,” he said, that deep voice rumbling out around her as it had since her childhood. “I am your father in every way that matters. Haven’t I always been here for you? Didn’t I raise you? Have you ever wanted for anything?”

“Only your love,” she said, voice catching as she finally admitted to him that she’d felt that lack her whole life.

“How can you say that?” His shocked expression told her exactly how surprised he was by her words.

The tears that she’d managed to hold at bay all day finally began to show themselves. Irritated by their arrival, Erica quickly swiped them away with the backs of her hands.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she said at last. “Maybe my coming here wasn’t a good idea. I didn’t want to upset you. Didn’t want us to tear at each other.”

He took a single step toward her, then stopped, clearly unsure of his next move. Which was, she thought, another first.

“Erica …” He paused as if gathering his scattered thoughts, then said, “Your mother wouldn’t want you to go. She’d want you to stay here. With your family.”

Would she? Erica wondered. Or would her mother understand the need to discover her roots? God, what a clichéd way to think of this. But wasn’t it true? Wouldn’t she be exploring her past so that she could figure out her future?

“I do love you, Father,” she told him. “But I’m going to Colorado. I have to. To meet my brothers and sister. To find out if I belong there any more than I do here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His bellow was completely unexpected. Walter Prentice never lost his temper. Or at least, he’d never allowed anyone to witness it. “Of course you belong here, this is your home. We’re your family.”

“So are they.”

“You will not do this thing.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I forbid it.”

Erica had to smile through her tears. Typical of this man, she thought. If he couldn’t sway, he would command, fully expecting that his opposition would fold and do exactly as he wanted.

Still, she loved him and wished he would sweep her up into his big arms and tell her this was all nonsense. That of course he loved her. Always had. Always would. She wanted to be cuddled against her father’s broad chest and reassured about her place in the world.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Sadly, she faced him. “You can’t stop me, Father, so please don’t try.” Erica walked to the door and opened it but before she could slip through, his voice halted her.

“If you don’t find what you’re looking for there?” he asked. “What then?”

She glanced back at him and suddenly thought that he looked so … lonely, in his plush office surrounded by the symbols of his success. “Honestly? I just don’t know.”

“So what is she like?”

Christian looked up from the desk in his office at the Manor and smiled at Melissa Jarrod. She wore a pale yellow silk blouse tucked into a short, dark green skirt. Her heeled sandals gave her already five-foot-eight height three extra inches and her blue eyes were sparkling with excitement. She shook her long fall of blond hair back from her face, planted both hands on the desktop and leaned toward him.

Looked as though he wouldn’t be getting much work done, he told himself. Melissa was bound and determined to get information on her new sister and until he surrendered to the inevitable, Christian knew the woman wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Come on, Christian, give a little,” she prodded.

“I already told you she seems very nice,” he said.

“Nice doesn’t tell me a lot.” She straightened up and paced around the room. “Is she funny? Boring?”

He didn’t remember her being boring, Christian thought. Would have been easier on him if she had been. But no, Erica Prentice had to be strong and intelligent and—not helping, he told himself. “She’s … nice.”

Melissa laughed. “Honestly, you’re hopeless. You make a terrible spy.”

“Good thing I’m a lawyer then,” he said and shifted his gaze back to the papers on the desk. His brief hope that he’d satisfied her curiosity and would be allowed to get back to work was shattered a second later.

“Fine. As a lawyer, give me a description. Tell me how she reacted. What she’s thinking. Something,” she begged.

Sitting back in his chair, Christian looked across the room at the youngest Jarrod sibling—well, now thanks to Erica, she was the second youngest. Melissa hadn’t taken long at all to decide to come home to Aspen. She’d quit her job managing a trendy, luxurious day spa in Los Angeles and had taken over at the spa here at the resort. Since she was also a yoga instructor, she had plans to include yoga retreats at the spa, as well. She’d slipped back into mountain life as if she’d never left it.

“What do you want to hear?”

“I don’t know,” she said, laughing again. “I have a sister I’ve never met. Is she fun? Does she smile a lot? Is she stuffy? You know, more into business than anything else? Because really, with my brothers, I’m hoping she’s not.”

“She didn’t seem to be,” he said, thinking back on that one day he’d had with Erica. Not like he hadn’t been doing a lot of thinking about her ever since they first met. On the long flight home, he’d almost convinced himself that the instant attraction he’d felt for her wasn’t as overwhelming as he’d believed. But then Erica had called him that night to tell him she would be arriving in just a few days.

All it had taken was hearing her voice and his body was tight and hard and. Christian cut those thoughts off fast. Melissa was pretty damned intuitive and he didn’t need her picking up on what he was feeling for her sister.

“She was,” he said, before Melissa could prod him again, “surprised. As shocked as all of you were to hear about her connection to the family.”

“Poor thing,” Melissa murmured, her soft heart showing. “I can’t even imagine having that curve ball thrown at you.”

“You did have it thrown at you,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, but I already knew I was a Jarrod. She’s coming into this cold and it had to be hard to find out you’re not who you think you are.”

Christian smiled at her again. She was going to be an ally for Erica. A safe harbor in a strange new world. And that was a good thing. He had a feeling she was going to need friends. In their communications with him, Blake and Guy weren’t exactly warming up to the idea of a new sister. And as for Gavin and Trevor … he’d know when they arrived what their attitude was going to be.

“I think it’s safe to say it hit her hard. She’s strong though,” Christian told her. “Every bit as tough as you are. But she’s got a soft side, too,” he mused, remembering the sheen of tears she’d managed to keep at bay when they’d been talking.

“Do I detect some interest there?” Melissa asked.

“What?” He straightened up and glared at her. Damn it, he couldn’t afford to relax his guard for a minute around her. She was way too perceptive. “No. You don’t. Besides, that would be inappropriate.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Christian,” Melissa said with a sad shake of her head, “you sound like a Puritan or something.”

“I’m not and I’m also not discussing this with you. Don’t you have a spa to run?”

Frustrated, she huffed out a breath. “Honestly, men are the most bizarre creatures.”

“Thanks so much. Goodbye.”

“Oh, I’m going,” she said, smiling now as she headed for his office door. “But don’t think this ends the conversation, Christian.”

Once she was gone, he leaned back in his chair again and told himself to shape up. He couldn’t afford to show any of the Jarrod siblings that he was attracted to Erica. With the board of directors due to meet in a few months, he couldn’t afford to start rumors.

Dating a member of the Jarrod family was one sure way for an employee to find himself quickly unemployed. It was there in the contracts they all signed, since Don had been adamant about protecting his family. Don’s will ensured that the fraternization clause would stay. The board of directors would follow Don’s directions until new ones were put in their place. Christian couldn’t count on the Jarrod siblings doing anything to change the status quo. And he wasn’t going to give up the job he’d worked so hard for and loved so much for any woman.

No matter how much he wanted her.

Four

Three days after her lunch with Christian, Erica was on a private plane headed to Aspen. Strange how quickly she’d managed to pull this together. Erica had taken a leave of absence from her firm, closed up her condo and put her car into storage. When she called Christian Hanford to tell him her plans, he’d insisted on sending the family jet for her. She’d argued with him of course, but Erica thought as she looked around her, she was glad she’d lost that argument.

The plane was furnished with both elegance and comfort in mind. Thick, sky-blue carpeting covered the floor and the dozen seats were in pale blue leather and more comfy than any first-class accommodation she’d ever tried. There was a flat-screen TV on the bulkhead, a selection of movies for the DVD player and a stereo outfitted with dozens of CDs. There was also a uniformed hostess who had served Erica a delicious breakfast before disappearing into the front of the plane with the pilot and copilot.

She had the cabin to herself and Erica was grateful for the respite. She’d been doing so much thinking and considering over the last few days, had had so many people talking to her and at her, it was nearly a vacation to have some quiet time to herself.

Although, with all of this quality thinking time, she was starting to make herself crazy wondering what exactly she was getting herself into. Christian had said that her new family was eager to meet her.

She had to wonder about that. He was probably just being nice. Why would they be taking this situation any better than her older brothers had? She hardly saw her siblings unless it was at some family function, but only the day before, the three of them had descended on her en masse to try to talk her out of this move.

Erica leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She could still hear her brothers’ voices, alternately pleading, arguing and demanding that she stop hurting the man who’d loved her and raised her. Strange how they were all so interested in protecting Walter from a truth he’d known all along. None of them had given much thought to what she was having to deal with.

Even with her brothers coming at her from all sides, that confrontation hadn’t been as bad as the one with her stepmother. Angela, to give the woman her due, loved Walter to distraction. She’d made him happy, Erica knew, and she’d even tried, in the beginning, to foster a relationship with Erica. But the woman really wasn’t very maternal and Erica had been old enough to resent a woman who wasn’t her mother trying to take over her life. So they’d never really connected. And that wasn’t likely to change now, she thought as she remembered that last scene with her stepmother.

“You’re hurting him with this, Erica,” Angela had said softly, her tone and expression clearly showing her disapproval. “He doesn’t deserve this sort of treatment from you.”

“Angela, all I want to do is find out who I am,” she argued patiently.

“And you believe your father resents your choice.”

“Are you saying he doesn’t?”

Angela took a long breath and let it sigh from her lungs. Picking up her clutch, she tucked it beneath her left arm and slowly shook her head. “You’ve never looked past his brusque exterior to the man beneath, have you?” Not waiting for an answer, she said, “One day you will, my dear. And you’ll see that Walter’s heart aches for you. He loves you, Erica. It doesn’t matter that Don Jarrod donated his sperm to your creation. It’s Walter Prentice who is your father.”

Was Angela right? Or was she only defending her husband as she always had? Erica didn’t know, but she couldn’t allow anything to stop her from this quest.

“So basically,” Erica whispered to no one, “I’m on my own. Probably about time, too,” she added under her breath.

Heaven knew this was the greatest adventure she’d ever undertaken. Unlike her friends, she hadn’t back-packed through Europe after graduating from college. She hadn’t taken a year off to “find” herself. Instead, she’d done exactly what was expected of her. She had gotten a job at a well-regarded firm and began the process of building a respectable life. In fact, Erica had never done a single thing on impulse. She had been the good little girl, doing the right thing. The proper thing. All because she had been trying to prove herself to a father who had never noticed her. Now though, it seemed she was making up for all of that.

Pulling up stakes and moving halfway across the country to live with people she didn’t know and help run a resort she’d never seen.

It was crazy. Made zero sense. She should be terrified.

But she wasn’t.

Erica looked out the window at the earth far below and watched the view change from city to mountains and plains and felt a stir of excitement rise up inside her. This was new. Fresh. She had a chance here that few people ever had. An opportunity to completely reinvent herself. She was going to do the best she could with it. She was going to find her way and figure out who she was and when that was done, she’d be able to face her father again and hold her head high.

She picked up her cup of coffee and sipped at it. But for the muffled roar of the engines, the inside of the jet was quiet. She wasn’t interested in watching a movie or listening to the selection of music they had on board. In fact, she was actually too restless to sit still. The only thing keeping her in her buttery-soft leather chair was her instinctive fear of flying. And as the time ticked away, Erica’s excitement turned into nervousness and she worried about the reception she’d be receiving once she landed.

Friends? Or enemies? And how would she be able to tell?

The pilot’s voice crackled over the speaker, interrupting her thoughts. “Ms. Prentice, please make sure your seat belt is fastened. We’re beginning our initial descent and will be landing in Aspen in about twenty minutes.”

She nodded as if the man could see her, then smiled at herself.

Only twenty minutes until her new life started.

He was waiting on the tarmac.

Christian Hanford looked different than he had in San Francisco, Erica thought as her heartbeat sped into a gallop. For one thing, he wasn’t wearing a suit. And if she’d thought him gorgeous in that elegantly cut business suit, it was nothing to how she felt now.

He was wearing dark blue jeans, black boots and a red pullover collared shirt. His short dark hair ruffled in the wind and his lazy stance as he leaned against a black BMW only added to the “dangerous” air about him.

He walked to meet her as she came down the retractable stairway. A half smile on his face, he stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked up at her. “How was your trip?”

“Fabulous,” she said quickly. “Thank you for sending the jet for me.”

“Least we could do,” he said and held out one hand to help her down the last few steps. His thumb traced lightly over the back of her hand and his touch felt like licks of flame. His dark eyes locked with hers and Erica felt a nearly magnetic pull toward the man. For one split second it was as if they were the only two people in the world. His square jaw was shadowed with a faint trace of whiskers and his mouth was still curved in that half smile as he added, “It’s the Jarrod family jet. You’re family.”

She laid her free hand against her abdomen in an attempt to still the butterflies that had suddenly decided to swarm inside her. It was a wasted effort. With excitement came nerves and she didn’t expect either to let up anytime soon.

“How about a quick tour of Aspen before we go to the resort?”

“I’d like that,” she said, tearing her gaze from his really gorgeous dark chocolate eyes long enough to look around her. Once she did, she gasped.

She glanced around the small—compared to San Francisco—airport and the mountains surrounding them. The sky was so blue it nearly hurt to look at it and the white clouds scudding across that sky could have been painted on, they were so perfect. The air was sharp and clean and the relative quiet was nearly deafening to a woman used to the sounds of a city.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, staring out at the mountains that towered over them like guardian angels.

“You know,” he said, and she turned to catch him looking at her, “it really is.” Then he shook off whatever he was thinking, and gave her hand a tug. “Come on, city girl. Let me show you around.”

She was too damn beautiful; that was the problem, Christian told himself. He’d hoped that his memory of her was exaggerated. That she hadn’t really had eyes the color of finely aged whiskey. That she didn’t smell like peaches. That her softly layered hair didn’t really lift in the wind until it looked like a halo around her head. He’d hoped that his desire for her would be something he could tuck away and ignore.

But just touching her hand had set off explosions of want inside him and now Christian knew exactly what he was up against.

Temptation.

He kept her hand tucked into his as he led her toward his car. The top was down and it was a perfect day for her to see her new home. When he opened the car door for her he took an extra second to enjoy the view. She wore white linen slacks, a dark blue shirt and black leather flats, and managed to look more beautiful than any woman had a right to. Oh, yeah. He was in deep trouble.

He closed the car door and said, “We’ll drive through town, let you get your bearings.” “What about my luggage?”

“They’ll deliver it to the resort.”

“Right.” She nodded. “Okay then.”

He hopped in on the driver’s side, fired the engine and drove out of the airport.

“I can’t believe the mountains are so close,” she said, pushing her windblown hair out of her face.

“I’ve lived here my whole life so I guess I don’t really take the time to look up at them much.”

“I don’t know how you could do anything else,” she admitted.

He followed her gaze briefly, allowing himself to admire the sweep of green that climbed up the mountains ringing Aspen. Like most citizens of Aspen, he more or less took the natural beauty of the place for granted. When you grew up in the middle of a painting, you tended to think everyone else lived with those kinds of views, too.

Christian gave her a quick grin. “I give you two weeks before you stop noticing them, just like the rest of us.”

She glanced at him and shook her head. “I’ll take that bet.”

As he drove into the city, he rattled off the names of the businesses crowded along the streets. On Galena he pointed out the old brick buildings, several of the shops and Erica noticed the flower boxes lining the walkways between stores. Down Main Street, he showed her the Aspen Times, one of the town newspapers, and she smiled at the small blue building adorned with old-fashioned gold lettering across the front.

He knew what she was seeing, but he had to admit that like the mountains, he tended to take for granted the charm of the city he’d grown up in.

It was modern of course, with plenty of high-end boutiques and shops for the megawealthy and celebrities who flocked here every year. But it was also an old mining town. Brick buildings, narrow streets, brightly colored flowers in boxes and old-fashioned light posts that were more atmospheric than useful. It was a mingling of three centuries, he supposed.

“In Aspen, we’ve sort of held on to the old while we welcomed the new.”

“I love it,” she said, her head whipping from side to side so she could take it all in.

He threw a quick look at her, saw pure pleasure dancing in her eyes and wondered how he was going to maintain a strictly business relationship with the youngest of Don’s daughters. As his mind wrestled with his body’s wants, he tried to focus on the road and not the way she lazily crossed her legs.

“It’s so big,” she said after another minute or two.

“Aspen?” He gave her another quick look. Coming from a city the size of San Francisco, he was surprised to hear she thought Aspen was big. “It’s not, really. Population’s around five thousand with a hell of a lot more than that every winter for the skiing and in the summer for the food and wine gala.”

“No, not Aspen itself,” she corrected. “Colorado. It’s all so … open. God, the sky just goes on forever.” She laughed a little and shrugged. “I’m more used to fragments of sky outlined by office buildings.”

“Which do you like better?”

“Well,” she said as he stopped at a red light, “that’s the question, isn’t it? San Francisco is beautiful, but in a completely different way. I feel so out of my element here.”

The light changed, he put the car in gear and stepped on the gas. Keeping his eyes on the road, he said, “You’re Don Jarrod’s daughter, so Colorado’s in your blood. Your family goes back a long way here.”

“Tell me,” she said, focusing on him now more than the city around them.

“I’ll do my best,” he said, thinking back to everything he’d heard Don talking about over the years. “Don’s great-great-grandfather started the resort. He was here for the silver mining boom that started the city back in 1879. Bought himself some land and built what he called the biggest, damnedest house in Colorado.”

Erica smiled. “No shortage of self-esteem in the Jarrod family then?”

“Not at all,” Christian agreed with a chuckle. “Anyway, by 1893, Aspen had banks, theaters, a hospital and electric lights.”

“Impressive,” she said, half turning in her seat to watch him as he spoke.

“It was. Then the bottom dropped out of the silver market, mines closed and people moved out by the hundreds. Eli Jarrod refused to go, though. He kept adding on to his house, and opened it up as a hotel. There were still plenty of people back east who wanted to come out here on fishing and hunting trips and Eli was set up to take care of them.”

“Smart.”

“Not a shortage of brains in the Jarrod family, either,” he told her. “Anyway, Eli managed to hang on. The Depression wasn’t easy for anybody, but then the resort really took off in 1946. Then people were discovering the mountains for skiing and the Jarrods were prepared to handle the tourism trade.”

“Right place, right time?”

“I guess,” he said, “though they hung on through the lean years when everyone said that a hotel in the middle of ‘nowhere’ was a bad idea. So maybe you could just put their success down to pure stubbornness.”

He steered the car past a delivery truck and along street after street. Businesses gave way to bungalow homes set far back on wide lots dotted with pines. Soon they left the city behind and turned onto a road guarded on either side by tall trees and open space.

“Tell me about the resort.”

Christian nodded. “Like I said, it started out as just the family home, though your ancestor made sure it was the biggest house for miles around. As he turned it into a hotel, the place got even grander. Wings were added off the main building and the Jarrod resort was born.” He took a sharp left and steered the car across the bridge spanning the Roaring Fork River. “And the resort just kept growing. The main hotel is out front and the top floor is the family residence. That’s where you’ll be staying.”

She took a breath and nodded. “Okay, what else?”

“There are lodges built on the grounds, some of them actually going up the slope of the mountain. There are standard log cabins, some stone ones. Most of the lodges are small and cozy, one-family deals, but there are much bigger ones too, fully staffed with butlers, maids and cooks.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Wow.”

“Oh, yeah.” He steered the car down a narrow road lined with stands of trees so thick she could barely see through them. “I think you’re about to be amazed, Erica Prentice.”

She laughed. “What makes you think I haven’t been already?”

“It’s about to get better,” he assured her.

The long drive up to the resort unfolded in front of them. An acre of neatly tended lawn bordered by banks of flowers spilling color and scent lay in front of the truly impressive Manor.

Erica felt her mouth drop open. “It’s a castle,” she whispered, her gaze sweeping up and over the main stone building, then encompassing the wings jutting out from either side. Flowering green shrubs crouched at the base of the Manor and gleaming window panes shone in the sun like diamonds. There were peaked roofs, balconies with iron railings and the aged brick of the structure itself was the color of roses.

It would have seemed like a postcard, but for the bustle of employees around the circular drive making the whole place come alive. A doorman in a sharp, navy-blue-and-gold jacket spouted orders like a general and bellmen raced to follow them. Luxury cars idled beneath an arched stone covering over the gravel drive as guests stepped from them to be escorted into the hotel.

“This is …” she whispered, still stunned.

“I told you,” Christian said. “Amazed.”

“That’s really not a big enough word,” she told him as he pulled under the archway and stepped out of the car. In a moment, Christian was at the passenger side, helping her out. She stood up and did a slow turn, trying to take in everything at once.

It was impossible. She thought she’d need weeks to get the whole picture of the Jarrod resort. But what she had seen, she loved. Erica had never seen anyplace like it. It was as if she had stepped into a fairy tale. All that was missing was the handsome prince riding up on a black charger.

Then her gaze shifted to Christian. Handsome man in a black BMW. The modern version of the fairy tale then, she thought with an inner smile. But he wasn’t a prince and she wasn’t in need of rescuing. Or was she?

Shifting her gaze to scan the yard, then turning to peek through the open double doors into the lobby, Erica couldn’t avoid a quick jolt of nerves that shot from her stomach up to her heart and back again. She was here. About to meet a family she’d never known and there was no going back.

“Second thoughts?”

She turned to look at Christian and found him watching her with a bemused expression on his face. Funny, she hadn’t even met him a week ago and now, he was the one spot of familiarity in a rapidly changing world.

“No,” she said firmly, taking a deep breath as she did so. “No second thoughts. I made the decision to come here and I’m going to stick with it.”

A flash of admiration lit up his dark eyes briefly and Erica felt warmed by it.

“Good for you,” he said, then waved one arm out toward the interior of the hotel. “Ready to see your new home?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she told him and started walking.

The honey-colored wood walls and floors shone like a jewel box in the overhead lights. Framed photos of the mountain taken during every season dotted the walls and there were tables and chairs scattered around the wide lobby. A hum of conversation rose and fell as people wandered around the room and through it all, there was an almost electrical air about the place.

Erica swiveled her head from side to side, looking at everything as Christian guided her across the lobby to an elevator off by itself. “This is the private elevator to the family quarters,” he told her and took a card from his pocket to slide into the key slot.

The door slid open and they stepped inside. Again, honey-colored wood set the tone, making Erica think not only of a mountain cabin, but warmth and luxury.

“Your key will be in your suite, waiting for you,” Christian was saying. “Your luggage probably beat us here, since we took the scenic route. You’ll find everything you need in your suite. There’s even a small efficiency kitchen there and it’s been stocked with the basics.”

“Okay.”

“There’s also a main kitchen on the family level, if you really feel the urge to cook something. But the hotel restaurants will deliver, so you don’t have to worry about that if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I like cooking,” she told him as the elevator stopped and the door opened.

“Well, then, you and your brother Guy should get along just fine. He’s a chef.” Christian stepped out and held the door back for her. “He was, anyway. He owned his own restaurant in New York before coming back to Aspen and now he’s pretty much taking over running the resort restaurants.”

“A chef,” she mused with a smile. “I’m not in his league, then. I said I like cooking. Didn’t promise I was good at it.”

“Make me dinner some night,” he said, then stopped and frowned to himself as if he already regretted the words.

Judging by his expression, Erica ignored what he said, stepped into the hall and sighed as she looked around. “It just keeps getting prettier.”

The hallway they stepped into was wide, leading off in two directions. Wood floors, walls the color of fog and a narrow table boasting a cobalt vase stuffed with roses and hydrangeas greeted her. Every few feet, an arched window let in sunlight and provided a view that was breathtaking. But she didn’t have enough time to look around and enjoy it.

Christian pointed to the left. “Down there are four suites, and just past them, along the hallway, is the family room.”

“Okay …” She noted that the private quarters followed the line of the hotel, only the windows here looked out over a palatial pool area. The aquamarine water held a few guests lounging on rafts and on the flagstone area surrounding the pool, cabanas, tables and chairs with brightly colored umbrellas offered places to sit and chat. There was a bar tucked into one corner of the space and uniformed waiters and waitresses hurried back and forth seeing to the guests’ comforts.

No doubt about it, she had walked into a very different world in Colorado than the one she was accustomed to. Then she realized that Christian was still talking and she turned around to watch him and listen.

“Past the family room is the original family quarters. The master bedroom and bedrooms for your brothers and sister when they were kids.”

She tried to imagine growing up in this place, but it was hard to envision. So much space. So much open land for children to run and play. Smiling, she recalled that as a girl, she’d thought the park her nanny had taken her to was a veritable wilderness.

“As his kids got older,” Christian said, “Don had the place rehabbed, building each of them their own suite and a few extras for guests.”

It sounded as though Don Jarrod had done everything he could to keep his children at home. Yet each of them had fled Colorado. She had to wonder why.

Erica took a breath and nodded. “Are they all living here now?”

As if he could read the trepidation on her face, he smiled and said, “No. Right now, there’s only Guy in one of the suites and Guy’s twin, Blake, and his assistant living in two of the others. The rest of your family are here—staying in different lodges.”

Only a couple of siblings to worry about facing every day then. That was good. Erica would prefer to settle in a little before she was forced to deal with Don Jarrod’s other children. But if Guy or Blake and his assistant were there at the moment, now was as good a time as any to get the first of the introductions over with.

“Are any of them here now?” Erica tried to steel herself for meeting the first of her new family. Though now that she thought about it, she wished she had a minute to drag a brush through her wind-tossed hair and to put on some makeup and—

“No,” Christian said, interrupting her frenzied thoughts. “Blake’s gone for a few days at the moment. He and Samantha have been flying back and forth a lot to Vegas, wrapping up loose ends in the business and getting ready to take over here. Blake and your brother Gavin have been building hotels, mostly in Las Vegas and they’ve done exceptionally well out there.”

“And they’re giving it up to come back here?”

“Yeah,” Christian said. “Like you, your brothers and sister have closed down their old lives and are here to start over again.”

But they were returning to something familiar at least. She, on the other hand, felt as though she’d fallen into the rabbit hole. Nerves rattled through her again, but resolutely, she fought them down.

“What about Guy?”

“This time of day, he’s probably downstairs in the main restaurant.”

She drew a breath and let it go. “What about Gavin? Is he in Vegas with Blake?”

“No, he’s here. But he’s living in one of the private lodges on the grounds.” Christian shrugged. “He wasn’t interested in moving into the Manor.”

Erica was beginning to understand that none of her brothers and sister were exactly thrilled to be back in Aspen. Yet, they’d all come, putting aside their plans and lives outside Jarrod Ridge to return and take up the family resort again. That told her that despite what were probably mixed feelings about their father and this place, their loyalty to family meant more than their reluctance to return. And that knowledge made her feel better, somehow. If family was everything to these people, then eventually, she might be able to have a relationship with all of them.

“What about the others?” she asked. “Where are they living?”

He led her down the hallway in the opposite direction from Blake’s suite as he continued.

“Well, like I said, Trevor has his own place in Aspen, but he’s here most days. Guy stays here mainly because he’s working here at the Manor. And Melissa …” He paused. “She lives in Willow Lodge. It’s the farthest lodge from the Manor, but anyone here can tell you where that is. She also runs the hotel spa, and you’ll find her there most days.”

“How big are the family quarters?” she suddenly asked, astonished at the length of the hallway in both directions.

“As big as the top floor of the hotel. Including wings,” Christian added with a smile.

“Amazing,” she murmured as she followed after him.

“Yeah, it is. Down here is your suite, plus two more. Farther along this hall, you’ll find the kitchen, the great room and what was Don’s office. My office is down on the main floor, but I do most of my work at home.”

“Right. You don’t live at the Manor. Where’s your place from here?”

He steered her toward one of the high, arched windows lining the hallway and pointed. “See the red roof just past that tall pine?”

She did. The building couldn’t be more than a five-minute walk from where she was standing. “Close.”

“It is. So if you ever need anything …”

He was standing so near, she felt heat radiating from his body toward hers. He smelled so good, she wanted to breathe deeper and when she looked up into those chocolate-brown eyes, she had the strangest desire to lean in and … What was she thinking? Didn’t she have enough going on in her life at the moment?

“Thanks,” she said abruptly, taking a safe step back from him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He watched her for a second or two and Erica wondered if he could tell what she’d been thinking. If he could see that she had been wondering what he would taste like. If his lips were as soft and warm as they appeared to be.

But if he did know, then he was as determined as she to not draw attention to it. He scrubbed one hand across his face, then waved one arm out in front of him in silent invitation to continue on down the hall. He walked beside her and the heels of their shoes sounded out like gunshots in the stillness.

When he finally stopped in front of a door and opened it, Erica stepped past him and stopped dead on the threshold.

It was gorgeous, which shouldn’t have surprised her. Everything about Jarrod Ridge was breathtaking. But somehow, she hadn’t expected her room to be so … wonderful. After all, she was the stranger here and from what she could tell so far, her new brothers and sister had been no more thrilled to hear of her existence than she had been to hear about them. She’d half expected an ordinary hotel room, lovely, but generic. This, she told herself as she walked farther into the room, was anything but generic.

The living room was done in various shades of blue. Pale blue walls, dark blue, overstuffed furniture, cobalt vases stuffed with flowers dripping heavy scent into the air and navy blue drapes at the arched windows. The wood floor was dotted with braided rugs in shades of blue and cream and even the fireplace was fronted by tiles that looked like delft.

“Wow,” she said and even that word was just so insignificant to the task.

“Glad you like it,” he said, moving into the room behind her.

“What’s not to like?” She did a slow turn, trying to see everything at once. Then her gaze landed on Christian again. “To tell the truth, I wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

He grinned briefly and something inside her twisted up tight in response. Really, the man had an almost magical smile. Good thing he didn’t use it often.

“What were you expecting? A cell in a dungeon?”

She smiled and shrugged. “No, not that bad, but nothing so …”

“Melissa suggested you stay in this suite. She thought you’d like it and your brothers had no objection.”

“No objection.” Well, that was something, she supposed. “It was thoughtful of Melissa.”

“You’ll like her. She’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“And my brothers?”

He paused for a long moment before he said, “They’ll come around.”

“Just one big happy family, huh?” Funny, her excitement-driven nerves had become anxiety-driven in the blink of an eye. It seemed there were plenty of hard feelings for everyone to get through before they could even begin to relate to each other.

“You have as much right to be here as they do,” he told her.

“Do I?” Erica shook her head and frowned as she threw out both hands as if to encompass the entire resort. “They grew up here. I’m the interloper. This is their home.”

“The home that every one of them escaped from the minute they got the chance.”

Her hands fell to her sides. “Why did they? Was Don Jarrod such a bad father?”

“Not bad,” he said, crossing the room to stand by her side. “Just busy. Opinionated.” Christian smiled ruefully. “He wasn’t even my father and he was full of orders about what I should do with my life and the best way to do it.”

“Sounds familiar,” Erica mused, strolling to the window and staring out at the pool area and the mountains beyond. “I grew up with a father much like him. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Maybe that insight will make it easier for you to understand your siblings.”

“I guess we’ll see. Seems strange that this lovely place is practically empty. It’s sad, somehow. That none of the Jarrods want to live in their family home.”

“Well,” Christian allowed, “like I told you, Don wasn’t the easiest father in the world. Most of them have issues with the place and aren’t very happy about the way their father arranged getting them back to Aspen.”

She sighed a little. “So, we’ve got father troubles in common, anyway.”

“You could say that.” He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and watched her as she walked to the sofa in her new home. “Speaking of your father, how’d it go when you spoke with him about all of this?”

Erica shot him a look. “As I expected. He didn’t want me to come.” “Why did you?”

She stopped, leaned over and picked up a throw pillow. She ran her fingertips across the heavily embroidered fabric, then set it down again. “I had to. I had to come and see and …”

“Find yourself?” he offered.

She laughed a little. “Sounds pompous, doesn’t it?”

“Not really. I’ve been lost before. It’s not always easy getting found again.”

Erica tipped her head to one side and studied him. He looked so in control. So at home. So sure of himself, it was hard to imagine that he might have suffered self-doubt or anxiety. But she supposed everyone did from time to time. The trick was to not let those times get the best of you.

She turned around and let her gaze slide across the room that would be her home for who knew how long. There was a hallway off the living room that she assumed led to the bedroom and— “You said there was a stocked kitchen?”

“Yep.” He pointed. “Right through there.”

She went to investigate and off a short hall, she found a two-burner stove, a small refrigerator and several cupboards. The fridge was stocked with water, wine and soda along with fresh vegetables. There was a bowl of fruit on the abbreviated counter and she noticed that the window in the kitchen overlooked an English-style garden.

“You hungry?” Christian’s voice came from directly behind her.

She turned around to look at him and admitted, “Actually, I am.”

“Why don’t we go get some lunch downstairs? I can answer your questions and you can meet one of your brothers at the same time.”

That brother being Guy, she reminded herself. The chef. Well, that meeting just might kill her appetite, but gamely she said, “Give me one minute to freshen up and I’m ready.”

Ready for all of it, she added silently.

Five

Guy Jarrod had once been a sought-after chef, with a reputation of excellence, but when he opened his own restaurant, he’d stepped out from behind the stove so to speak. He’d learned to love the business of running the restaurant even more than he had the actual art of cooking.

Now, he hired and fired chefs, made sure everything ran the way he wanted it to. But being back at Jarrod Ridge doing what he did best hadn’t been on his agenda. Trust his father to make sure he eventually got his way where his children were concerned … even if it meant he had to die to do it.

Still irritated at being managed from beyond the grave, Guy had to admit that running the five-star restaurant at the Ridge was turning out to be a better gig than he’d expected it to be. He had big plans for the place.

Over the years, the restaurant and the general manager of the hotel had become, not lax, exactly, but complacent. They stayed with what worked rather than trying out new things. That was about to change.

All he had to do was get accustomed to being back here again.

“Excuse me, Mr. Jarrod?”

“What is it?” He looked up as one of the servers rushed into the wine cellar off the kitchen. A young kid who looked familiar, Guy hadn’t had time to learn all their names yet.

“Mr. Hanford’s in the dining room with a guest. He asked if you could come out to speak with them.”

Christian. Well, part of being back in Aspen was going to entail dealing with his brothers, his sister—sisters, he reminded himself sternly—and Christian. They’d been friends once, Guy reminded himself. Now, they were business colleagues all because of one old man’s stubborn refusal to let go of his children.

“Fine. Tell him I’ll be right there.” He left the wine cellar where he’d been taking a personal inventory—he wanted to know exactly what the restaurant had on hand and didn’t trust anyone else to do it right.

That thought brought him up short. Maybe he was more like his old man than he’d ever thought.

He stalked through the kitchen, out into the main dining room, his gaze constantly shifting. He checked on the servers, on the table settings, on the flowers. He noticed the tablecloths and the flatware and the shine on the silver and brass espresso machine. He had a sharp eye, no tolerance for sloppy work and he intended to make good use of those traits now that he was back running this place the way it always should have been run.

Guy spotted Christian sitting at a booth in the back. As he got closer, he saw that across from him was a trim, pretty brunette with amber eyes. She looked vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her. Which meant, Guy thought suddenly, this was the long-lost sister they’d all been waiting to meet. Her familiarity was simply that she had something of the Jarrod family stamped on her features.

They hadn’t noticed his approach yet, so he took that spare moment to observe her. Pretty, he thought again. But she looked on edge. And hell, who could blame her? All of them had been dragged back to Jarrod Ridge whether they liked it or not.

Yet she had the worst of it, he thought. At least he and his siblings had each other. She was the stranger in a strange land. Despite a flicker of sympathy for her, though, Guy agreed with his twin. A newly acknowledged sister didn’t deserve an equal share of the estate.

Christian caught Guy’s gaze as the man approached. He also noticed the appraising gleam in the man’s eyes as he gave Erica a quick once-over. He knew Erica was nervous about this meeting, but Christian was glad she would be starting out by meeting Guy. This Jarrod sibling had always had a cooler head than most of the others.

Well, except for Trevor. There wasn’t much in life that shook Trevor.

“Christian, good to see you,” Guy said, but he wasn’t looking at him. Instead the man’s eyes were locked on Erica. “And you must be my new little sister.”

She flushed nervously, but she lifted her chin, stuck out her hand and said, “That’s me. But I usually go by Erica.”

“Good one,” he said and shook her hand briefly. “So, you getting settled in?”

“I am, but I think it’s going to take me a while to be able to find my way around.”

“I’m pretty sure the front desk has maps,” he said, giving her a smile. “What do you think of the Manor?”

“It’s gorgeous,” she blurted, looking around the half-full dining room at the guests gathered there. “It must have been a wonderful place to grow up.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Guy tugged at the edge of the tablecloth, smoothing out a tiny wrinkle in the fine linen. “Christian told us you were in PR back in San Francisco.”

“Yes, I was.”

“That’ll come in handy, then.” A server slipped up behind him, whispered something and then drifted away again. “I’m sorry. There’s something in the kitchen I need to handle. Christian, good to see you again. Erica.” He shifted his gaze to hers and held it for a long moment before smiling. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

When he was gone, Erica blew out a breath.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Christian watched her as she reached for her water glass and took a sip. Guy could have been a little more welcoming, but on a scale of one to ten, ten being a warm hug and one a shotgun reception—he’d scored about a five.

“A little nerve-racking, but all in all, not bad,” she admitted. Then she asked, “What did Guy mean, my PR skill will come in handy?”

Christian had wanted to give her a day or two to get used to being here, but there was no point in putting things off. There was a lot coming up and since she was now expected to take her place in the Jarrod family, she might as well get her feet wet right away.

“The food and wine gala is coming up in a few weeks,” he said. “It’s a big deal in Aspen. Held every year, lasts several weeks and has foodie and wine lovers in the country and in Europe coming into town to enjoy themselves.”

“I’ve read about it,” she said. “And seen some coverage on the news every year, too. It’s practically a Mardi Gras type thing, isn’t it?”

“Close enough,” he told her. “The city depends on the tourism dollars and the gala the Jarrods sponsor is a big part of that. As one of the Jarrods, you’re right in the middle of this one.”

Her eyes went wide, but she nodded and said,

“Tell me.”

Again, he had to admire how she was able to go with the flow. She was strong, but she had the tendency to bend, not break. Most of the women he’d known in his life would still be sitting in San Francisco trying to come to terms with everything she’d dealt with in the last few days. Not Erica Prentice though. Once her decision was made, she gave it her all.

For a tiny thing, she was formidable.

Her gaze was locked on him and he found himself getting distracted by those amber depths. By the way she chewed at her bottom lip when she was thinking. Hell, he was distracted by her, period.

Grumbling to himself, his voice was brusque and businesslike as he said, “Your brother Trevor is the marketing expert. He’s been running his own company right here in Aspen for years. Now, he’s taking over the marketing for Jarrod Ridge.”

“Big job.”

“It is,” he said, “and so is yours. You’ll be the new head of the Ridge’s PR department.”

When she looked startled, he added, “You’ll be working with Trevor directly on most of it. You’ll have your own office at the Manor, so you’ll be on site more often than Trevor. The two of you will probably see a lot of each other over the next few weeks.”

“Won’t that be fun.”

Worry had crept into her voice again and he reminded her, “Trevor’s pretty laid-back. He’s not going to be a hard-ass, so nothing to worry about there.”

She took a deep breath. “Hope you’re right about that.”

“I am. Just as I’m right about thinking you’ll handle yourself well here.”

“Right into the deep end then?”

“Any reason to think you can’t swim?” Christian asked and watched as she seemed to consider his question.

Finally, she shook her head, gave him a fierce, bright smile and said, “I’ll swim.”

“I bet you will,” he said, staring at her as she picked up her leather-backed menu and perused the offerings. He wished to hell he didn’t find her more and more intriguing with every passing minute. What was it about this one small, curvy woman that had his body tied up in knots and his brain overheating?

Was it the lure of the unattainable?

He didn’t think so. There had been plenty of women when he was younger who had been out of his league. A townie kid with a single mom didn’t really have the means to play in the ball games of the rich and famous. But he wasn’t that kid anymore and he could have the pick of any woman he wanted.

What he couldn’t figure out was why that didn’t seem to matter.

The one woman he wanted was also the one woman he couldn’t have.

Two hours later, Erica was alone in her suite. Sunset was deepening into twilight but here in her rooms, the lamplight was bright and she was too wrapped up in what she was doing to even notice the end of her first day in Colorado. Christian had gone back to work after their early meal—excusing himself as quickly as possible with a claim of having to get some work done before morning. Once she was on her own, Erica had done a little exploring.

Now, she sat on the couch in her new living room and looked at all of the magazines, books, postcards and brochures she had spread out around her. She’d practically bought out the gift shop downstairs, buying up every item she could find pertaining directly to Jarrod Ridge.

And there had been plenty to choose from. The brochures listed every activity to be found at the resort and the book described the history of the place. She’d stared at the black-and-white photos of her grandparents and biological father with a fascination that had kept her captive for nearly twenty minutes. The grainy images of men in worn jeans and cowboy hats were so far removed from the tidy heritage she’d grown up hearing about, it was fascinating. She’d looked for resemblances between the people in those old pictures and herself and she’d found them. The shape of her eyes, the curve of her mouth. It was odd to see something of herself in people she had never met.

Yet in a weird way, it was almost comforting.

Her family was bigger than she’d ever imagined. They had been adventurers, dreamers. Men and women who had come to the middle of nowhere and built a life, a legacy that had lasted. Their dreams had grown and blossomed and had become something very special.

And she was a part of it.

A very small link in a lengthy chain.

When a knock sounded on her door, she was at first surprised, then a second later, a little worried about who might be dropping by. But then, she thought, it might be Christian. He might have decided to come back and take her on a little tour of the hotel. That thought spurred her off the couch and toward the front door. She fluffed her hair, smoothed her shirt and smiled to herself at the prospect of being with him again.

But when she opened the door, there was a woman standing there, holding two bottles of wine.

“Red or white?” she asked, walking past Erica into the living room.

“I’m sorry?” Confused, Erica just watched her.

“Red or white? Which do you prefer?”

“Uh, that depends, I guess …”

The woman grinned at her. “Good answer. I’m your sister, Melissa. And I’ve just stolen some wine from our brother Guy’s private reserve so that you and I can get to know each other.”

Hard to feel out of sorts or uncomfortable with Melissa Jarrod beaming goodwill toward her. Although the woman did manage to make Erica feel a little frumpy in her wrinkled clothes. Melissa was wearing sleek black jeans, an off the shoulder, silk turquoise top and black sandals that were really nothing more than three slinky straps and a three-inch heel. Her long blond hair hung loose down her back and her wide blue eyes were sparkling with challenge and welcome.

“You stole the wine from Guy?” Erica repeated, closing the door, then turning to face her sister.

“Sure did. There may be hell to pay tomorrow, but tonight, we party.”

“That actually sounds like a great plan,” Erica said, smiling.

Melissa grinned right back. “Just so you know,” she said, “if we both drink it, we both face Guy’s wrath. A united sister front.”

“Sisters,” Erica repeated.

Melissa wrinkled her nose then shrugged. “I know. Sounds weird still, doesn’t it? Does to me, too. But I think you and I are going to make a terrific team.”

Erica felt a bit of her earlier tension slide off her shoulders. Looking into her sister’s eyes, knowing that this welcome was genuine, made her feel that maybe making a home at Jarrod Ridge wasn’t going to be as difficult as she had thought it would be.

“You know,” Erica said, “I think you’re right. So, do you know if they stocked wineglasses in my new kitchen?”

Melissa led the way and threw back over her shoulder, “Since I’m the one who ordered the stocking done, I happen to know that wineglasses were first on the list.”

“Excellent,” Erica said following her into the tiny kitchen. “I’ll make some popcorn, so let’s start with the white. What do you think?”

Melissa set both bottles down onto the counter, then turned and held out her hand to Erica. “It’s a good choice. Guy stocks the best sauvignon blanc anywhere in Colorado.”

“And how will he feel about us helping ourselves?” Erica asked as she took Melissa’s outstretched hand in hers for a shake.

Shrugging, Melissa said, “Guess we’ll find out.

Together?”

“Together,” Erica agreed and for the first time since she’d arrived in Colorado, felt that there was a real chance she would be able to make her own place there.

Then the two women moved companionably in the small kitchen, getting to know each other as they worked. Halfway through the second bottle of wine—they’d decided to open another bottle of white that had been stocked in Erica’s fridge—the two women were well on their way to being fast friends.

“You make excellent popcorn,” Melissa announced.

“Thank you. I told Christian I could cook.”

“And was he impressed?” Melissa shook her head. “No, never mind. Probably not. The only things that impresses Christian are ledgers, files and injunctions.”

“You’ve known him a long time?” Erica asked, settling back into the couch and curling her feet up beneath her.

Melissa was tucked into the opposite corner of the couch. “Forever,” she said. “Since we were kids. Of course, back then, Christian was working for the resort and dear old dad didn’t approve of family and employees hanging out together. But I saw him all the time and the boys and he were sort of friends even back then. When Christian was a teenager, my father took an interest in him.” She frowned, took a sip of wine and said, “Dad loved to point out that Christian didn’t have any of the advantages that we had and yet his drive to succeed eclipsed ours.” Shaking her head at the memory, she said, “Let me tell you, there was a lot of irritation toward the great Christian when we were kids. Dad dangled his accomplishments in front of us like a perpetual taunt.” Melissa shook her head in memory. “Good thing Christian was such a nice guy or things might’ve gotten ugly. Anyway, my point is, once Dad noticed him, Christian was around the Manor a lot more.”

Erica’s mind drew up a picture of a young Christian, battling for success, trying to find a place for himself amidst the Jarrod family. It seemed she and he had a lot in common. Here she was, after all, trying to do the same thing that he had so many years ago. But it wasn’t only his adapting into the Jarrod world she was curious about. She wondered what his life had been like before Don Jarrod. In fact, she just wondered about Christian in general. Thoughts of him were never far from her mind, even though she told herself that now was definitely not the time to indulge in an attraction. She had to find her own footing here. Did she really have time to explore a relationship? And did she dare risk trusting someone so new in her life? Besides, it wasn’t as if Christian had made a move. Maybe she was alone in feeling the draw toward him. And if she was, then she’d keep it to herself.

“So,” she said, “your father took an interest in Christian and then what?”

“Our father,” Melissa corrected with a brief smile. “He helped him get into college, then hired him when he got out of law school. He’s worked for the Ridge most of his life, I guess. Dad made up his mind that Christian was going to be the official Jarrod Ridge attorney and that was that. Our father wasn’t someone easy to walk away from.” Then she cocked her head to one side. “Hearing me call him our father must be very strange for you.”

“It is.” Erica thought that was the biggest understatement of all time. She had hardly had time to wrap her own mind around it. Now finding herself sitting here with her sister was just one more oddity in a world suddenly turned upside down. But despite the craziness, she liked the camaraderie that Melissa had instigated. “Though you’re making it easier.”

“Happy to help. Trust me, I’m glad to have another female in the Jarrod ranks.”

“Thanks,” Erica said and meant it. In all the strangeness of her new world, it was good to have at least one person here who seemed to be on her side. Why Melissa had decided to be an ally seemed clear enough. Heaven knew that Erica would have loved to have a sister to help her stand against her older brothers occasionally.

“Now,” Melissa asked, pointing at the piles of brochures and pamphlets scattered across the coffee table, “what are you doing with all of this stuff?”

Laughing, Erica scooped up one or two of the forgotten pamphlets. “I was trying to learn all I could about Jarrod Ridge.”

Melissa took a sip of wine. “There’s an easier way. Just ask me.”

“Okay, I will as soon as I figure out what to ask.”

“Deal. So, Christian told me you’re in PR?”

Glad for a respite of talking about her now tangled family ties, Erica said, “Yes, and apparently that’s what I’ll be doing here, too.”

“That means working with Trevor. You’ll like him. Easygoing, hard to ruffle,” Melissa said, “unlike the rest of the bunch.”

“I met Guy this afternoon.”

“How’d that go?”

“Cool, but polite.”

“That sounds about right,” Melissa told her. “Of the twins, Guy’s more reasonable. Blake not so much. But he’ll come around. Just don’t let him scare you off.”

That didn’t sound promising, Erica thought, now even more reluctant than ever to meet Blake Jarrod. But there would be no way to avoid it and now, knowing for sure that he was going to be less than welcoming, it gave her a chance to prepare. To be ready to stand up for herself as she’d had to do most of her life.

“I’m here and I’m not leaving,” Erica told her. “If Blake’s unhappy with that, he’ll just have to get over it.”

“Good for you!” Melissa grinned at her, obviously pleased at her new sister’s inner strength.

If only she knew, Erica thought, that right now, her strength was little more than a carefully constructed front. Inside, she was quavering. But she, too, would get over it.

“Now then,” Melissa was saying, “there’s Gavin to deal with, too. He’s sort of shut-off emotionally, so probably won’t be much trouble. But good luck getting a smile out of him.”

“He sounds a lot like my older brothers.”

“That’s right. Christian told me that you’re the only girl in your family, too. What do your brothers think of you being here?”

“They tried to talk me out of it—as did my fa—” she caught herself and amended what she had been going to say. “Walter.”

Melissa reached out and patted her hand, sending her a commiserating smile at the same time. “It’s going to get confusing with all of the fathers around here, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“Look, my dad may have been your biological father, but Walter’s still the man who raised you,” Melissa said softly.

“I know, it’s just …” How to explain her need to stand alone, to find answers? To live with the feelings of guilt and betrayal she had for turning her back on Walter, despite the fact that she’d never really felt any real warmth from him?

“So, are you and Walter close?”

“No,” she answered quietly, wishing she could say otherwise. “How about you and your dad?”

Melissa sighed and shook her head. “No. I was two when my mother died and my father didn’t really know what to do with me, I guess. So he did nothing.” She smiled ruefully. “I know how it sounds, poor little rich girl. The truth is though, Erica, you got the better end of this bargain. You weren’t raised here.”

“At least you had this place,” Erica told her. “It’s so beautiful here.”

“A golden jail is still a cell.” A long moment of silence passed during which Erica didn’t have a clue what to say or do. She’d have liked to offer her sister comfort, but wasn’t at all sure it would be welcome. Besides, she knew all too well that sympathy didn’t always salve ancient hurts. Sometimes it only made it worse. So she kept quiet and waited until Melissa came out of her musings herself.

“Anyway, ancient history for both of us, right? Moving on. So, PR girl … what do you think about helping me design a new menu of services for the spa?” She grabbed the old one off the coffee table and glared at it. “This one is so generic it’s tired. I’d like something splashy. Something bright. Oh, and something about the yoga classes I’m going to be teaching. Do you do yoga?”

Erica laughed at the rapid-fire statements, grateful that they’d left the subject of their fathers and sad, lonely childhoods behind. Shaking her head, she said, “Yoga? No thanks. I’m just not that bendy. But I’d love to work up a new brochure with you. If I have time with the food and wine gala preparations …”

“Oh, yeah.” Melissa sighed in disgust. “True. Okay, once you get that going, then we’ll tend to my little slice of Jarrod Ridge.”

“Sounds good.”

“So,” Melissa said, and lifted her wineglass in a toast. “Here’s to us. Sisters by birth, friends by choice.”

“Here’s to us,” Erica said and clinked her glass against the rim of Melissa’s. She could only hope that the remaining meetings with her siblings would go even half so well.

Six

The next morning, Gavin walked into the Manor to meet Erica Prentice in Christian’s office.

Sister?

Not as far as he was concerned. She was a stranger who shared a little Jarrod DNA. Logically, he knew that she, too, was being manipulated from the grave by Don Jarrod. But it didn’t make her being here all right.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about this new sister taking up a place at Jarrod Ridge. Hell, he wasn’t even happy about having to be there himself. But for him it was different. The Manor was filled with memories, good and bad. He felt his father’s presence everywhere in the old building and knew that wherever Don was now, the old man was enjoying watching his children wrestle with the terms of his will.

“Just like him,” Gavin muttered as he walked through the crowded lobby, discounting the low roar of dozens of voices locked in conversations. He continued on along the hall toward Christian’s office, resenting the fact that he was here at all. He’d made a life apart from the Ridge and his father had known it. But then, he thought, that would have been half the fun for Don. Upsetting his children’s plans to ensure that his own worked out as he wanted.

“Nothing Don liked better than stirring things up and seems like he’s done a great job of it this time,” he told himself.

He’d already talked to Guy and Melissa about their new sister and while Guy was withholding judgment, Melissa had, of course, come down on Erica’s side. Though he appreciated the input, Gavin would make up his own mind and he believed firmly in not putting off what could get done today.

Unlike Blake. He knew damn well that Blake had left for Vegas deliberately this time, not wanting to be at the Manor when Erica arrived. As for Trevor, well, he was supposed to be here this morning but he’d do whatever felt right for him at the moment.

As if his thoughts had conjured him out of thin air, Gavin’s youngest brother pushed away from a wall and lifted one hand in greeting.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come in,” Trevor said.

“I told you I’d be here.”

Trevor smiled. “And you’re always exactly where you’re expected to be.”

“There something wrong with that?”

“No,” Trevor answered with a shake of his head, “But don’t you ever get tired of leading such a regimented life?”

“It’s not—” He broke off, clearly not interested in rehashing the same old discussion.

Trevor admired his oldest brother. Hell, as a kid, he’d practically worshipped him. But now that they were all grown, Trevor thought Gavin’s life could use some shaking up. Coming back to the Ridge was a start, but he needed more. The man was wound too tight, Trevor told himself sadly. While he, on the other hand, took life as it came, did as he wanted and planned to have no regrets when it came time for him to check out.

Just another reason he’d gone along with his late father’s machinations to get them all back to the Ridge. Not that Trevor had gone far from the Jarrod family home. And why would he have? He loved skiing and he’d never find better than what Aspen could offer. Besides, he had his house in town, his own company and too many friends to just pack up and disappear.

So he’d stayed in Colorado while everyone else had gone. He’d missed his brothers and sister, though, so despite how it had happened, he was glad they’d come back.

As for his new sister, Trevor was willing to give her a shot. After all, it wasn’t her fault Don Jarrod was her father.

“So, you ready to meet her?” Gavin asked. Trevor snorted a laugh. “You don’t have to make it sound like we’re going to a hanging.”

His brother sighed. “And you don’t have to turn it into a social event.”

“It is a social event, man. We’re going to meet our long-lost sister and unless you’re trying to scare her off, you might want to paste a smile on your face.”

“You smile enough for both of us.”

“You’re hopeless, you know that, right?” Trevor asked and then, more seriously, said, “She’s probably more upset by all this than we are, Gavin. Maybe you could cut her a little slack?”

“Fine. Slack for the newcomer. No slack for you.”

Trevor laughed.

Grumbling, Gavin fell into step alongside his brother and swung past the hotel’s business center. They walked on to Christian’s office. The man didn’t have a secretary guarding his gate. Instead, he used the employees of the business center to take care of whatever tasks he needed done. Which made dropping in on him even easier.

After a brisk knock, Gavin opened the door and stepped inside, with Trevor just a pace behind him.

Looking up from his paperwork, Christian smiled. “She’s not here yet.”

“Late, huh?” Gavin pointed out.

“No,” Trevor corrected with a sigh and shake of his head. “We’re early.” Then he walked into the room and dropped into one of the available chairs. Looking at Christian he asked, “So what’s the newest Jarrod like?”

Christian leaned back in his chair and studied the two men. Gavin was standing off to one side, his arms folded across his chest. Trevor, on the other hand, looked the picture of relaxation. The two of them had offered to come in to meet Erica together and Christian had agreed, hoping Trevor’s presence would be enough to mitigate Gavin’s penchant for aloofness.

“What’s she like?” he mused, and instantly his mind filled with images of Erica. Her eyes, her mouth, her delicate, but curvy figure and just how much he wanted her. But an instant later, he shut those thoughts down as quickly as he could. Not exactly the description he could give Erica’s brothers.

“She’s smart. Funny. Strong.” His gaze shifted from Gavin to Trevor and back again. “She’s nervous, as anyone would be, but she’s determined to make this a success.”

“Why is this so important to her?” Gavin asked. “Hate to admit it, but good question,” Trevor agreed.

Frowning, Christian said, “You know what your relationship with Don was like. Well, that’s what she had with the man who raised her. From what I can gather, she was cut out of their family business and now that she’s been brought into this one, she’s focused on making it work.”

“Focused.”

Christian looked at Gavin. “She knows that you guys aren’t exactly ready to throw her a welcome-to-the-family party. And from what I can gather, she’s used to that kind of behavior from her older brothers.”

“Well, that’s telling us,” Trevor muttered. “So we can play nice or we can be the bastard brothers she’s accustomed to.”

“Exactly,” Christian said with a nod. It was important to him that they understand. That they give Erica the chance she deserved. He wasn’t willing to explore why it was important to him, though. Point was, “She’s innocent in this, you know. If you’re pissed that your father had an affair with her mother, be pissed at him.”

Gavin shifted position uneasily as if he were feeling the stirrings of guilt and didn’t like it a damn bit. “I didn’t say I blamed her for any of this. It’s just a difficult situation. For everyone.”

“It is,” Erica said softly.

Christian’s gaze snapped to the doorway and the woman who stood poised, alone, watching them. He stood up and said, “Erica.”

She spared him a quick smile, but it was gone too soon in Christian’s opinion. What was it about this woman that grabbed at him? Why was he having so much trouble reminding himself that as an employee of Jarrod Ridge, the Jarrod family was off-limits to him?

Trevor came lazily to his feet and Gavin turned to face their younger sister.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she was saying as she walked into the room, with her chin tilted defiantly. “But I couldn’t help overhearing. Since I was the topic of conversation anyway, I thought it was as good a time as any to introduce myself.”

Christian spared brief glances at both of the Jarrod men and he saw Gavin trying to think back and figure out if he’d said anything he should apologize for. While, at the same time, Trevor’s mouth was quirked in an approving smile.

“Erica,” Christian said, coming around his desk to align himself at her side—both physically and figuratively. “These are your brothers, Gavin and Trevor.”

She returned Trevor’s smile, then looked at Gavin. They stared at each other for a long minute and Christian could actually feel the tension building in the room. And then suddenly, it was gone as Gavin stepped forward, held out his hand to her and said, “Welcome, Erica.”

She only hesitated an instant before shaking his hand. “Thank you. I heard you say this was difficult and you’re not wrong. This whole situation has been just as hard on me as it has been on all of you.”

“You’re right,” Trevor said as he came up to join them. “And whatever you heard before you came in, pay no attention. Everybody’s a little on edge, being back at the Ridge, and that’s bleeding over into everything else.”

“I appreciate that,” she told him.

Christian felt that stir of admiration for her again for how well she stood up to brothers who clearly weren’t eager to have her in the family. Whether she was wanted to be here or not, she had a place at the Ridge. Through birth. Through blood. Because Don Jarrod had wanted to bring all of his children home.

“Once you’re settled in, come and see me,” Trevor was saying. “We’ve got the food and wine gala right around the corner now. Most of the marketing and publicity is already lined up and in play. But there are a few things we can still do to give it that final push.”

Erica nodded. “I’ve heard about the gala for years, though I’ve never attended. I’m looking forward to being a part of it this year. Last night, Melissa showed me some of what you’d been doing and it’s really fabulous.”

He grinned, apparently satisfied.

“But,” she added, “I’ve got a few ideas we might want to try.”

His eyes narrowed on her thoughtfully, then after a moment, he gave her a grin. “I like confidence, so yeah, I’d like to hear your ideas. Tomorrow work for you?”

“Tomorrow’s great.”

Gavin interrupted them. “I know this isn’t easy on you, being here. Being thrown into the middle of something you didn’t even know existed a week ago.”

“No,” she said, “it’s not.”

He nodded. “I came in here prepared to not like you,” he admitted and smiled when she stiffened. “But I’ve got a lot of respect for anybody who’s not afraid to stand up for him—or herself.”

“And I respect anyone who’s trying to protect his family,” Erica told him. “As for standing up for myself, I’ve been doing that my whole life.”

“I’m getting that,” Gavin said with an approving nod. “I think you just might make a place for yourself here … little sister.”

Erica gave him a careful smile, pleased but clearly not willing to relax her guard just yet. Then the moment was over and the Jarrod brothers were excusing themselves.

Christian couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He hardly noticed when his friends left. All he saw were two amber-colored eyes watching him with a mixture of nervousness and satisfaction shining in their depths. She was pleased with the way she’d handled herself and damned if he wasn’t, as well.

He’d set this meeting up specifically so that he would be there when she met her brothers. So that she wouldn’t be alone. Not that he didn’t believe the Jarrod siblings, even if they were angry about the situation, would be anything but polite. It was only that Christian had wanted her to have his support and know that she had it. He didn’t ask himself why that was important to him, he only accepted that it was.

She was still nervous, but the others wouldn’t have been able to tell. Funny, but he’d once thought her features easy to read. Now he knew the truth. Though she might be quaking in her shoes, she’d never let anyone know it.

Their first meeting had been different. She’d been taken off guard and her shock and stunned surprise had been impossible to hide. But he’d learned since that the only real hint to what Erica Prentice was feeling lay in her eyes. There, her emotions shone out loud and clear.

Despite her lifted chin and firm voice, those eyes of hers showed him that she was silently battling her own fears. Yet despite everything, every time she went into battle, she came out victorious. He admired the hell out of that. Almost as much as he wanted her.

Desire was now a constant companion. Haunting him through his sleep, torturing him during the day. Thoughts of her were never far away and his body was in a constant state of arousal. He’d never before felt such a powerful pull toward any woman. And every moment he spent with her only intensified those feelings.

“Gee, that went well,” she said after a moment or two of silence that practically throbbed with unresolved tension.

“Believe it or not, it did,” Christian answered. “I think you impressed both of them.”

Her gaze fixed on his. “I wasn’t trying to impress.”

“Maybe that’s why you did. Just by being yourself. They respect strength.”

She smiled ruefully. “Good thing they couldn’t hear my knees knocking then, isn’t it?” She walked across his office and looked out the window behind his desk at the sweep of lawn that seemed to stretch all the way to the mountains. “You arranged that meeting specifically so I wouldn’t stumble across my … brothers on my own, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I thought it would be easier if I were around.”

She turned her head to look directly at him. Her gaze slammed into his. “It was. Thank you.”

He stared into her eyes and it was all he could do to keep from going to her, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her until neither of them could breathe. But somehow he managed. “You’re welcome. You’ve still got Blake to meet and deal with, but he should be back in a couple of days.”

“From what everyone says, I’m not looking forward to meeting him.”

“Blake’s all right,” Christian told her, not wanting her to be anxious over the last Jarrod hurdle she had to face. “He’s not really happy with the situation, but he knows none of this is your fault.”

She blew out a breath. “What do you think, Christian? You’re the objective observer in all this. Do you think this is going to work out?”

“You being here, you mean?” When she nodded, he walked closer to her. “Yes, I do. You’re already making a place for yourself here. Your sister likes you. Your brothers will come around.”

Erica shook her head and her light brown hair lifted from her shoulders, then fell back again in soft waves. Christian curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for it. To keep from threading his fingers through that mass and turning her head toward his—

“Why are you on my side in this?” Erica asked. “Melissa says you’ve known the family since you were a kid. And you were Don’s personal attorney. I’d think that would make you more prejudiced in their favor rather than mine.”

He backed up a step, leaned against the corner of his desk and said, “Don Jarrod was a hard man to know. He helped me when I was a teenager. Offered me a job here when I got out of law school. But,” he added, “that said, I don’t owe him or his memory my soul. Just the best job I can do. My allegiances are my own.”

She tipped her head to one side and looked up at him. “And you’ve decided to be my ally.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

He shrugged, though it cost him. He wanted her to trust him, but couldn’t say that he trusted himself around her. He wanted more than friendship or an alliance with her. But if he took more, he’d risk everything he’d already built.

“Let’s just say that whatever I owe the Jarrods, I owe myself more. So I’m on your side because I’ve had a hand in throwing your life off kilter.”

“So you feel responsible? You don’t have to,” she told him. “Like I said earlier, I can take care of myself.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said, then forced a smile. “Let’s get out of here. How about a tour of the grounds?”

“I’d like that,” she said and took the arm he offered before walking with him out of the office and the hotel.

They walked for what felt like miles.

Erica was overwhelmed with everything. She was on sensory overload. Jarrod Ridge had to be the most beautiful place she’d ever been and it was staggering to realize that she was a part of the legacy that had built it.

The resort was like a small town in and of itself. Narrow walkways, cement pathways bordered by vibrant flower beds, wound past tiny bungalows and lavish cabins. Christian had stopped by his own home to give her a quick tour and Erica had loved everything about it. From the honey-colored log walls to the braided rugs on the polished wood floors to the overstuffed, brown leather furniture.

He had a river stone fireplace big enough to stand up in and the huge windows in his kitchen overlooked the forest and the mountain beyond. She could imagine stepping out onto the back porch, sitting in one of the rocking chairs there and sipping a morning cup of coffee as she watched the world wake up.

Seeing his home had given her more insights into Christian the man and she relished them. He was neat, but not to the point of craziness. He had actual pots and pans in his kitchen, which meant he at least tried to cook occasionally rather than subsisting on room service or takeout. He had framed family photos hanging on his wall and seeing him as a younger man with one arm thrown across his mother’s shoulders told her that he was someone to whom family meant a lot. All good things. And all of those things combined made him even more intriguing to Erica.

When they left his house, Erica was more captivated by him than she had been before. She took his arm as he led her on through the resort. He pointed out the cabins where Gavin and Melissa lived. He’d shown her the gift shops, the jewelers, the on-site bakery and the ice cream parlor. He’d taken her past the pools—both the indoor and outdoor, not to mention the pool built just for kids.

Guests in swimsuits, tennis gear and even riding outfits streamed over the property in a never-ending flood of humanity. Children raced each other across manicured lawns and a couple of elderly guests sat on a padded iron bench beneath a gorgeous cluster of aspen trees.

The sun was out, the sky was blue and she honestly felt as though she’d stepped into an alternate world. Everything was almost too perfect.

Including the man at her side. He wasn’t wearing a suit and tie, just black jeans, a white, long-sleeved shirt open at the throat and a pair of black boots that looked as though they had seen a lot of wear. He looked handsome in a well-cut suit, but Erica thought he looked even more so in casual clothes. It was then a person realized that his personal power wasn’t shaped by any outward appearance—not his clothing, his car or his job—but by his own innate strength.

And that, Erica thought, was about the sexiest thing in the world.

She loved how people knew him. Smiled, waved, stopped to speak to him as they walked. He introduced her to managers and housemaids, all with respect and deference. He treated everyone the same and she found that sexy as hell, too. She’d been raised by a man who believed in the perception of status. Walter would never have introduced a friend of his to a maid—but Christian was a different sort of man. The kind she’d been looking for before her life turned upside down.

Now, she had to wonder if part of her attraction for him wasn’t because he was the only familiar face around her. But no, even as she considered that, she put it aside. There was much more to what she was feeling for Christian Hanford.

“So what do you think?”

She looked up at him and loved how the wind had ruffled his short dark hair onto his forehead. She just managed to catch herself from reaching up and pushing it back. “Um,” she said, gathering up her scattered thoughts, “I hate to keep using the word amazing….”

He grinned, and her breath locked in her lungs. Seriously, when the man flashed an unguarded smile, he was a danger to any woman with eyes.

He pointed off in the distance. “The stables are down there, alongside a paddock, and there are riding trails through the woods. Tennis courts are over there and the golf course is back at the opposite end of the resort.”

She laughed to herself. “It’s like a little city all in itself.”

“Exactly how Don saw it, too,” Christian said. “We’ve even got a small clinic on site. Joel Remy runs it. He’s got a nurse who helps out and they can take care of any minor situations the guests might have. Of course, anything more serious is treated at the hospital in Aspen.”

“Our own medical staff. Wow.” She turned from him and stared out at the surrounding cabins and lodges.

“That’s the first time you’ve said ‘our’ about this place,” he commented. “Starting to feel more connected?”

She looked back at him. “I guess I am. It’s a little nerve-racking, but I’m excited about it, too, you know?”

“I do,” he said, then looked around as she had, as if he were seeing it for the first time through her eyes. Finally, he turned his gaze back on her. “You’ll make your place here, Erica.”

“Yeah,” she said, giving him a smile that lit up her eyes. “I will.”

He nodded as if he sensed her commitment, and said, “A long time ago, I decided to make this my place. To carve out my own slice of Jarrod Ridge.”

“Why? I mean, what drove you to want this?” She asked the question quietly, not wanting to disturb the intimacy of the moment. Despite the fact that they were surrounded on all sides by happy, chattering guests, it felt as though they were alone, just the two of them.

He smiled to himself and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. “I told you I grew up here. Well, in Aspen.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything, encouraging him silently to continue.

“My first job was as a busboy in the main restaurant in the Manor.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the palatial mansion, its rose brick walls nearly radiant in the bold, summer sunshine. “I loved it. Well, not working in the restaurant, but being here. Being a part of it all.” He paused, as though he were gathering up stray thoughts and straightening them out. “My dad died when I was three. My mom worked constantly, but it was hard, you know?”

Erica nodded, caught up in the soft cadence of his words, the faraway look in his eyes.

“Anyway …” He took a long breath and released it again. “I knew what I wanted. I wanted to belong at a place like this. So I worked my ass off in school, got a scholarship and eventually, with Don’s help, went to law school.”

“Why did he help?” she asked, curious now about the father she would never know.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t really know,” he admitted with a half smile. “There was never any telling what Don would do or why. I like to think he saw something in me he thought would work well here. That he knew I’d do the job for him.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what he thought,” she told him.

Christian sent her a glance. “Maybe. I’ll never know for sure. I do know that he helped shape me into the kind of lawyer I am. And I helped him reshape this place into the growth it’s enjoying now.”

“Then you did what you set out to do,” Erica said. “Made a place for yourself. Ensured that you belong here.”

“Yeah, I did. And I owed Don a lot—which,” he added wryly, “he never let me forget.”

“What’s that mean?” It didn’t sound good and by the look on his face, Christian wasn’t happy about whatever he was going to tell her.

“It means, that in my contract with the resort, Don laid it out just the way he wanted it. Hell, he even made sure the codicil was in his will, just in case I needed reminding.”

“What?” A curl of apprehension settled in the pit of her stomach. Erica had the distinct feeling she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.

Christian locked his gaze with hers. “For me to keep my invested shares in Jarrod Ridge, I’m to remain loyal to the business.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Then there’s the added warning to stay away from his daughters.”

“What?” Erica shook her head as if she hadn’t heard him right. “Say that again.”

Christian huffed out a breath. “He didn’t put it in those words, exactly, but the meaning’s clear enough. I might be a big-time, rich lawyer now, but Don still saw me as the poor kid looking for a chance. And he didn’t want that kid anywhere near his daughters. Either of them. Bottom line, Erica? You’re off-limits.”

Seven

“But that’s ridiculous,” Erica argued, astounded at this turn of events.

He shrugged. “That’s Don.”

“It’s medieval.” She took a step away from him, turned around and came right back. Looking up into his chocolate eyes, Erica felt that bone-deep hum she always did when she was around him. She knew he felt it, too. She could see desire in his eyes, feel heat rippling off him in thick waves. Erica looked up at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You know why,” he said and his eyes darkened even as his mouth tightened into a hard line. “Because there’s something between us.”

“So you want to stop it.”

“Didn’t say I wanted to,” he corrected with a shake of his head. “But this is my life. One I worked damn hard for.”

“That’s right,” she countered. “Your life. And mine. Don Jarrod has nothing to do with this.”

He snorted a laugh. “The fact that you can say that and mean it just goes to prove you didn’t know him.”

“No, I didn’t. But even if I had, I wouldn’t let him make my decisions for me,” she snapped. Anger shot through her and she let her words ride the wave of it. “I didn’t let Walter decide whether I’d move here or not. I won’t let Don decide who I become involved with or not.”

“You think I like this?” he asked, reaching out to grab hold of her shoulders. “Do you think I like dancing to Don’s tune? I don’t. It goes against everything that’s in me.”

“Then why?”

“My mom worked hard her whole life,” he said tightly. “Thanks to my work here, my shares of Jarrod Ridge, she’ll never have to work again. I bought her a condo in Orlando. She has friends. She plays golf. She gets her hair done in a fancy salon and she buys her clothes at the best boutiques in town. She takes cruises with her friends and she has fun for the first time in her life.”

Her heart twisted in her chest as everything nebulous that she’d felt for him over the last several days solidified into something bigger. More important. Staring up into his eyes, she saw the kind of man she used to hope she’d meet. The kind who saw loyalty as a virtue. The kind who took care of his family no matter the cost to himself. The kind who put his own needs last behind everyone else in his life who mattered.

“No matter what I feel for you, or might feel for you,” Christian said, “I won’t take that away from her.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“So you understand that this can’t go anywhere.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t. But I understand why you believe that.”

He hissed in a breath, grabbed her hand and said, “Come with me.”

She refused to move when he would have tugged her along. “Where?”

“We need to talk this out and … I want to show you something.” His gaze searched hers for a long moment until he said, “Please.”

Erica nodded and went with him, her fingers curled tightly around his. He led her off the concrete path and down a short slope that ran behind a short row of shops. In the distance, the forest loomed, green and filled with shadows, and he was walking right for it.

“Where are we going?” She held on to his hand and quietly enjoyed the rush of heat that linked them together.

“Thought I’d show you something here that Don Jarrod had nothing to do with building.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked as she ran to keep up with him. “I thought this was completely his.”

“Most of it,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “But this part was here first.”

He led her through the trees, his steps sure as he continued on, deeper into the cool gloom. The farther they got from the resort, the quieter it became. Erica heard birds high overhead and from a distance, there was a muted roar of sound that got louder and louder as they approached.

Erica looked back over her shoulder and couldn’t see the resort at all. The trees were so thick it was as if a dark green wall had been erected between them and the grounds of Jarrod Ridge.

When Christian at last came to a stop and released her hand, she was simply staggered by the beauty around her. A river rushed past them, growling and roaring over stones in its path. Lined on either side by thick stands of trees, and a narrow ribbon of rock and sand, the water was frothy and beautiful and completely untouched. It was an oasis of privacy in a sea of people and Erica loved it.

She walked closer to the water’s edge, her sandals sinking and sliding on the sand. She felt the spray on her face as a soft wind kicked up, rattling the leaves of the trees until they sounded like whispered conversations.

“This was my spot when I was a kid,” Christian said softly as he came up behind her. “When I needed to think, when things got bad, I came here and everything felt … all right again.”

“I can see why,” she said and wondered how anyone could be sad or depressed if they had somewhere so beautiful to go. She looked at him and asked, “And how many women have you brought here, I wonder?”

“Counting you?” he asked, gaze fixed on hers with an intensity that shot a lick of flame through her center. “Just one.”

“Why did you bring me?” she asked, her voice as breathless as she felt. “After everything you told me about Don and the will and everything … why did you bring me here?”

“Because,” he admitted, his gaze moving over her face like a caress, “I had to.”

Then he pulled her in close and kissed her.

He took her mouth with a hunger he’d never known before. Instantly, her lips parted, allowing him access, welcoming him into her warmth. He’d known, somewhere deep inside him that it would be like this with her. Known that the pulse of electricity between them would erupt into a shower of light and heat the moment he got close enough to her.

With a groan, he surrendered himself to the sensations pouring through him, refusing to think about anything beyond this moment. This kiss.

This taste of her that was filling cold, dark corners within him.

Their tongues tangled together, breath mingled and her soft sighs gave him all the encouragement he could have wanted. Sweeping one hand down her back, he traced her curves and wished he could peel her out of the dark red shirt she wore. Instead, he settled for tugging the hem of her blouse free of her crisp, white linen shorts and then slid the palm of his hand across her bare skin. She shivered as his fingers caressed the line of her spine, up and down and then up again. He needed the feel of her as badly as he needed her taste in his mouth.

Her arms came up and wrapped around his neck as she leaned into him. Her breasts flattened against his chest and he felt the hard points of her nipples pushing into him. He groaned again, felt his body go hard and ready and ground his hips against hers, looking for ease, but only managing to torture them both.

Christian kept his mouth on hers as he lifted her off her feet and deepened the kiss further. Slower, longer, hotter, he wanted all, wanted everything. For days now, his mind, his body had been clamoring for just this and now that he had his hands on her, his mouth on her, he didn’t want it to end.

The roar of the river was right behind them, the insistent rush of it playing counterpoint to the thudding of his own heartbeat. When he finally tore his mouth from hers and dragged in a ragged breath, she smiled up at him.

“So much for medievalism.”

His breath strangling in his lungs, he nodded. “I’ve never had to work so hard to stay within the rules. But I’ve wanted to taste you since the moment we met.”

“Good to know,” Erica said, moving one hand to cup his cheek in her palm. “I felt the same way. I still do. I want you, Christian.”

His body tightened even further and he wouldn’t have thought that possible.

“You’re not making this any easier,” he said, setting her back on her feet, keeping his arms around her, one hand on her bare back.

“I’m glad. It shouldn’t be easy. It should be damned hard to walk away from whatever it is that’s between us.”

“It is. That’s why I brought you here. I need to have you to myself. If only for today.”

“And that would be enough for you?”

“No,” he admitted, sliding both hands under her shirt now, moving over her skin to cup her breasts over the lacy cups of her bra.

She gulped an unsteady breath.

Through the lace, his thumbs and forefingers toyed with her nipples, eliciting another soft moan from her. “I’ve thought about tasting you, touching you. I’ve dreamed of having you alone and under me, over me.”

“Oh, my …”

Slowly, he moved his hands until he reached the waistband of her shorts. She took a shallow breath as he deftly undid the snap and zipper.

Her gaze locked with his and Christian couldn’t have looked away if it had meant his life. Suddenly the entire world, or at least all he wanted to know of it was there, in her amber-colored eyes.

“I need to touch you,” he whispered, his voice almost lost in the thunder of the swift-moving river.

“Yes,” she said, leaning toward him again, giving him all the welcome he needed.

He snaked one arm around her waist while his other hand dipped down, over her belly, beneath the thin elastic band of her panties. Then lower still, inch by glorious inch, past the tight curls at the juncture of her thighs. She gasped and stiffened, holding herself perfectly still as his fingers smoothed over her heat.

A low-throated groan slid from him as he felt her wet warmth and knew it was all for him. That she wanted him as desperately as he did her.

Then she jolted in his arms and a tiny, want-filled sigh slid from her lips. Her eyes closed as he dipped his hand lower still.

He touched, he caressed, he explored her delicate folds, learning her, learning what pleased her, what sent her soaring. He watched her face as he took her and her every sigh fed the flames of his own desire. He claimed her with a slick stroke across that single bud at the heart of her. That one spot that was the most sensitized and she trembled in his arms.

As sunlight played down around them and the world went about its business, Christian took Erica on a fast ride to pleasure. His fingers deft, he drove her relentlessly until she whimpered and pleaded his name on sighs torn from her throat. Her hips rocked into his hand as she sought release only he could give her. She parted her thighs wider, hoping he would take more, silently offering the invitation.

And he did. Dipping his head to the line of her throat, his lips and teeth left a trail of flames along her skin as he dipped first one finger and then another deep into her heat.

“Oh, Christian!” She swayed against him, but then held still as if afraid he’d stop.

He wouldn’t. The feel of her beneath his hands was magic. Everything he’d dreamed and more. He wanted to lay her down and take her body with his completely, right here, on the soft, warm grass under the shelter of the trees. But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t risk someone stumbling across them. So he would settle for this stolen moment. This one instant when the two of them were alone and nothing was more important than the next sigh.

He took her higher, his fingers moving over her most tender flesh. She gasped, she sighed, she shivered against him and still he pushed her on, dragging out the sensations, taking her to the edge and then drawing her back. Lifting his head, he looked down at her and she opened her eyes as if needing to see him as tension coiled tighter and tighter within.

“Let go,” he whispered, bending to brush her mouth with his. “Let go and come for me now.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and clung to his shoulders as if she were half-afraid she would slide off the edge of the world.

“Christian …” His name came on a breath as she trembled against him.

His thumb caressed her again and then she shattered in his arms. Her body quaked and shivered, her eyes slid closed. She held on to him as pleasure rippled through her again and again until finally, the last waves died away and she was left nearly boneless.

He held her closer, wrapped both arms around her middle and held her pressed tightly to him. His own heartbeat was crashing in his chest and matched hers beat for beat. This was so much more than he had thought it would be. He felt so much more than he’d expected.

Somehow, he had thought that touching her would bring him satisfaction. That having her in his arms, sighing his name, would ease the need that had been gnawing at him for days. But it hadn’t. If anything, that need was sharper now, clawing at his insides, demanding more. Demanding all.

Christian’s head fell back and he stared at the sky as he realized that something incredible had just happened. Something life-changing.

But the question was, did he want his life changed—and was it too late to stop it?

For the next couple of days, Erica hardly saw Christian, but she almost didn’t have time to notice. Her new life was racing straight ahead and she was forced to run just to keep up. There was a lot of work still to be done to prepare for the opening of the gala and she was working at a disadvantage, since she was coming in at the tail end. She had to catch up with Trevor’s plans, and with the marketing scheme he’d devised and already had in motion.

Working with Trevor was more fun than she’d expected it to be. She knew about PR. How to market a product so that a customer would be not only slavering to have it, but instantly convinced to buy it. Working the ins and outs of a gala as big and splashy as the Jarrod Ridge affair was, at its heart, no different. There were posters to see to, artistic signs, menus for some of the out-of-town vendors and professionally shot photos, showing impossibly perfect people at play.

Jarrod Ridge was about to become the center of the food and wine industry for several weeks and Erica was right in the thick of it.

She couldn’t remember being happier.

Her office on the ground floor of the Manor was bigger than her old one in San Francisco and bright with sunlight pouring in through a bank of windows. There were fresh flowers in the room, and a top-of-the-line computer and printer. She had all the assistance she needed from the employees at the business center and she had Trevor to bounce ideas off of and to argue with occasionally, as well.

What she didn’t have, she thought now, was Christian.

He’d made himself scarce the last couple of days. She’d barely caught a glimpse of him. Erica stood up from behind her desk and looked out her window at the English-style garden beyond the glass. Scrubbing her hands up and down her arms, she forced herself to accept the fact that he was deliberately avoiding her. But why?

Those stolen moments beside the river rose up in her mind as they’d been doing regularly in every spare second. And in a heartbeat, she was back there again, his mouth on hers. His hand touching her intimately, pushing her into a pleasure so deep it was like nothing she’d ever known before.

It had been the most incredible encounter of her life.

So why wasn’t he coming to her again?

Did he really mean to stick to Don Jarrod’s ridiculous rules? Would he turn his back on her and what they might find to keep his job? Okay, yes, she could understand wanting—needing—to keep his mother safe and happy. But wasn’t he allowed to be happy, too?

Or, she thought miserably, maybe he was happier without her. Maybe what they’d shared on the banks of the river hadn’t touched him as it had her. Maybe he hadn’t felt a damn thing. Maybe it hadn’t meant anything from the start and he was just—

Her office door opened behind her and she whirled to face … “Christian,” she said. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Erica.” His voice was cool, polite.

She nearly caught a chill from across the room. But two could play at this game, she told herself. If he wanted to pretend there was nothing simmering between them, then that’s what they would do. Be damned if she would show him that she was hurt. That he was stomping on her heart even now with his professional air and distant tone. No, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Can I help you?” Her words were as polite as his. Her tone every bit as cold.

“I’ve come to introduce you to—”

“Me,” another man said as he walked into the office and looked at her. “I’m Blake Jarrod.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, maintaining the professional manner she’d begun with. Erica saw no warm welcome in his eyes, so she wasn’t going to act as though they were any two siblings greeting each other.

Blake studied her and could see what his twin had already mentioned to him. Their newest sister did have the look of the Jarrods about her, so there was clearly no mistake made. He could see it in the defiant tilt of her chin. In the flash of her eyes. Hell, she probably had more of Don in her than Blake did.

But that didn’t mean that he’d welcome her into the family like the prodigal daughter. Or that she deserved a share of the estate. Being blood didn’t mean jack if you didn’t earn your place, he told himself. Everyone else might be willing to give her a chance, but he wasn’t so easily taken in. She’d have to prove herself to him.

Not that he had anything against her personally. And judging from what Melissa had had to say on the subject, he would probably like her. Eventually. But for right now, she was the intruder. Pushing her way into a family already hip-deep in problems and not really needing any extras.

“Getting along all right, I see,” he said, giving her office a quick scan.

“Everyone’s been very helpful,” Erica told him, then came around her desk and took a few steps closer. “Look, I know how hard this is for all of us. And I’m not expecting us to be one big happy family anytime soon.”

He folded his arms across his chest and nodded.

“I do, however, expect you to give me a fair chance,” she said. “You do.”

Erica looked directly at him and refused to be cowed by his steely stare. She’d already been warned that Blake would be the hardest nut to crack, so to speak. That this one of her new brothers would be the least welcoming. So she would stand her ground and if she needed to show him that she meant to make this place her home, then that’s what she’d do.

Besides, Christian was standing right there, watching her, and she wasn’t about to look weak or pitiful in front of him.

“That’s right. Just as you would any new employee,” Erica said. “I think that’s fair.”

Blake thought about it for a long moment before he nodded and walked forward, offering his hand. “It is fair. Okay, a chance it is.”

“Thanks.” Erica shook his hand and stepped back.

“Now, I’ve got to go find Gavin and talk to him about some business. If you two will excuse me …”

Blake left, shutting the door behind him and suddenly Erica and Christian were alone. Silence dragged out for what seemed like forever. Finally though, Christian said, “You handled him well.”

“Thanks,” she said, her words clipped, “is that all?”

“Erica …”

“I really don’t have time to talk right now, Christian. Trevor’s expecting to see the new poster I’ve designed for the gala and—” “I’ve missed you.”

She whipped her head around to glare at him. “Couldn’t have been easy to miss seeing me. I’ve been right here.”

He blew out a breath and took the few steps separating them. Now that he was closer, Erica could see the shadows under his eyes and realized he hadn’t been sleeping well. That made two of them. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but wasn’t sure he would accept it, so she kept her wants buried under a layer of anger.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “Not as far as I can see. You haven’t spoken to me since …”

“You think I don’t want to?” His voice was low and hard. “You really believe I’m not thinking about you every damn minute?”

Her heartbeat felt faint and fast. The look on his face was haunted, his eyes were blazing with fury and desire. “How would I know that when you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Because if I don’t avoid you, this is what’s going to happen.” He closed the distance between them, grabbed her and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her so tightly she could hardly draw breath.

And she didn’t care.

Didn’t care because his mouth was on hers, his breath driving into her mouth, his hands scooping up her back into her hair. His body pressed into hers. She felt the hard, thick ridge of him that proved exactly what he was feeling for her.

She moved in even closer, giving herself up to the feelings only he could engender. Her body was hot, her blood felt as if it were boiling in her veins. So when he released her abruptly, Erica staggered back a step before she recovered her balance.

Lifting one hand to her lips, she stared at him, trying to understand just what kind of game he was playing. And why she was allowing it.

“Yes,” he said, his eyes fierce, his voice a deep groan of need, “I want you. So damn much just being around you is painful.” He shoved one hand across the top of his head. “But you’ve got enough going on in your life right now. You don’t need this as an added distraction.”

Erica blinked at him. She couldn’t believe what he was saying and wasn’t sure he believed it, either. “So you’re backing off for my sake, is that it? Making a grand sacrifice so poor Erica doesn’t get confused by too many things at once?”

He winced, either at her words or the sharp slap of how they were delivered. “All I’m saying—”

She interrupted him because she’d heard enough. “I’m sick and tired of people deciding what’s best for me. My father and brothers did it for years. And if you think I’m going to allow you to jump in and do the same, then you couldn’t be more wrong.”

She was trembling, her body shaking and quivering, not only from the rush of anger. Once again, he’d turned her body into an inferno of desire only to shut it down before it could fully erupt.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he ground out.

Frustration and fury mingled inside her.

“Oh, no. All you’re saying is thanks but no thanks. You’ve made that clear.” She turned her back on him and walked back to her desk. Once she was safely behind the rosewood barrier, she looked at him again. “Well, I’m just so grateful for your help, Christian. With so many things going on in my life, I don’t know what I would have done without you there to help me keep things straight.”

He looked just as angry as she felt, and she was glad to see it. At least she knew that his ridiculous decision to pull away from her was making him as crazy as it was her.

“Erica, damn it—”

“Just stop it, okay? I’ve got a lot of work to do and I’m guessing you do, too.”

He stared at her for a long second then nodded as if accepting that the conversation was over. “Fine. We’ll leave it. For now. But neither one of us is going anywhere, so you can be damn sure this isn’t finished.”

“Isn’t it?” Erica asked. “How is it that you suddenly get to decide how this relationship will go? When did you get the controlling vote?”

“Excuse me?”

He sounded angry—his voice was low and taut. Well, good, she thought. Why should she be the only one furious here?

“Do you seriously think so little of me to believe that I’m incapable of making my own decisions?”

“Of course not. That isn’t what I meant at all.”

“It’s what you said. Poor Erica. Too many new things in her life.”

“Damn it, you’re deliberately misunderstanding.”

“Oh, I understand more than you think I do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that this isn’t about me at all, Christian. You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. But this is really about you playing by a dead man’s rules.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw and she saw the flare of anger in his eyes. She recognized it because she knew that same emotion was shining in her own. She’d spent the past several days torn between anger and misery, but now the fury was spilling over.

He reached for her, but she scuttled back, not trusting herself to allow him to touch her right now. She might shatter. Need swam inside her and battled her own pride. It was a toss-up at the moment which would win.

“I told you,” he said, letting his hands fall to his sides, “I can’t risk what I spent my life building. But it’s also true that you’ve got too much going on in your own life right now. You don’t need me making things even more complicated.”

“Oh, stop it,” she whispered, shaking her head. She’d already trusted him too much, risked too much. She couldn’t chance feeling even more. Trusting more. He’d already pushed her aside. How much clearer could he make himself?

“Wish I could,” he admitted, coming around her desk, walking closer and closer still. “Wish to hell I could put you and what’s between us out of my mind, but it won’t go.”

She laughed sadly, thinking of the past few days when he’d avoided her at all costs. “It seems you’ve been doing a fine job of that.”

“No. You’re in my mind all the damn time. You haunt me, Erica, and I’m not sure how to deal with that.” He reached out, and this time she didn’t move away. Couldn’t make herself do it.

He cupped her face between his palms. Staring into her eyes, he said, “What’s between us won’t be denied and neither one of us can wish it away.”

“Can’t we?” she asked, her voice soft as she met his gaze searchingly. “Isn’t that what’s been happening lately?”

“No,” he countered. “This is what’s been happening.”

Then he kissed her. Hard and deep, pouring into that kiss everything she’d been needing for so long. Her head swam, her heartbeat quickened into a racing gallop and by the time he broke away, she was laboring for breath.

Yet at the same time a tiny corner of her heart was erecting barriers, ready to defend her.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “I can feel you pulling away even when I’m holding you.”

“Haven’t you been doing the same thing these last few days?”

“No,” he answered, releasing her and taking a step back. “I’m doing what I have to do.”

“Because you won’t risk caring for me.”

“Because this is my life,” he reminded her, and his features were hard.

“It’s my life, too,” she told him, stiffening her spine. “And I won’t be used then discarded on a whim. You can’t run hot and then cold on me, Christian. I refuse to play that game.”

“You’re wrong about me,” he said tightly. “I’m not playing games, Erica. I wouldn’t do that to either one of us.”

She scraped her hands up and down her arms, trying to chase away the chill that was swamping her. But it was bone-deep and she was suddenly sure that she’d never be really warm again. What she felt for Christian was going nowhere. Because he would continue to refuse what lay between them. Once again, Erica thought sadly, she just wasn’t wanted badly enough.

When he was gone, Erica slumped into her desk chair, turned it around and stared out at a sunlit day that had gone, for her at least, suddenly dark.

Eight

Despite their argument, over the next week, Christian spent time with Erica every day. He continued to be her guide as she grew more and more accustomed to her new life. But somehow he managed to keep their conversations centered on business, or the resort itself. He refused to bring up anything personal and she must have come to the same conclusion. She was polite. Cool. She treated him as she would have a distant acquaintance.

And every minute he was with her was a session in torture.

He’d never wanted anyone with the fierce desperation he did her. Thoughts of her plagued him constantly. He couldn’t lose himself in his work anymore. Couldn’t stroll through the Manor without seeing her, hearing her—or hearing someone else talk about her.

She’d charmed the staff and had settled into her new position as if she’d been born to it. And in a way, he supposed, she had. She was a Jarrod, after all. Which was the major problem for him.

If she weren’t a member of the Jarrod family, he wouldn’t be doing his best to ignore her.

Stopping by her office, he knocked, then walked inside to find her hunched over her keyboard, gaze fixed on the screen. Even here, he thought, when she was unaware that anyone was watching her, she looked … alluring. Her hair was tucked behind her ears and long, twisted shards of gold hung from her lobes. She was chewing at her bottom lip as her fingers flew over the keys and didn’t look away even when she reached out blindly for a cup of coffee on her desk.

She’d given herself up to this job. This place. She’d jumped in with both feet and, true to her word, was definitely making a place for herself.

He wished that place was with him. But damned if he could see a way to make that happen.

As if she sensed his presence, Erica looked up then. Backlit from the window behind her, her amber eyes were shadowed, but he could still see the trepidation on her features as she looked at him. “Hi. Was there something you needed?”

“Loaded question,” he muttered, then said more loudly, “Actually, yeah. There is. I wanted to know if you approved the design for the gala’s setup on the main lawn.”

“Yes, I did. I sent the papers over to Trevor this morning.”

“Fine. I’ll check with him again. He couldn’t find them earlier, but that’s not saying anything. He probably misfiled them.”

She smiled slightly. “That does sound like Trevor.”

“You like him,” Christian said.

“It’s impossible not to,” Erica told him as her smile slowly slipped away. “He’s got this flair for living that I really admire. He is who he is and makes no excuses for it. He simply lives and enjoys every minute of it.”

Christian stiffened a little at the inherent comparison between himself and the easygoing Trevor Jarrod. “Trying to tell me something?”

She glanced up at him and shook her head, her soft hair swinging in a gentle arc that made Christian want to reach out and bury his fingers in the softness. “No, Christian, I’m not. I think we’ve already said everything there was to say.”

“Impossible,” he told her, walking toward her desk. “We couldn’t have, because there’s still too much unsaid between us.”

“And it should probably stay that way,” she said.

“Maybe,” he agreed, reminding himself that it was he who’d put up the wall between them. He had been the one to take the first step back from what they might have found. And though it infuriated him to acknowledge even privately that she might have had a point when she accused him of being unwilling to face up to a dead man’s wishes … she hadn’t been far wrong.

If Don Jarrod were still alive, it would be different. He could go to the man, tell him how he felt about Erica. Make the old bastard see that she was right in saying that the fraternization clause was medieval. But with Don gone, the board of directors was in charge, and with the codicil in Don’s will insisting that the clause remain in effect, they wouldn’t be making changes anytime soon.

And how the hell could he go to the Jarrod siblings and insist that they change it? He couldn’t be sure that they wouldn’t side with their father.

Christian felt as if his hands were tied and his heart was being ripped in two. What he wanted was vying desperately with what he’d spent his life working for.

“Let’s not do this again, Christian,” she said quietly as she stood and came around her desk. “At the very least, we can stop torturing each other.”

He tucked his hands into his slacks pockets to keep from grabbing her. God, he missed the feel of her pressed against him. The taste of her. The scent of her. He was making himself crazy with wanting her.

Then she reached up and smoothed his hair back from his forehead and the soft slide of her fingertips against his skin sent flames rushing through him. He inhaled sharply, deeply, and she instantly let her hand drop to her side again.

“Sorry,” she said with a shrug she no doubt meant to look nonchalant. “As angry as I am at you, it seems I still have to remind myself not to touch you.”

“I know the feeling all too well,” he admitted, calling on every ounce of his will to keep from holding her and damn the rest of the world. Screw his job. Screw the Jarrod family. Screw Don Jarrod in particular for creating this hell for the two of them.

“I guess we’ll just have to work on it, won’t we?”

“Right.” He nodded, but it cost him. “I’ll just go check with Trevor about those papers.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said. Tugging her white, long-sleeved shirt down at the hem, she smoothed her denim skirt.

Her legs looked long and tanned and her feet were tucked into dark blue heels that made her legs look even longer. Hell, she didn’t even have to try to make him crazy.

Erica walked past him into the hall and he fell into step beside her. Blake and Gavin were standing near the elevator, locked in a conversation that was suddenly halted when they drew near.

“Hey, guys,” Christian said. “What’s going on?”

Blake shot Erica a wary look and said, “Nothing. Just talking. What’re you two up to?”

Erica said, “Just checking on some paperwork with Trevor.”

“Right. Well.” The elevator door opened and Blake stepped in. “We’ll see you later.”

As the doors whisked closed again, they both heard Gavin say, “For God’s sake, Blake, lighten up with Erica, will you? She’s not the enemy.”

“That went well,” Erica said wryly as they continued on to Trevor’s office.

“Blake will come around.” Christian took her arm and pulled her to a stop. “It’s a big change for everyone.”

She looked down at his hand on her arm until he released her. Then she shifted her gaze to his. “I don’t mind Blake’s feelings. At least he’s honest.”

Heading into Trevor’s office alone, Erica didn’t look back at him. So she didn’t see Christian’s dark scowl as he was left standing alone.

The main spa room at the Ridge was so opulent it was nearly decadent. Which made it perfect. A curve of aquamarine water followed the circumference of the room. Jets built into the walls of the pool produced frothy bubbles of pure relaxation and the only sounds were from the jets and the rhythmic splash of the overhead waterfalls spraying heated water down into the waiting pool.

Erica felt loose and limber and almost guilty for taking an entire day to do nothing but be pampered. Still, since it had been Melissa’s idea to have a quiet day of sisterly bonding, Erica thought she could let the guilt go just this once. Besides, after the long week she’d had, it felt good to just relax, away from the Manor, away from Christian.

“You’re seriously making us all look bad,” Melissa told her with a sigh. “I mean, really, you don’t have to be Jarrod Family Member of the Year right off the bat.”

Erica smiled and hid the hurt that seemed to be a constant companion. Yes, she was making great strides at her new job. Her brothers and sister were coming around—she’d even managed to talk to Blake without him glaring at her. And she’d had dozens of compliments on her plans for the splashy welcome she’d designed for the opening of the gala.

For the first time in her life, Erica felt as though she was being accepted for who and what she was. For what she could contribute. And it felt great.

Or would have, if there wasn’t a shadow clinging to her thoughts. Christian hardly spoke to her anymore. Not since that last kiss they’d shared in her office a week ago. She saw him at the Manor, of course. The offices were all too close together for them to completely avoid each other.

Though that might have been easier all the way around. How much harder was it to see him and not be able to touch him? Talk to him? But she refused to be the kind of woman who threw herself at a man when he had already made it clear that there couldn’t be anything between them.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm? What?” Erica jolted as she realized her thoughts had wandered off while Melissa was talking to her. “Nothing. I’m just thinking about work.”

“Uh-huh.” Melissa shook her head and reached out to pat Erica’s shoulder.

The two of them had indulged in a luxury spa treatment. They’d already been through the facials, the massages and now, they were stretched out side by side in the narrow curve of the pool, relaxing. Or they were supposed to be.

“I know that look,” Melissa said. “And it’s not a ‘work’ look. It’s a ‘man’ look. So spill.”

She automatically shook her head. She’d never been one to share secrets with her girlfriends and there was simply no way she wanted her new sister to know that she was lusting after a man who wasn’t interested. “I really don’t think—”

Melissa gave her a dramatic pout. “What’s the point of having a sister if you can’t bare your soul and get free advice—or sarcasm, as the situation demands.”

In spite of everything, Erica smiled. It did feel good to have a sister. Even two weeks ago, she never would have believed that she’d be able to use the words “my sister” in a sentence. Yet here they were, and astonishingly enough, the two of them had actually formed a bond that Erica hoped would only get stronger with time.

Sister wasn’t just a word anymore. It was real. And it was good.

“Okay,” she said, and glanced around to make sure they were still alone.

“Relax. The place is ours for the afternoon. I run the spa, remember?”

“Right.” Erica lifted one arm and slid it through the water, letting the jetted bubbles pulse against her skin. “Okay, say there was a man I’m having a problem with.”

“Yes, let’s say that.” Melissa leaned back and floated, allowing more of the jets to beat against her body. “Now let’s say some more.”

“Okay, this man, he’s interested, but he’s not willing to get involved.”

“What’s his problem?”

“It’s a long story,” Erica said, not wanting to give Christian’s name or his reasons for pulling back from her. She wasn’t sure if they knew about the fraternization clause.

“One you don’t want to share.” “Not exactly.” “Is he married?”

“No! of course not!” Erica frowned at the other woman. “If he was, I wouldn’t be making myself nuts over him.”

“Okay, so do you want this man?”

“Yes, damn it.”

Melissa laughed. “So go get him. Or at least try.”

“What about dignity?” Erica countered. “Pride? Am I supposed to chase him down like a dog with him protesting the whole time?”

Straightening up, Melissa shook her wet hair back from her face and gave Erica a pitying look. “Little sister, men are simple creatures. He wants you. That’s the point here. He’s trying to stay away for whatever reason, but he doesn’t want to. So make it a little more difficult for him to ignore you. For heaven’s sake, why would you make it easier on him?”

“I don’t know …” Erica sighed and shifted in the water, letting the heated water push into her back, easing tension she hadn’t even really been aware of.

“Up to you of course,” Melissa told her. “But for me, if there was a guy I wanted, I’d go get him.”

Her words were said so forcefully Erica had to wonder if there was a particular man her sister was talking about. But an instant later, the timer for the jets shut off and silence dropped over them.

“I’ll think about it,” Erica said, climbing out of the water and reaching for a fluffy white towel.

“Less thinking, more kissing is probably the way you want to go,” Melissa advised, “but maybe that’s just me.”

Maybe Melissa was right, Erica thought as she and her sister toweled off and moved toward the locker room to get dressed. Because really, why was she making it easier for Christian to ignore her? Could be that what she should be doing was spending more time with him, not less. Talk to him. Lean into him. Keep him so close that he wouldn’t be able to pull away from her.

After all, ignoring him hadn’t hurt him and had been driving her insane. So, she’d turn the tables on him. Take Melissa’s advice and make him so miserable that he wouldn’t be able to avoid her. And, since she’d just spent the last three hours being buffed and polished and styled, today was the perfect day to set this new and much more interesting plan in motion.

Christian threw a rock into the river and watched it hit the water and sink. Just how he felt, he thought. He’d been carrying around a sinking feeling inside him for the last two weeks and it was only getting worse.

Being here at Jarrod Ridge had always given him a sense of satisfaction that he’d found nowhere else. He’d studied back east and had been eager to get back to Colorado. He’d traveled the world and never found another spot as beautiful as this one. But now …

There was an unsettled feeling inside him.

And its name was Erica Prentice.

Hell, he couldn’t even enjoy standing alongside the river anymore. Because he saw her here, now. She was everydamnwhere in Aspen, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get away from her.

“Well,” a too familiar voice said from behind him, “you look furious.”

He turned around to watch Erica approach him. The sunlight was fading as twilight edged closer. She wore a short, lemon-yellow skirt that stopped midthigh and a pale green short-sleeved T-shirt that displayed her tanned, toned arms and clung to her narrow waist. Her hair was soft and shining in the last of the light and her eyes were locked on his.

“So,” she asked as she came nearer, “did you want to be alone with your fury or can you stand some company?”

“Alone,” he ground out, because he knew if she came any closer, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from reaching for her.

“That’s a shame, because I prefer company,” she said. She whipped her hair back from her face and continued down the slope, passing within inches of him as she walked to the water’s edge.

“What’re you doing here, Erica?”

She glanced back at him and shrugged. “I came to look at the river.”

“And you could only see the river from here. This one spot. On the whole resort.”

She smiled slowly. “I like this spot.”

His hands fisted at his sides and he deliberately relaxed them, taking a long, deep breath into his lungs at the same time. Unfortunately, that only brought him a whiff of her scent, which made his insides tighten into knots. She smelled like peaches and flowers and all things soft and beautiful.

“Fine,” he said. “Enjoy the view. I’ll go.”

“Okay, so will I.” She turned and headed back toward him.

“What are you playing at?” he demanded when she stood right in front of him.

She shook her head and looked up into his eyes. “I’m done playing, Christian. No more games. No more teasing. I’m here because I want you and you want me.”

His teeth ground together and he hissed in a breath, hoping to find some equilibrium. He didn’t.

She lifted both hands to his shirt front and smoothed her palms over his chest.

His body went from hard to aching in under a second. He caught her hands in his and stilled them. Then he stared into her eyes and whispered, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you won’t,” she said and went up on her toes to slant her mouth over his. Once, twice, a soft brush of her lips to his and Christian felt the heat of her rush through him.

He knew he was a dead man. He had to have her. Couldn’t have turned away now if someone had a gun to his head. She was everything he wanted, needed. She was all he could think about. All he cared about. It didn’t matter if he would regret this later or not. Or, if being with her would only make the situation between them harder.

For now, he was lost.

He grabbed her then, as if half-afraid she might disappear on him if he didn’t hold on to her tightly. Pulling her up close to him, he took her mouth with a desperation he’d felt clawing at him for days. Again and again, his tongue delved deep, claiming her in a mimicry of what his body wanted to be doing to hers. In and out, he dazzled, he took, he gave, his heartbeat racing, his blood pumping, he gave himself over to the demands of his body, clamoring to meet her demands.

As a soft summer wind caressed them both, Christian took the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. She threw her head back and laughed in delight as the air touched her heated skin. In that moment, Erica looked more beautiful to him than she ever had before. He unhooked her bra and spilled her breasts out into the palms of his hands.

She sucked in a breath as he cupped her, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. She sighed, arching into him, offering herself to him as the sun’s last golden rays played across her skin.

Her eager response fed the fires within him and Christian groaned, bent his head and took first one nipple and then the other into his mouth. Her skin was soft and smooth and smelled of peaches. His lips and tongue and teeth nibbled and suckled at her, drawing sighs and moans from deep in her throat. Her fingers slid through his hair, holding his head to her, as if worried that he would stop, that he would suddenly pull away and tell her no, they weren’t going to do this.

But that wasn’t even a glimmer in his brain. They’d passed that line and there was no going back.

If he didn’t have her now, he knew he’d die of the want.

With one last, lingering draw on her nipple, Christian straightened, caught her hand in his and said, “Come over here.”

“What? What?” Dazed and unsteady, Erica followed him, her hand tucked into his. “Where?”

“Right here,” he said, picking a blanket up off the ground and spreading it out beneath the trees.

She laughed a little, surprised. “You came prepared?”

He grinned, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “Sometimes I sleep out here on warm nights. Good to have a blanket handy.”

“It is,” she agreed and went to him eagerly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, kissing him deeply, slowly. Until finally, Christian growled, pulled his head back and lay her down on the blanket.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

“You, too,” she urged and immediately wiggled out of her skirt and pushed her panties down and off. She kicked out of her sandals and lay across the pale blue quilt like an offering from the gods.

Christian took seconds to strip and join her on the blanket, going up on one elbow to kiss her while his left hand stroked up and down the line of her body. He defined her curves, explored every valley and took the time to tease her rigid nipples until she moaned into his mouth.

Her hand moved over his back, sliding across his shoulders and down the length of his spine. Every touch inflamed him until his body was so hard and tight, he could hardly think beyond the need hammering at his mind, his heart.

He slid his hand down over her belly and past the nest of curls to find her center. She gasped and lifted her hips for his touch. He obliged, sliding his fingertips across those heated folds, finding her damp warmth and realizing that she was as ready for him as he was for her. He dipped one finger inside her and stroked those inner muscles until she whispered his name with a hunger that matched his own.

“Christian, don’t wait. Take me now, be inside me now. I need this. I need you.”

“No more waiting,” he promised and shifted to cover her body with his. He knelt between her thighs and parted them wider, opening her up to his gaze.

She twisted beneath him. “Christian,” she said, licking her lips, “please. Now.”

“Now.” He pushed his body into hers with one long stroke and instantly experienced the wild rush of being a part of the only woman who mattered to him.

She was tight and hot and caressed his length every time he withdrew only to surge forward again. Her legs came up, wrapped around his middle and took him deeper on every stroke. She curled her fists into the blanket beneath her and lifted her hips, rocking into him, following the rhythm he set and matching him move for move.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered, staring down into her face as he took her. Her eyes flew open and met his. He read his own desire reflected back at him and saw in those amber depths the passion he’d waited too long to see.

She released the blanket so she could touch him, scraped her palms up and down his chest, up and over his back and dug her fingernails into his shoulders as he increased their pace. Hips pistoning, he took her higher, faster than either of them had ever been before.

Together, they raced toward a completion that had been waiting for them for weeks and together, they crashed over the edge and fell.

Nine

Erica was spent.

Every cell in her body was whimpering with release and pure pleasure. Her legs were trembling and her arms felt as if they weighed a ton. Christian was sprawled on top of her and though he was heavy, she didn’t want him to move. Didn’t want to lose this connection they had. She wanted to keep his body joined to hers for as long as possible.

Staring up through the thick branches overhead, she spotted small slices of a deep purple sky. The sun was down and the first stars were coming out. Beside them, the river rushed on, and here, on this blanket, the world was standing still.

“I want to roll off of you,” he muttered, his voice muffled against her skin. “But I don’t think I can move.”

She smiled, delighted that she’d brought such a man to his knees, so to speak. Christian was more than she’d thought when she first met him. Then he’d seemed so locked away, so suit and tie and cool distance. Now she knew what he kept hidden beneath that very businesslike exterior. And she didn’t ever want to lose him.

“I don’t want you to move anyway. I love the feel of you against me. In me.” Love.

Erica’s breath caught in her chest and she smiled to herself as she realized it was true. She did love him. Why hadn’t she realized it before? It all seemed so simple now. So clear. It didn’t matter how fast it had all happened. It was as if she’d been heading here. To Colorado, to him, her whole life. Days, weeks, time had nothing to do with it. When it was right, it was right, she told herself firmly and gently stroked her hands up and down his broad, muscular back.

He groaned and lifted himself up onto his elbows. Looking down into her eyes, he rolled his hips against hers and she sucked in a gulp of air. His body stirred inside her, thickening, hardening. She sighed at the sensation and suddenly she was more than ready for him.

“You touch me and I can’t think,” he admitted, moving again, slowly, pushing deeply into her.

But in a heartbeat he went perfectly still and stared down into her eyes. “Can’t think. Didn’t think. Erica, we didn’t use any protection.”

She gasped, stunned that the thought had never even occurred to her. She’d never done anything so irresponsible in her life.

“I’m sorry. I should have—Damn it.”

“Stop,” she said quickly, reaching up to cup his face with her palm. “It was my mistake as well as yours. But as long as we’re both healthy, it should be all right.”

“I am, I swear,” he said, concern etched on his face. “But are you sure you won’t get—”

“Pregnant?” she finished for him. “I can’t be absolutely positive, of course, but it’s the wrong time of the month, so …”

“Good. That’s good.”

But he didn’t sound relieved, she thought. He sounded almost … sorry.

“But we shouldn’t risk it again.”

“Probably not,” she admitted, “but if you pull out of me now, I’ll have to kill you.”

He grinned, lowered his head and kissed her. “I’ll risk it if you will.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, sliding her hands up and down his back, over his shoulders and down the front of his chest. “Thinking’s overrated anyway.”

“Right,” he murmured, dipping his head for a kiss. “Just feel. Just experience.”

“Experience is good,” she agreed, already feeling the fires burning, building within.

“New experience is even better,” he said and leaned back, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her up with him, keeping their bodies joined. He sat back on his heels, with Erica on his lap.

She gasped and threw her head back, loving the feel of him impaling her so deeply. Instinctively, she twisted her hips, grinding her body against his, increasing the friction between them until he groaned her name and clamped both hands at her hips, holding her still.

In the soft light of the early evening, Erica looked down at him. Cupping his face in her palms, she took a kiss and then one more before sliding her hands down his neck to his shoulders. Then she moved on him, easing herself up and down in a slow, lazy rhythm, driving them both relentlessly onward. His hands at her hips, he kept his gaze locked with hers as she moved, taking him deep, releasing him, only to reclaim him again.

Over and over, as tension built, as need spiraled inside her, she moved, rocking, swaying, twisting her hips at their joining. Her hands at his shoulders, she felt it when he neared completion and surrendered to her own climax. As the first, electric ripples of pleasure dazzled through her, she heard him shout her name just before he let go and gave himself completely to her.

It was perfect.

What could have been hours passed before Christian said, “Are you cold?”

A chill swept along her spine, but it had nothing to do with the cold. It was his deep whisper resonating in her ear that affected her so. “No. Not cold.”

“Still.” Christian reached across her, grabbed the edge of the blanket and drew it up over her.

Erica snuggled into his side and laid her head on his chest. Running one hand across his warm skin, she tangled her fingers through the soft dark hair until he laughed and the rumble sounded loud in his chest. “Touch me like that and we’re not going to ever go back to the Manor. I’ll have to keep you here all night.”

“Not a very good threat,” she admitted with a smile. “It actually sounds fabulous.” She tipped her face up to look into his eyes. “I don’t think I could ever have enough of you.”

He lifted his head, gave her a quick, hard kiss, then lay back down again, one arm tightening around her, holding her close. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Say you don’t regret it.”

“I’d be a damn fool if I did,” he muttered.

She smiled to herself and sighed a little, enjoying the moment. The soft wind rustling through the trees, the grumbling river just a few feet away and the soft summer night close around them. It was all perfect. Her life finally felt … right.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he said, “but how did you know to find me here?”

“Hmm? Oh, Melissa suggested it. She said you came out here a lot on clear nights.”

His hand on her arm stilled and Erica sensed that something had changed, though he hadn’t said a word. Silent tension spilled out between them and though he was still beside her, Erica knew that he was already pulling away. “Christian?”

He scrubbed one hand across his face, released her and sat up to stare out at the river. “Melissa? Melissa knows you were going to come to me?”

“She knows I was looking for you, sure.” Now she was cold. Despite the warmth of the evening air she felt as though ice crystals were settling on her skin. She tugged the edge of the blanket around her and stretched out one hand to touch his back.

He flinched at the contact.

“Great. That’s just great.” He stood up, grabbed his jeans and tugged them on. Then he snatched up her clothes from where they’d fallen and tossed them to her. “Get dressed.”

Hurt and feeling at a complete loss, she only stared at him. “What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”

“Unbelievable.” He muttered something else under his breath, but she couldn’t catch it.

Erica grabbed the clothing he’d tossed her. She slipped her bra on, then tugged her T-shirt on over her head. When she stood up to pull on her panties and skirt, she turned her head to look at him. He was searching for his shirt and finally found it hanging from a tree limb where he must have thrown it earlier.

Disgusted, he snatched it down and Erica was more confused than ever, so she blurted, “What is going on?”

He pulled his shirt on then ran his fingers through his hair. Glaring at her he said, “I told you, I couldn’t be with you. I work for the Jarrod resort. You’re a Jarrod. Word of this gets out, I’ll lose everything. And what do you do? You tell your sister.”

Erica inhaled sharply, feeling as though he’d slapped her. This was what had him so tense? Knowing that she’d spoken to Melissa? Was he really that worried that someone might know they were together? Was his job really that important?

Stung to her soul, she snapped, “Your reputation’s safe, Christian. Melissa didn’t know why I wanted to see you. It’s not like I advertised or printed a pamphlet alerting the residents of Jarrod Ridge that I was going to try to seduce a man who’s been trying to keep me at arm’s length!”

“Damn it, Erica …”

“Relax,” she told him hotly. “You don’t want people to know you were with me? Rest easy then, because I’m in no hurry for anyone to find out about this moment.”

He faced her and though his teeth were gritted, he still managed to say, “It’s not that I don’t want them to know. I can’t let them know.”

“Oh.” She nodded and gave him a wry smile. “Big difference. Thanks for clearing that up.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He stood, legs far apart, arms folded across his chest as if he were trying to hold himself in place. “I’ve worked my whole damn life for what I’ve got here. I won’t risk it. Won’t lose it. You can’t understand because you’ve always had this …” He threw his arms wide as if taking in all of Jarrod Ridge. “With either the Prentice family or the Jarrods, you’re one of them. I don’t have that. I made my way on my own.”

“And I haven’t?” She snorted in disgust. “You saw my office in San Francisco. Bottom of the food chain. You know why? Because my father never wanted me involved in the Prentice family business. So what I had I made. On my own. And coming here didn’t change that.”

“Erica—”

“No, you had your say. Now it’s my turn. I told you what it was like where I grew up. Never accepted. Never let into the inner circle. It’s only here that I’ve begun to find my way and even then, I wasn’t exactly met by a ticker tape parade.”

He shook his head and sighed. “That’s different. Whether the Jarrods were happy about it or not, you were one of them. You belonged. Like I said, you don’t get it.”

“I’m not one of them. I might be. One day. I hope so. But if that happens it’ll be because I made it happen,” she countered. “I wasn’t handed anything. You think it was easy to come here? It wasn’t. I walked out on the only family I knew. I gave up my job, my home, my life to try for something new. Something better.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” he told her quietly.

“Of course not,” Erica muttered. “You might lose.”

“I’m doing what I have to do and you’ll never understand it.”

“Oh, I get it,” she said softly. “Finally I get it. You’re a coward.”

He took the two steps separating them and grabbed hold of her upper arms. His hands were strong, each of his fingers digging into her skin as he dragged her up on her toes, so they could be eye to eye. “I’m no coward and you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. Erica wasn’t afraid of him. Even with his eyes nearly glowing with fury, he wouldn’t hurt her. It wasn’t in him. He was a closed-up man hiding a passionate nature, but that passion didn’t include brute force. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re already pulling away from me, from what we found, planning on how you can avoid me in the future.”

He let her go instantly and backed up, muttering under his breath. Then he said, “When we’re around others, nothing has to change. We just won’t be doing … this again.”

“Oh, is that all?”

God, how was she breathing? Everything inside her was still and cold. Her lungs, her heart. Even the blood running through her veins felt icy.

Erica grabbed her sandals and hopped on one foot then the other to tug them on. Once she was dressed completely, she threw her hair back from her face and stared daggers at him. “After what we just experienced you can actually stand there and say to me that you don’t want us to be together? That you’ll walk away from this? From what we might have?”

* * *

No, Christian thought wildly, he didn’t want to say that. Didn’t want to think it. With Erica, he’d found more peace, more excitement than he’d thought possible. When he held her, she was the world. He couldn’t imagine never having her with him again. Couldn’t even see his life without her in it.

These last few hours had been more precious than anything he’d ever known before. From the moment she’d approached him, it was as if they’d stepped into some dream world where they were the only two beings in existence. He’d forgotten his hard and fast rules. He’d turned his back on what he’d made of himself over the years and lost the essence of who and what he was in her. The magic of her.

But magic wasn’t real.

And eventually, dreamers woke up.

He wanted her desperately. But if he acted on what he wanted, then he stood to lose everything he’d ever worked for. Everything that had made him what he was. How could he turn his back on his life? On the man he’d become? If he did, what would he have left?

Who would he be?

“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Even after everything that happened tonight, you’re going to be the good corporate drone and go back to your cubicle.”

He sighed. What the hell could he say to her? He couldn’t even explain it to himself. “Erica …”

“No, don’t bother.” Her voice was low, almost lost in the roar of the river. But somehow he heard every word and felt the power of them hit home as if each one was a blade.

“You’re going to regret tossing me aside,” she said.

He stared into her eyes and couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her that he already did regret it. Standing here, so close and yet so far away from her, he felt as if all the life was draining out of his body. But he couldn’t say what she wanted—needed—to hear.

“You’ll regret it, but it’ll be too late. I feel sorry for you, Christian. Because I would have loved you forever.” With a sad shake of her head, she turned and walked away from him.

Christian watched her go and felt his heart go with her.

She was gone the next morning. Back to San Francisco on the family jet. According to Melissa, Erica was only going back for a visit, but Christian couldn’t help but wonder if he’d managed to drive her away from her legacy.

Two days later, he felt on edge. He was miserable. He hadn’t slept. Couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her. Work wasn’t the salve it had always been. He couldn’t concentrate on any single task because his mind kept drifting to Erica and the way she’d looked at him just before she walked away.

He never should have let her go.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Christian shook his head and glared at Trevor. They were in Trevor’s office and had been working on the layout for the gala and somewhere in there, Christian’s mind had taken a sharp left turn. “Nothing. Can we just finish this? I’ve got other things to take care of.”

“You know what? Never mind. I’ll finish it myself.”

“Good.” For the first time in years, Christian wasn’t interested in Jarrod Ridge or its gala. He didn’t care about the tourists flocking to Aspen or the businesses depending on the Ridge to increase their profits. He was damn sick and tired of living his life by the wants and needs of the Jarrod family.

Hell, he was still following Don Jarrod’s edicts even after the man was in his grave. So Christian’s life had now come to the point where a dead man was controlling his actions.

Was he really going to allow this to continue? Could he really risk losing the only woman who’d ever gotten under his guard?

Would he give up his future to assuage his past?

Furious with himself and the whole damn situation, Christian turned to go, but stopped when Trevor spoke up again.

“What’s eating at you, man? You’ve been terrorizing the staff and me for the last couple of days.”

Yeah, he had. Wrestling with your demons didn’t make for a good time and there were bound to be innocent bystanders caught up in the fight. But Trevor wasn’t his enemy and it’d be best to remember that.

Christian looked back at his friend and said, “I’ve got some things on my mind, that’s all.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he said. He had to get things sorted out for himself before he could speak to any of the Jarrods about this.

Trevor stared at him, then nodded. “All right. I figure a man’s entitled to his secrets. But if you change your mind, I’m here.”

“Appreciate it.” And he did. He had friends here, Christian knew that. What he didn’t have was Erica. “I’ll see you later.”

Blake walked in the door almost at the same instant and jumped out of the way before Christian could crash right into him. “What’s his deal?”

“I don’t know. He won’t say. Clearly something’s bugging him though.” Trevor sat down at his desk, ready to dive into the paperwork again.

“I know how he feels,” Blake said.

The tone of his voice more than anything else had Trevor looking up. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Not sure. But I just saw Melissa with Shane McDermott. They looked … cozy. Have you heard anything?”

Trevor leaned back in his desk chair. “No. But if our friendly neighborhood rancher is interested in our little sister, I suggest we keep an eye on things.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Blake agreed.

Three days holed up in her old condo in San Francisco and Erica was no closer to knowing what to do than she had been when she arrived. She’d cried herself silly for the first several hours until her sorrow had faded into fury. Anger was so much easier to deal with.

Erica stood up and moved to the balcony off her living room. She had a view of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge and she’d spent most of her days with the sliding glass door open to let in the frigid wind blowing in off the ocean.

After so much time in Colorado, with the sky so wide and open and so much space around her, she felt … caged in the very home she’d once loved so much.

Strange. She’d only been gone three weeks but this place no longer felt like home. She looked at the soft, pastel paintings on the walls and couldn’t figure out what she’d seen in them. She wasn’t the same woman who had lived here. She’d changed. Grown. She’d reshaped her life to suit the woman she’d become.

Now Erica knew what it was to finally find her place. She had discovered what it was like to love someone and lose. She knew what it was to go on with your heart breaking and not have a clue what to do next.

She’d found more than a home in Colorado.

She’d found herself. And the woman she was today needed answers to questions she was no longer afraid to ask. She hadn’t run from Christian; she’d run toward her past. After leaving him at the river, Erica had realized that she couldn’t enjoy a future without first dealing with her past. And so she’d come back to San Francisco. To tie up the loose ends of her life so that she could return to the place she belonged.

Okay, yes, she hadn’t immediately gone to face her father. But she was going to. She’d simply needed a few days to sort out her own feelings. That didn’t mean she was turning tail and running. And she certainly wasn’t going to hide here in a condo that wasn’t really hers anymore.

She was going back.

Just as soon as she found what she needed to know.

Ten

The very next morning Erica marched into her father’s office and faced him, for the first time not as his daughter, but as an adult who demanded respect.

“Erica,” Walter said, standing up and moving out from behind his desk. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“No.” She studied his familiar features and saw with surprise that he looked older than she remembered. And not as intimidating, either. Was it her imagination? she wondered. Or was it that she was no longer looking at him as a child would?

“Are you all right?” He came to her, gave her a brief, awkward hug, then stepped back.

The embrace was over so quickly it was almost as if it hadn’t happened at all. Erica felt the sting of tears in her eyes and inwardly groaned. She fought to hold those tears at bay as she asked, “I need to know something, Father, and I need the truth.”

“Of course.”

“Did you ever love me?”

“What kind of question is that?” His eyes narrowed and his scowl deepened. “Is this what they’ve been telling you in Colorado? Those Jarrods have been filling your head with nonsense and you’ve been listening?”

Shaking her head, Erica felt her heart sink. “They haven’t said a word about you, Father. This is something I need to know. Did you love me? Ever?”

His mouth tightened into a straight, grim line as if he were deliberately holding back the words she needed to hear.

Walking past him, she dropped her cream-colored leather bag onto the nearest chair, then turned to face him again. “I’m tired, Father. And hurt. And a little miserable, too. I’m finally figuring out who I am, but to finish doing that, I have to know who I was. Was I ever a daughter to you?”

As if all the air had left his body suddenly, Walter Prentice seemed to shrink in size right before her eyes. His shoulders slumped, his head dipped until his chin met his chest. Tiredly he lifted both hands to rub his face, then dropped them again and looked up at her.

She walked toward him, drawn by the naked pain on his face. Erica had never seen this side of her father. Never known him to be emotional at all. She took a shallow breath and held it.

“You’re more like your mother than you know, Erica. You have her beauty, but more important, you have her heart.” Leaning forward, he took her hands in his and held them gently. “I do love you, child. Always have. I couldn’t love you more if you were my own blood.”

A great weight eased off her heart and Erica took her first easy breath since walking into his office. “Then why? Why have you always kept me at a distance? Why would you never let me get close? You wouldn’t even let me work here, Father. I thought you believed I wasn’t good enough to join the family business.”

“Ah, God, I’ve made so many mistakes,” he muttered, his grip on her hands tightening. “But I swear they were made with the best of intentions. For years I was afraid that Don would try to take you from me, so I tried to keep an emotional distance from you. Fearing that if I did lose you, the pain would be too great to bear.” He sighed heavily. “Then the years passed and I kept you tucked away, out of the family business, to protect you from Don Jarrod.”

“What? That makes no sense.”

“It did to me. I was terrified that he’d come back, you see. Try to take you from me as he stole your mother. I couldn’t bear the thought of that.”

“Oh, Dad …”

He squeezed her hands. “Do you realize that’s the first time you’ve ever called me that? To you, I was always ‘Father,’ not ‘Dad.'”

Erica sighed and let go of the pain and misery she’d been carrying around for most of her life. Sad as it was, it was also sort of comforting to know that neither one of them had deliberately shunned the other. Mistakes had been made, true, but by both of them and for far too long.

Leaning into his warm embrace, she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and let the tears flow. He patted her gently and whispered words of comfort that were too soft for her ears to catch—but her heart heard and slowly began to heal.

“Are you happy out there?”

Erica sat across from her father and smiled. It was the first time she could ever remember her father being concerned with her happiness. But then, there had been a lot of firsts today. She felt lighter, freer than she had in years. She’d accomplished so much in just leaving, taking her own life in her hands. She’d found who she was meant to be. She’d reconnected with the father who had loved and raised her. And she had found—and lost—Christian.

Her smile faded, but she forced it back into place. “I really am. I know it’s strange. I can hardly believe it myself, to tell you the truth. But it’s so gorgeous there, Dad.” Funny how easily that name spilled from her now that she knew her affection was welcome. “I don’t just mean the resort, but Colorado itself. It’s huge and open and so beautiful it’s almost hard to look at it. I hope one day you’ll come to visit me there.”

Clearly uncomfortable at the thought, he was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “I’ll come. Don Jarrod’s ghost won’t keep me away from my daughter, Erica. I’m not going to risk losing you again.”

Her heart opened even further as love swept in, chasing away years of regrets and misery. “You won’t lose me, Dad. You can’t. I love you.”

He reached across the table and took her hand in his for a quick squeeze. “Does my heart good to hear that, I don’t mind telling you. But the most important thing is you’re happy, right?”

“I was….” How to explain to him what a mess she’d made of everything? She couldn’t actually confess to her father that she’d seduced a man who didn’t want her, after all.

“What changed?”

She folded her linen napkin and set it on the table. Then sitting back in her chair, she said, “I fell in love.”

“And this makes you miserable?”

“No,” she said on a short laugh, “it made me happier than I’ve ever been before.”

“But …” Walter encouraged her to talk just by patiently waiting.

Smiling, she acknowledged, “You’ve still got the intimidation knack.”

“It’s a gift,” he said with a wink. “Now, tell me what’s wrong with this man that he doesn’t see what a wonderful girl you are.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” she said, Christian’s face rising up in her mind to taunt her. “He just doesn’t want me enough.”

“Well, why the hell not?”

“It’s complicated, Dad. I think he does care for me. But he won’t let himself.” Irritation spiked inside her and she had to take a deep breath just to calm herself. “So the question is, how am I supposed to live there and see him every day feeling the way I do?”

“What’s the alternative?” he asked briskly. “Run away? Hide? Pretend you don’t feel what you do?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Well, I do,” Walter said, standing to come around the table. He pulled her from her chair and stood her up in front of him. With the tips of his fingers, he tilted her chin up until she was looking directly into his eyes. “You’re a Prentice, Erica. And we don’t run. We don’t put our heads in the sand when things don’t go our way, either. If you love that dolt, then find a way to make him admit he loves you, too.”

Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him tightly and sighed when Walter’s arms came around her with a fierce embrace.

“I love you, Dad,” she whispered and his embrace tightened in response.

“I love you, too, little girl,” he whispered. “Guess you’ll be leaving right away?”

She pulled back and smiled up at him. “I really should. The gala opens next week and there are a million details to see to—not to mention the fact that there’s a certain man I have to see and talk to.”

“Do I get to know his name?”

“As soon as I straighten him out, I’ll introduce you,” she promised, then gave him an extra hug for good measure. Grabbing up her purse, she raced for the door, but stopped dead when her father called out her name.

“Yes?”

He wagged a finger at her. “Just don’t you forget who you are, little girl. You’re Erica Prentice. My daughter. And you can do anything you put your mind to.”

She grinned at him. “You’re damn right I can.”

Christian refused to live like this any longer. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Erica in days. For all he knew, she could have decided to forego her inheritance and move back to San Francisco. That thought drove spikes through his mind and heart. What if she didn’t return? What if she decided that staying at Jarrod Ridge would be too painful because he was an idiot?

His stomach felt like a ball of lead had settled in it, while at the same time, his chest felt hollowed out. He scrubbed both hands across his face and stood up. Turning, he faced the window and didn’t even see the spectacular view. Instead, he saw Erica as she’d been their last night together by the river.

Naked, open, holding her arms out to him, taking him into her body, her heart. He could see the warmth in her eyes and the soft smile wreathing her face. His insides twisted and his mouth dried up. He loved her. He loved Erica Prentice.

And he’d not only let her walk away, he’d been ass enough to ruin what had been the best damn night of his life. The question now was, was he going to let that mistake stand? Or was he going to do everything in his power to correct it?

“Screw this,” he said out loud to no one. He turned and looked around the interior of his office. The one he’d worked so hard for—and all he saw was emptiness. In his mind, his future stretched out in front of him and that, too, was empty.

Pointless.

What the hell good was the job of his dreams if the woman he needed wasn’t a part of his life?

Furious with himself for taking this long to realize what was the most important thing to him, Christian jumped up from the desk chair and marched out of the room. He needed to talk to the oldest Jarrod sibling and he knew exactly where to find him.

Twenty minutes later, he was searching for Blake Jarrod amid the throng of people wandering around the site for the gala. The man was out here somewhere directing the crews setting up. When he spotted him, Christian headed right at him.

“Christian,” the other man said with a nod of greeting. “What are you doing out here? Giving up law to come swing a hammer with us?”

“No,” he said, barely glancing at the crew. “Blake, I need to talk to you.”

“Sure,” he said, heading to a less crowded part of the lawn. He stopped and crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s this about, Christian?”

The only way to handle this was to jump right in.

“I’m resigning as family attorney as of today,” Christian said and felt a weight slide off his shoulders. Damn, it felt good to be a free man. He’d been living an indentured life and he hadn’t even realized it until just this instant.

All along, he had thought he was steering his own course. Plotting his own life and destiny. But in reality, Don Jarrod had still been in charge. Even from the grave. But not anymore. And never again.

“What?” Astonished, Blake reached out, grabbed Christian’s upper arm and dragged him a little farther away to make sure no one would overhear them. “You can’t resign. Are you nuts?”

“Not anymore,” he said, grinning. “And yeah, I can resign. Watch me.”

“We can’t run this place without you, Christian!”

“Not my problem as of today, Blake. Sorry, but this is how it has to be.”

“Sorry?” Blake threw his hands high and let them slap down against his thighs. “You’re sorry that you’re walking out just as we all get back and have to deal with mountains of crap?”

“You’ve got each other. You’ll do fine. This is your home, Blake.”

“It’s your home as much as it is ours.”

Christian looked around, letting his gaze scan the familiar grounds, the guests and the well-trained staff. True, this was his home. But it didn’t mean a damn to him without Erica. Decision made, he turned back to Blake.

“I’ll type up a formal letter and leave it with your assistant,” he said. “If you want, I can make some recommendations about who I think would work well here.”

“I don’t want your recommendations,” Blake muttered with a dark frown. “I want you here, doing your job. Like always.”

“Can’t do it, Blake,” Christian said. He wasn’t thinking about Blake. He was thinking about Erica. He had to tell Erica he loved her and that he was willing to risk everything in his life except her.

“You have to do it. We can’t afford to lose you.” Blake took a deep breath, bit back his frustration and demanded, “You’ve always been happy here, Christian. Where’s this coming from?”

“Things are different now.”

“Since when?” Blake’s eyes narrowed on him.

He hadn’t intended to say anything. But how could he not? Blake was a friend and the brother of the woman he loved. Why the hell should he hide his feelings now? He took a breath and plunged in.

“Since your sister.”

“Melissa?”

“No.” Christian laughed out loud at the stunned surprise on Blake’s face. Clearly he’d done a very good job of keeping his feelings to himself. “Erica.”

“Really?” Blake shook his head. “Huh. I didn’t have a clue.”

“Nobody does,” Christian told him. “That’s the point. I’ve been hiding how I feel about her because of my responsibilities here.”

“What?” Now Blake just looked confused. “Why would you do that?”

Christian sighed. “You know as well as I do how your father felt about what he called ‘fraternizing.'”

“Oh, for God’s sake—”

Christian kept going. “I get involved with your sister, I lose my position here and any shares I have in the company. The board of directors will take care of that at their next meeting.”

“So you’re just gonna walk away from everything you’ve ever known instead.”

“Rather than lose her? Yeah. In a heartbeat.”

Blake nodded and grinned at him. “I can see that. What you didn’t think about is, the Jarrod family won’t let you resign.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“No, but I can hire you again the minute you quit,” Blake told him. “And when I do, there’ll be no restrictions, Christian.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying what everybody knows. Don Jarrod was a hard man. I’m not him. And neither are my brothers.” Blake laughed aloud. “God, Christian, Melissa would kill us all if we let you leave over something like this.”

Christian shook his head as if he couldn’t believe how this conversation was going. He’d been prepared to lose everything to keep Erica. Now it seemed he was going to have it all. If he could convince the woman he loved that he deserved her.

Slapping him on the shoulder, Blake said, “We’ll write up a new contract between you and the Jarrod Resort whenever you’re ready.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I think that’s a first,” Blake told him with a laugh. “So you and Erica, huh?” His eyes went cool and serious for a moment. “I’ve had my issues with the new sister, but bottom line here is, she is my sister. So just to put you on alert—if you’re not actually planning to marry her—you won’t have a job to worry about. None of us will stand by and let anybody hurt her.”

“I don’t want to hurt her. I want to marry her. All I have to do is convince her to say yes.”

“Good luck, man.” Blake held out a hand toward him. “And welcome to the family.”

Christian shook his friend’s hand and hoped to hell his talk with Erica would go as well.

By the time the Jarrod jet landed at the small strip in Aspen, Erica was a woman on a mission. She was focused. Determined. She had her plan on facing down Christian all worked out and was eager to get on with it.

But her lovely, well-thought-out plan dissolved as she disembarked from the plane and saw a car waiting for her. The driver, an older man with grizzled black-and-white hair, smiled as he held out an envelope.

Curious, Erica opened it while the driver stacked her luggage in the trunk of the car. The note inside was short and in Melissa’s handwriting. Get in the car and don’t ask any questions.

A spurt of irritation briefly shot through Erica, because now she’d have to wait to take care of the most important confrontation in her life. But just as quickly, she let go of her disappointment and told herself that her conversation with a hardheaded man could wait a while longer. If Melissa had gone to this much trouble, she must need Erica for something.

“Okay, then,” she said, smiling at her driver, “guess we should get going.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He opened the car door, saw her settled, then climbed behind the wheel. In a few minutes they were on the road to the resort and Erica was wondering what Melissa was up to. She had called her sister to let her know that she was coming home, so if there had been something wrong, wouldn’t Melissa have told her about it already?

Home.

That word settled in her heart and she had to smile. Oddly enough, after only three short weeks at Jarrod Ridge, the place had become home to Erica. She wasn’t the same person she’d been when she arrived. Now, she was officially an ex big-city girl. She’d officially quit her job. Oh, she’d have to go back to San Francisco soon, to arrange for the sale of her condo and to have her furniture shipped west. But she’d take care of that and get back to Jarrod Ridge as quickly as possible.

This was where she belonged now.

Her gaze scanned the scenery as it passed in a green-brown blur, her mind racing, dragging up image after image of Christian. She worried over how their talk would go and told herself that no matter what else happened, she would at least have the satisfaction of knowing she’d told him how she felt. If he still chose to walk away from her—well, she’d just make his life a living hell until he changed his mind.

In no time at all, the car was pulling through the resort’s front gate. But instead of heading toward the hotel entry, the driver drove off on what had to be a service road. She looked behind her as the Manor receded into the distance and was then swallowed up by the cloud of dust flying up from behind the wheels of the car.

“Just where are we going?” she asked, despite Melissa’s note.

“Only a minute or two more, miss,” the man said.

The trees were thicker here, lining either side of the road like soldiers at parade rest. She didn’t recognize this area and realized that there was still a lot of the resort for her to explore and come to know. But she hadn’t planned on doing it right now.

Finally the car came to a stop on the rutted road. The driver helped her out, pointed to the tree line on her left and said, “Just head right through there, miss.”

Before she could ask any questions, the driver had hopped back into the car and disappeared down the road. “Perfect. What is going on?”

She headed off to her left and cocked her head to listen when she heard a familiar roar of sound. It was the river. Her heart started pounding and a tiny curl of nerves unspooled in the pit of her stomach. Still, she walked on, until she rounded a bend and saw a blanket spread out under the trees. Her breath caught in her chest as she realized that the driver had brought her to Christian’s spot alongside the river. Since they’d taken the back way in, she hadn’t recognized the place until now.

On that blanket was a silver ice bucket holding what looked like a bottle of champagne, and a picnic basket, its lid partially opened to allow a baguette to spear up.

Erica took a deep breath and when Christian stepped out from behind a tree, she felt hope and confusion tangle inside her. When she could speak without her voice breaking, she asked, “What’s this about, Christian?”

“I needed to talk to you and I thought the best place to do that was here. In our spot.”

Our spot. Not his. Ours. That brief flash of hope she’d experienced began to shine more brightly. But even as it did, she wondered if maybe he’d brought her here to tell her he’d never love her. Maybe he had chosen this particular spot to soften the blow of goodbye. So before he could speak, she did. “I have a few things I want to say to you, too.”

He came toward her, stepping out of the dappled shade into the wash of golden sunlight. “First hear me out, Erica.”

“No.” She skipped back out of reach of him, because she knew if he touched her, the words would dry up in her mind and she’d forget everything but the feeling of having his hands on her again. “Let me say this. I’ve been rehearsing it all the way here and I need to get it out.”

“Okay, then. Tell me.”

Nodding, she pointed at the picnic he’d set up in the shade and said, “First, let me say if you’ve brought me here to tell me goodbye, you can forget it.”

“Goodbye?” Christian reached for her, but she moved back and away again, frustrating him beyond belief. “I’m not—”

“Because I’m not going anywhere,” she said, lifting her chin and glaring at him. “I’m going to be right here. Every day. You’ll have to see me, work with me, talk with me. Every day. And every day I’m going to remind you of how good we are together. Of what we could have had together if only you’d made the right choice. And I’m going to keep on reminding you of that until I convince you that we should be together even if it takes me another twenty years.”

Tears were shining in her eyes and that alone tore at Christian’s heart and soul. “Don’t, Erica. Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she argued. “I’m arguing, and arguing makes me emotional.”

“I can see that,” he said, smiling now because she still loved him. Still wanted him. He hadn’t ruined everything after all. “Now, will you listen to me?”

She sniffed, cast a look at the champagne picnic, then turned back to him. “I suppose.”

“Good, because you’re not going to have to remind me for twenty years. Not even for twenty minutes.”

“I’m not?”

He walked to her, closing the distance between them with three long steps. He looked down into her whiskey-colored eyes and saw everything he had ever wanted shining back at him. How could he have thought for even one minute that he would be willing to do without her? That he would be able to be without her?

Not a chance.

“I went to Blake while you were gone and I quit my job as family attorney.”

“What?” She pushed at him. “You can’t do that! I won’t let you give up everything you worked for just because Don Jarrod was a medieval warlord. And Blake shouldn’t allow it, I’m going to—”

Christian laughed as she turned from teary to warrior in the blink of an eye. God, life with her was going to be fascinating. “You don’t have to do anything. Blake refused to let me resign. Said he’d just hire me again without all the qualifiers his father insisted on.”

“So you’re not leaving?”

“No.”

She watched him warily. “And you’re not going to pull away from me again?”

“No.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly to him until he felt her return his embrace, her arms winding about his waist as she clung to him. Then his world righted and Christian knew everything was going to be all right. “I’m never letting you go again. I love you, Erica. Have from the moment I met you. When you left …”

He pulled back and stared down into her eyes. He lifted one hand to cup her cheek and then smoothed his fingers through her hair, loving the cool, slick slide of it against his skin. “When you left, you took my heart with you. I knew then that nothing I had, nothing I had worked for, was worth anything without you in my life.”

She sighed, and a soft, amazingly beautiful smile curved her mouth as she looked up at him. “Christian, I love you so much.”

“Thank God,” he muttered.

She laughed a little. “I thought for sure I’d have to argue for hours to convince you that you loved me.”

“No arguments necessary,” he said. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, dark red velvet box and opening it, held it out to her.

Sunlight danced off the enormous diamond and shone in her eyes as he watched her. He took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger, all while she simply stared up at him, with a bemused smiled on her lovely face.

“I finally figured it out.”

“What?” she asked, glancing down at the beautiful promise glittering on her hand.

“That all I need is you. If I have you, I have everything. Without you, there’s nothing.”

“Oh, Christian …” Tears fell, sliding along her cheeks, but her smile was as brilliant as the diamond on her finger.

“Marry me, Erica. Make a family with me.”

“Yes!” she shouted the single word, then laughed in delight. “Yes, I’ll marry you and I swear, I will love you forever.”

He kissed her hard and fast, then drew back and grinned at her. Erica threw her arms around his neck and hung on for all she was worth as he swung her into a dizzying circle. The world rushed by, a blur of color and sound, but in the center of it all, they were together.

As they were meant to be.

* * * * *

Falling for His Proper Mistress

Tessa Radley

For my cousin Merope – the only person I know

who can find a restaurant where sinfully rich

chocolate cake is served first on the menu and

entrees appear on the dessert menu described as

something to fill the space left over!

One

Everything was running smoothly.

Well, almost everything, Guy Jarrod amended as he strode into the cobbled square that lay at the heart of Aspen’s famous Jarrod Ridge resort.

Erica Prentice, his newly discovered half sister, had sprung the unwelcome news on the family at breakfast this morning that Art Lloyd, one of the Food and Wine Gala speakers, had called yesterday to cancel his appearance because of a bad bout of influenza. Apart from the minor headache of finding someone to replace Art, the annual festival was on track and the tall, snowy-white marquees that lined the square on three sides hummed with activity.

If his old man had been here, even he would’ve admitted that the spectacle was impressive.

Heaviness pressed down on Guy’s heart. Don Jarrod, his father—and an Aspen legend—was gone. Forever. Yet Jarrod Ridge remained a monument to his father’s life’s work.

A large shadow floated over Guy. Squinting skyward, he saw awestruck faces peering down at him from baskets that hung below brightly hued balloons drifting lazily across the morning sky. Guy’s mood lifted and he raised a hand to wave before making for the nearest marquee that, even this early in the day, was already crowded.

He could see Erica huddled next to Gavin, one of his two younger brothers, her finger stabbing the air as she emphasized a point. And over to the right, beside the wine-tasting tent where an early-bird charity auction was already happening, his twin brother, Blake, was talking to—

The press of people opened for an instant, long enough for Guy to catch a tantalizing glimpse.

He blinked.

It couldn’t be.

The crowd shifted again.

It was.

His gaze homed in on an achingly familiar blond head and a petite curvy feminine body that should’ve been nine hundred miles away in California.

His twin bent courteously to hear what the blonde was saying, and Guy’s eyes narrowed dangerously when her slim hand pushed a pair of designer sunglasses to the top of her head. The action revealed the curve of a cheek he’d stroked with his fingertips under the cover of darkness, the corner of a lush, smiling mouth he’d kissed until all smiling had ceased and she’d moaned instead.

God, he remembered those moans….

Little mewing sounds that had clawed at his groin and made him go wild with hunger.

So what the hell was Avery Lancaster doing staring up at his twin in that intent fashion?

Without conscious thought, Guy began to move, long strides that ate up the ground. All too soon he was looming over the Barbie-blonde who barely reached his shoulder.

She must have sensed his approach. It took only one startled glance from those wide china-blue eyes for Guy to feel the imperceptible tightening of his skin, the rippling of the muscles below. A slight shudder quaked through him before he remembered to breathe and sucked in a lungful of air. Being this close to Avery had always made him feel invincible, like some kind of superhero.

Not anymore.

Yet, for once, Avery looked rattled, too. “Guy!”

In the month and a half—okay, so he’d kept count—forty-nine days—since he’d last seen her, Avery’s sorcery hadn’t diminished a whit. In her absence, Guy had half convinced himself he’d imagined it. No woman had that much power.

But standing beside her brought home that he hadn’t imagined a thing. A once-over showed that her composure was back—if indeed it had ever slipped. Avery looked like she’d stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine that would have every female reader rushing to buy the floral dress she wore. Her soft honey-gold skin tempted his touch. Only the blond tendrils that had escaped the restraining sunglasses broke the model-like perfection and made her look tousled—and very, very kissable.

“Avery,” he responded with just enough frost to cause Blake to raise an eyebrow.

“You two know each other?”

“Avery helped me review the wine list at Baratin.”

His glare dared her to contradict him. Avery’s gaze fell beneath the force of his—as he’d known it would. Traitor. It felt like a lifetime since the day she’d swept into his life with the force of a hurricane—and proved to be every bit as destructive. In reality little more than two months had passed since the day they’d met. Fourteen hours after that first meeting she’d been in his bed. The next day she’d moved out of the hotel where she’d been staying into his apartment. Two weeks later she’d been gone.

Yet instead of boasting about what a fabulous job she’d done at Baratin, Avery now turned her head away, presenting him with a smooth, flawlessly tanned cheek, and fixed her attention firmly back on Blake.

Over my dead body.

Guy’s lips tightened. She could forget about seducing his brother. One Jarrod would have to be enough.

Blake grinned. “I remember you mentioning employing a freelance sommelier—you didn’t tell me she was gorgeous.”

Avery hadn’t spared Guy another glance—he might as well have been invisible. And his normally brisk-and-businesslike twin hadn’t taken his eyes off Avery. Irritation spiked through Guy as a rosy flush spread over her cheeks.

Could she have faked that?

A dimple appeared beside her mouth, and a little husky laugh followed. “Flatterer,” she said to Blake, her polished fingertips fluttering like butterfly wings against his brother’s arm.

Guy started to frown.

She’d better damn well stop flirting with Blake or he’d drag her away and send her packing back to Napa Valley. He wasn’t having destruction follow in her wake as it had before.

He was onto Avery Lancaster.

She chose that moment to remove her hand from Blake’s arm and flick the bangs off her forehead. The crossover neckline of the dress printed with pink roses—without a warning thorn in sight—pulled tight. Guy’s lip curled. No magical illusion there, just plain feminine wiles, as old as Eve.

It infuriated Guy that even he wasn’t immune. Giving himself a mental shake, he forced his eyes away from temptation, only to discover his charismatic twin still assessing her with amused interest.

Damn.

“You two must be brothers.” The breathy voice that had once made him shiver with longing held a note of discovery.

Guy suppressed an annoyed growl as Blake instantly responded, “Guy is my twin.”

“I knew there was something familiar about you—”

“Fraternal twins,” Guy bit out, determined to make Avery stop examining Blake as if he was a juicy cut of filet mignon. “Not identical.”

The gaze that switched to meet his with startling directness was carefully blank. “Funny, I didn’t even know you had a brother, much less a twin,” she murmured. “Or that you were one of the Aspen Jarrods.”

Funny? They’d had an affair. Passionate. Explosive. Nothing remotely funny about it. Then she’d walked away. There’d been no obligation to bare his soul, dammit.

“Now you know—and, since you’re obviously interested, I have two more brothers as well.” Gavin and Trevor were every bit as eligible as Blake.

Despite the curve of her lips, her vivid blue eyes had dimmed, and held none of the sparkle he remembered. Only an unfamiliar wariness.

She should be worried.

Unless she was a fool. And, despite the sexy-Barbie exterior, Avery had never been dumb. In truth, the way it had played out he’d been the dumbass; she’d played him for the fool.

Guy snorted at how he’d fought a primal, gut-deep fear and tried to do romance. For her. How he’d planned the most romantic birthday gift he could dream up. An extravagant meal of all the foods he’d learned Avery loved. Shrimp tempura. A light salad with walnuts, blue cheese, pear and a hint of ginger. Cherries. Tiramisu. Baratin’s frenetic Friday night bustle had been replaced with the intimacy of soft candlelight. Twenty-seven white candles—to match her birthday—glowed around one solitary table, with all the other chairs and tables packed away.

Surrounded by the aroma of the fluffy rolls he’d baked himself and the fragrance of cut flowers in tall vases filling the air, Guy had waited.

And waited.

And while he waited, his heart more exposed than he’d ever allowed, Avery had been seducing Jeffrey Morse.

The big romantic gesture had cost Guy more than a night’s takings. It had cost him a week’s sleep and most of his self-respect. And nearly two months later his pride still smarted.

Of course, if Avery had known he was one of the Jarrods from Jarrod Ridge, Aspen, Guy doubted she would have switched her attentions to Jeff, his Go Green business partner, so readily—despite Jeff’s sizeable trust fund.

But the subject of his family had simply never come up. There hadn’t been time. They’d either been talking about wine and work—or tumbling into bed. And Guy was suddenly, savagely glad that she hadn’t known before he’d gotten a chance to discover exactly what she was.

Gold digger.

Well, there’d be no Jarrod gold for her here….

Forcing himself to ignore her considerable physical endowments, he speared her with a cold stare. “What are you doing at Jarrod Ridge?”

The instant he bit out the words Guy wished he’d kept his mouth shut. What the hell did he care why she was here? He despised her. It was obvious that she’d come to Jarrod Ridge to prospect for another wealthy fool at a festival renowned for attracting the rich and famous. Jeff had sent her packing once guilt at the way he’d betrayed a friend had set in. Guy knew he should be grateful for his own lucky escape, that he’d found out Avery was looking for nothing more than a wealthy man.

Except gratitude was not the emotion that filled him as Avery’s pink tongue slid across her pouty kiss-me-senseless bottom lip. In another woman the gesture might have suggested anxiety; in Avery it was pure feminine seduction. Her tongue retreated and Guy breathed again. Then her lush lips parted. Guy couldn’t have glanced away if there’d been a gun against his head. Right now all he cared about was sexy Avery and her provocative, pink mouth.

Clenching his fists at his sides, Guy swore a silent streak.

Poor Jeff hadn’t stood a chance.

And this time her wiles were clearly directed at his twin. Eyes narrowing, Guy leaned closer. If Blake was to be her next target, she’d miscalculated. Yet, as he opened his mouth to growl at her to back off, he caught a whiff of the sweet, intoxicating floral scent that was all she ever wore to bed. Hot blood rushed through his veins, pooling in his lower belly.

Ah, hell!

If only his body hated her, too.

With grim realism, Guy shut his mouth with a snap and decided it was just as well the resort was full to capacity. The crowds would make it easier for him to avoid her.

“Art sent me.”

“Art sent you?”

The question must have betrayed his dazed disorientation because Blake spoke from beside him, reminding Guy that he and Avery were not alone and that he’d asked Avery what she was doing here. “Avery is Art Lloyd’s niece—even though she doesn’t resemble him in the least.”

Avery flashed a quick smile at Blake, and Guy could’ve sworn the woman fluttered her eyelashes at his brother. Damn her.

“You’re Art’s niece?” Disbelief was certainly better than following through on the overwhelming impulse to shove her away from his brother.

“Uh-huh.” Avery nodded, and the wispy bangs shimmered with the lustre of gold in the sunshine. “I’m sure you’re aware he was scheduled to speak at the gala, but he’s ill. Flu on top of asthma and a weak chest. The doctor says he can’t possibly fly in that condition.”

He could’ve sworn he read apprehension in her wide, Barbie-blue eyes. Not that he blamed her. Even now, seven weeks after she’d run out on him, he wanted to shake her.

Instead he shoved his fists into his pockets and said, “I’m sorry to hear he’s ill. I like Art.”

He didn’t need to add that he detested her. Avery wasn’t stupid—if she didn’t see it in his face, she’d be able to draw that inference herself.

She inhaled sharply.

Guy couldn’t help himself, he looked down. The pink roses moved, her sweet floral scent surrounded him, and he could’ve sworn his world tilted, too.

From a distance he heard her say in that breathy, bedroom voice that drove him crazy, “Well, I’m here to speak in Art’s place.”

Hell!

Inside the snowy-white bower of the grand marquee the Friday night oyster-and-champagne cocktail party that launched the Food and Wine Gala each year was in full swing. Waitresses circulated with trays piled high with hors d’oevres, while dinner-jacketed waiters refilled tulip glasses that glinted in the light of the glittering crystal chandeliers overhead.

“Erica has outdone herself,” Guy said with grudging approval to Blake as he scanned the chattering crowd who’d paid top dollar for tickets to tonight’s event.

“It’s the food that’s got the crowd talking,” said Blake, “and that’s your domain.”

Guy inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment. “It helps that every available ticket was sold,” he pointed out. “The more people here tonight, the more media coverage the festival will get, and the more word-of-mouth buzz will spread.”

“She’s certainly better at public relations than we ever expected,” his twin conceded. “But I was always certain there wouldn’t be any tickets left over to give to the local business suppliers as Erica suggested.”

“The gesture would’ve won Jarrod Ridge plenty of local goodwill.” Guy had joined his twin in vetoing the suggestion when Erica had made it. Deep down Guy suspected he’d done it more because he resented his illegitimate half sister’s very existence, rather than for sound business reasons. It was a suspicion that made him decidedly uncomfortable, one that he was not yet ready to confront.

“Anyway it would’ve made the function too big—lost the exclusivity.” Blake sounded certain.

“We could’ve limited the number of speakers who gained complimentary entry.” Guy’s brooding gaze settled on the woman whose arrival earlier had turned his hard-won peace on its head. Avery didn’t look like she had a care in the world. But he would’ve breathed a lot easier without her here tonight.

“Dad always gave festival speakers free entry to the opening night cocktail party. Mom set the tradition.”

Blake’s point hammered the final nail in the coffin. And Guy resisted the urge to argue that none of them had done what Don Jarrod wanted in life. So why the reverence for his opinion now that he was dead?

But the night of the official opening of the Food and Wine Gala was certainly not the time for friction with his twin.

Particularly not with Avery nearby. A sideways jerk of her head warned him she’d seen them. Guy edged closer to his brother. He fully intended to save his twin from Avery’s irresistible advances tonight. And damn irresistible she was, too, in a dress the color of summer sunshine. Every time she moved diamond drop earrings sparkled through the pale gold feathers of her hair. Even in this celebrity-studded crowd she attracted attention.

After giving them a brief smile of greeting, Avery showed none of this morning’s interest in Blake. From the corner of his eye Guy watched her intercept a tall, well-built stranger. His mouth twisted as she flung her arms around the man and kissed him on the cheek, before stepping away with a beaming smile.

It certainly hadn’t taken her long to find company.

“Who’s the man beside Avery Lancaster?” he demanded. His twin knew everyone worth knowing. Blake’s networking skills and business acumen were unsurpassed.

“Looks familiar.” Blake frowned with concentration. He snapped his fingers. “Got it. A vintner. From California—I think. But I can’t recall his name.”

“Which winery is he with? Does he grow good grapes?” It seemed important to establish a flaw in the stranger who stood too close to Avery for Guy’s comfort.

Blake shook his head. “Can’t remember. It will come to me. Why the interest?”

Guy refused to admit that he was fishing. Whoever Avery’s quarry was, his highly polished Italian shoes and the avantgarde designer-label tuxedo he wore were a testimony to his wealth. It would be good to know that he had some weakness that could be exposed when needed. “Always good to know who’s making the best wines.”

“Information always gives us an edge over the competition,” agreed Blake.

At that moment Avery threw her head back and laughed at something the Californian said. Her earrings danced and her eyes sparkled.

Unexpectedly, anger ignited in Guy’s belly.

He swung away and told himself he should be relieved to be rid of a gold digger like Avery. So why the hell was he so damned annoyed? He’d always been easygoing about relationships, shrugging philosophically when they ended. And usually remaining friends with his former lovers.

But this time it was different.

Blake asked him something. He grunted his assent without any idea about what he’d agreed to. Then he told himself Avery had declared war by running out on him in New York without an explanation of why she’d seduced his business partner, his friend. He’d deserved to know. She might think it was over between them. But he wasn’t through with her yet.

Not by a long shot.

No one betrayed him, then ran out on him … and Avery was about to learn that.

When Erica joined him and Blake, Guy shifted to get a clear view of Avery again as she accepted a glass of champagne that a waiter offered. She didn’t take a sip.

A heartbeat later, Avery’s head turned his way. Guy found himself blurting out to Erica that she’d done a great job with tonight’s cocktail party before Avery could catch him staring at her with puppy-dog eyes. He didn’t even notice his half sister’s flush of surprised pleasure or Blake glaring daggers at him, reflecting the uneasy relationship between the Jarrod brothers and their new-found half-sister.

Another furtive glance showed that Avery had set her untouched glass of champagne down on the edge of the table behind her and was talking, gesturing with both her hands to illustrate what she was saying. When her fingertips settled on her companion’s jacket sleeve, anger stabbed deep in Guy’s chest. Forgetting to pretend disinterest, he assessed the easy familiarity of the gesture through narrowed, bitter eyes.

Maybe not a stranger after all.

A former lover? Someone she’d been pursuing even while she passed time in his own bed?

Bile rose in the back of Guy’s throat. “What’s wrong?”

Guy started. Erica was gazing at him with concerned eyes.

He glanced around.

“Don’t worry, Blake’s not here. He’s gone to fetch me a glass of water. I’m hot and thirsty. It’s been a long day.”

That made him feel curiously uncomfortable. He hadn’t been aware of Erica’s discomfort. Or his twin’s departure. Because he’d been too damned busy devouring Avery with his eyes. Was he so transparent that even the half sister he barely knew could read him like a book? He pressed his lips together and glanced away without responding, discomforted by the sudden flush that heated his face.

“Who is she?”

“Nobody,” Guy bit out.

Erica blinked. “Hey, I only wanted to help. You looked … unhappy.”

Unhappy? Not at all. Instantly Guy forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Truly, I am.”

“Okay, I’ll butt out.” A smile softened the words.

His own smile widened into a relieved grin. “Thanks.”

The lines of strain around her eyes eased, and a wave of remorse flooded him. It was time to cut Erica some slack. She’d done a damn fine job with the festival so far. Yet before he could offer an olive branch he caught sight of Avery and her companion heading for the exit. The tension that had been winding tighter ratcheted up another notch.

She wasn’t ending up in the other man’s bed tonight. Not under his nose, on his turf.

A well-known food writer stepped forward to greet Avery’s companion, causing him to pause. Guy made his move.

“Excuse me,” he murmured to Erica, before rapidly shouldering his way through the throng, unaware that his half sister watched him go, a bemused look on her face. His sole focus was on Avery.

“I want to speak to you.” He cut Avery away from her partner as neatly as a wrangler.

“Guy! What are you doing?”

Placing his arm around her, he bent his head toward her. To an onlooker it would have appeared intimate. Even cozy. But his growled warning was anything but lover-like. “Now’s not the time for a scene, Avery.”

“Scene? I’m not making a scene—you are,” she objected, her voice rising as he swept her along with him. “Let go of me.”

He leaned closer still—and instantly her sweetly sexy floral scent surrounded him. Savagely fighting the sudden blast of raw desire, Guy lowered his voice and murmured into her ear, “Hush. I have no intention of kidnapping you.”

Two

Avery wasn’t so sure.

It only took one glance to reveal that there was a determined—even ruthless—set to Guy’s jaw that she didn’t recognize. His arm, heavy and unwelcome, tightened around her waist. She would’ve given anything not to be so spine-tinglingly aware of his proximity as he hurried her away from Matt.

She’d known this confrontation was coming from the moment he’d realized she was here to speak in Uncle Art’s place. She’d tensed, waiting for the outburst that had never come.

If she’d realized that her Guy Jarrod was one of the Aspen Jarrods she’d have done whatever she could’ve to avoid coming here. Heck, even though it would’ve meant breaking her word to her uncle, she’d pleaded with Matt this afternoon to take his dad’s spot so that she could catch the first flight out. But Matt had to be back in Napa Valley by tomorrow. And not even her desperate pleas had swayed him.

As she shot her nemesis a sideways glance, her breath snagged in her throat. From the opposite end of the grand marquee he’d been eye-catching, but up close Guy Jarrod was utterly devastating. His six-foot plus height suited the tailored tuxedo, the broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, while the white dress shirt only emphasized the masculine perfection of his handsome profile.

I should hate him … he deserves it.

To hide the humiliating effect his body had on her, she wrinkled her brow, hoping she looked convincingly puzzled. “What did you want to talk about?”

Guy clearly wasn’t fooled. His lips firmed into an impatient line as he stopped in the back corner of the marquee beside a table laden with trays of oysters. He turned to face her. “You taking Art’s place.”

“Is it a problem?”

Of course it was. His reaction earlier had shown that. What she couldn’t work out was why he didn’t want her speaking at the Food and Wine Gala. Well, she was no doubt about to learn.

Avery forced herself to smile faintly—and very politely—at him before helping herself to a glass from a passing waiter to give her hands something to do. She took a delicate sip of the pale liquid and pretended to savor the crisp dryness on her tongue.

Guy’s gaze dipped to her mouth. The eyes that met hers a moment later had gone dark. In the past he’d sometimes poured a glass of champagne for them to share after—

No! She wasn’t thinking of the countless abandoned glasses of untouched champagne or the passionate encounters that had followed.

Her lashes fell, and Avery fixed her attention on the square black snaps of his dress shirt. She recognized those snaps … one evening she’d yanked them all loose—

Oh, heavens!

She jerked her head back and focused on his jaw instead. It was a hard jaw, a determined j—

“You’re not listening.”

“Of course I’m listening.” Please don’t let him ask her to repeat whatever he’d just said.

“You’re not even interested.”

“Not in you,” she muttered rebelliously.

Only a few inches separated his mouth from the area of jaw line she’d been examining, and she watched his beautiful lips flatten into a hard line. To her exasperation, her heartbeat kicked up. This close he smelled so familiar. Of sandalwood soap, a green hint of moss … and man. But this recklessly rash awareness of the man didn’t alter the fact that he was a first-class bastard.

One she would be wise to avoid at all costs.

“How typical of a woman not to be able to separate her emotions from her work.”

What? “That’s not true—” Avery broke off. Or maybe it was. She’d made it personal by disavowing any interest in him. “Okay, I shouldn’t have made that crack.” Especially when her reaction suggested it was patently, horrifyingly untrue.

She was pathetic.

Hadn’t she learned what kind of scum Guy Jarrod was, despite the fancy French restaurant he owned in New York and his high-society family?

God help her….

He rocked back on his heels and the extra inches of space allowed her respite to breathe again without drowning in his scent. For an awful moment she thought he was going to pursue exactly how much of a lie her denial had been.

To her relief, he let it slide.

“No, you shouldn’t have. And I’ll accept that as an apology.”

She wouldn’t have gone so far as to call it an apology. Annoyance made her bristle like a cat stroked the wrong way. “That’s big of you.”

He expelled an impatient sigh. “You know, this isn’t going to work. Go back to California—I’ll find someone else to stand in for Art.”

Avery stared at him, aghast. This was what she’d wanted … but now that he was telling her to go, she knew there was no way she could ever tell Art she’d let him down. “I promised Art—”

Guy was shaking his head. “Art and I were scheduled to do two talks together,” he said, “and it’s clear that you’re not going to be able to cooperate.”

Oh, dear God, what had Art gotten her into? He’d muttered something about a panel on wine selection and a presentation about the importance of superior service in a world-class establishment but that had been all. There’d been no mention of a joint presentation with anyone, let alone Guy Jarrod.

She should never have come….

Uncle Art’s pleading voice played through her head. She hadn’t had a choice. To think she’d considered speaking at such a prestigious event, the opportunity of a lifetime. But this wasn’t about her … it was about what she owed Uncle Art and Aunt Tilly.

She’d never lived up to Aunt Tilly’s hopes. But Uncle Art was proud of her. He’d taken her in after his sister and brother-in-law—had died in a sailing accident. He’d loved her, cherished her, supported her. For her uncle she would walk across burning embers—barefoot. Except he’d never asked that of her.

He’d run interference on her behalf with Aunt Tilly when she’d refused to attend another beauty pageant or talent show. He’d supported her when she’d bailed out of drama school. He’d never asked anything of her. Until now.

Her shoulders sagged. “Of course I’ll cooperate with you.” Within reason. No sex with his friends and colleagues. More to the point, no sex with Guy Jarrod. Period. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“Have an oyster.”

They’d decadently shared oysters in bed one memorable Monday when Baratin had been closed. They’d risen late. He’d fed them to her … interspersed with kisses … it had ended up in one of the most erotic encounters of her life. Surely he wasn’t referring to that?

It took a moment for the shocked daze to clear and for Avery to realize he was holding out a platter where oysters on the half shell nestled between fat wedges of lemon and translucent ice cubes.

“They’re perfectly shucked. I oversaw the preparation myself. No sand or broken shells. Just succulent flesh with a hint of juice.”

For a brief second she caught a glimpse of the Guy she’d thought she’d known so well. Wicked mirth sparkled in his gray-black eyes and warmed her.

Irresistible, damn him.

She resisted the charm with a toss of her head. “No, thanks. I’m quite sated.”

The laughter evaporated. “I’m sure you are.”

The platter disappeared into the hands of a hovering waiter. Avery searched Guy’s face but could find no trace of the bitterness the words suggested. She must’ve imagined it.

“My schedule for the next couple of weeks of the festival is ferocious.” Guy continued as if they’d never shared that crazy moment. “Art offered to do most of the work to put the first presentation together.”

That got her back on track. That’s why he didn’t want her speaking? He considered her too inept, did he? Believed she couldn’t do what Art had undertaken to do? Avery suspected she was going to regret not leaping at the opportunity of escape Guy offered. Instead, her innate love for a challenge surged, and she found herself saying, “I can do that.”

He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked downright dubious. “Not only was Art doing two talks with me, he had a solo presentation planned.”

“On the importance of superior service—I know.”

“And he was contracted to look over the resort’s wine lists and compile a report of his findings about service levels,” Guy continued as though she hadn’t interrupted. “It will have to wait until he’s fit to come out here himself.”

“No, it won’t. Art and I discussed this, I’ll do it in his place. That won’t be any problem at all.”

A waiter offered Guy a glass of champagne. Unconsciously Avery noted that the waiter’s white jacket was pristine and carefully pressed, his handling of the tray deft. The resort staff were evidently well-trained.

Guy glanced at her still-full glass before helping himself from the proffered tray. “It’s a pity I don’t share your confidence,” he said in a clipped voice, and Avery’s approving smile to the waiter froze.

She turned her full attention back to the man whose reappearance in her life had caused such inner turmoil, caused so many memories and emotions, which she’d thought she’d suppressed, to waken.

“Oh?”

Avery cringed and dropped her gaze to stare at the bubbles rising merrily in the pale golden liquid in her own glass. Oh? Was that the best she could do? What had happened to her intelligence? Her wit? Her sass? Was she going to let this arrogant jerk walk all over her?

She was the one with a problem, not him!

She hated him.

Blindly she set her glass down.

She would be professional. Reasonable. And blow him away with her expertise. “Look, I’ve overhauled plenty of wine lists, I’ve trained junior sommeliers and other staff, I’ve done lots of public speaking.” She jabbed her right index finger against the fingers of her left hand as she counted off the list. “I’ve taught, and I’ve even had my own TV show. That should boost your confidence a little.”

“The TV show lasted all of four episodes.”

Avery colored. The show had been axed. Because the ratings hadn’t been good enough, she’d been told. She suspected there could have been more episodes—if she’d been prepared to sleep with the producer, when he’d made that suggestion. But that price had been too high. Avery had quit—despite Aunt Tilly’s disappointment. And the producer had found another—more accommodating—sommelier. It hadn’t surprised Avery when that show had ended in scandal and tears. Losing the program hadn’t been the first time her sex-kitten looks had mucked up her life.

Even Guy was giving her the kind of once-over that left her enraged … and uncharacteristically flustered. But by the time his gaze came back to meet her own furious gaze, his was filled with contempt. And something else. Something that caused her heart to leap.

Avery resisted it.

There was no room for this … this … unwanted feeling. She was over Guy Jarrod. He was a bastard. And she had no intention of ever returning to the misery he’d caused her.

She could do this. She knew it. But first she had to convince him.

Lifting her chin a notch, she readied herself for a fight. “Cuisine stated that the new wine list at your New York restaurant had been put together ‘with artistry and sophisticated style'. I wouldn’t deliver anything less here.”

“This isn’t Baratin, Avery. Jarrod Ridge has four restaurants and six bars. The selection of wines, beers and alcoholic beverages served in each of those needs to be overhauled, as you put it. Don’t forget I’ve read your résumé. You’ve never handled a project of this scope.”

He didn’t blink as he delivered his verdict in a calm, controlled voice. Avery knew he didn’t believe she was up for the task. She forced herself not to look away from that alarming scrutiny. “I’m sure I can discuss whether I’m capable of completing the task with whoever is in charge of overseeing the menus and service requirements.”

“That would be me.” His crooked smile held no amusement, even if it did cause two nearby women to give him admiring glances. “I’m looking at introducing new dishes, and the beverages need to be matched to give a perfect selection.”

“I’d be working with you?“

He nodded and raised his glass. “Do you want to toast to the success of our partnership?” The irony was acute.

Two could play that game. Avery reached for the glass on the table behind her and raised it with bravado.

“To success!”

Champagne splashed out, almost landing on her yellow silk dress.

“Careful!” Guy gripped her wrist with his free hand and the crisis was averted.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I would’ve hated to have ruined this dress.”

“That didn’t augur well.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Still want to stay?”

In truth, she was ready to run. She’d never admit that. Especially not to him.

“Of course.” She tilted up her chin. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

A fierce and stormy emotion flickered across his face. Then his thumb moved against her wrist, and his hold eased a degree. The frisson of awareness that shot through her was as unwelcome as the knowledge that they’d be working together—far too closely for Avery’s comfort—for the duration of her stay.

It would be an impossible situation.

She raised her hand, his fell away, and she took a gulp of champagne. Then sneezed.

“Steady.”

Her eyes were streaming.

“The bubbles always make me sneeze.”

“How unfortunate for a sommelier!”

She wiped her tears away with her fingertips. “That’s what my family thinks, too. It’s one downside of the job.”

“That’s why you’ve barely drunk any tonight—and why you never wanted champagne in the past.”

Arrested by his statement, Avery stared at him. He’d been watching her. For how long? And … why?

How could she work with a man she’d once upon a time hoped she was falling in love with? A man to whom her body unfurled like a sunflower to the sun. A man she now hated.

“Here, let me take that.”

Numbly she opened her hand and relinquished the glass. Guy set it back down on the table behind them.

How could she let Uncle Art down? He’d been the rock in her life. How could she turn her back on him when he needed her?

Avery swallowed. The short answer was, she couldn’t. “So—” Guy faced her again “—you’re staying then.”

She swallowed her objections. “I can take the heat in the kitchen,” she said rashly, “can you?”

There was a moment of throbbing silence. Then he said softly, “I can take anything you care to dish out.”

“You’re the chef, you’re the expert at dishing out.”

Avery didn’t care if he heard her disillusionment. Between Guy and his friend Jeff they’d shattered the dreams she’d spun around the man in front of her, the man she’d convinced herself was her perfect life partner.

That night Guy had sent Jeff to her for her birthday had made her grow up….

Pushing past him, she said, “Now, I need to go find Matt.”

Three

Day one down … just over three weeks more to endure.

Yet despite her dread about Guy’s presence, Avery had managed to successfully avoid him and her first full day at the Jarrod Ridge Food and Wine Gala had passed in a buzz of excitement. She’d found herself indulging in celebrity spotting like some wide-eyed teenager. There’d been the handsome hero of a popular soap, a pop diva with rainbow-streaked hair and a hunky, tanned tennis star.

In the afternoon, she’d sidled in to listen to the presentation her cousin Matt was giving, and joined him in the trendy sky lounge on the covered rooftop of Jarrod Manor for a too-quick drink afterward.

“This is the kind of world Mom always wanted for you, pumpkin.” Matt stretched his legs and lounged back in the leather armchair. “She was certain you’d be a star.”

Avery wrinkled her nose. “Despite all the classes, I never had any acting talent. I would’ve made an awful beauty queen—too short. And you know I hate being called pumpkin. I’m twenty-seven years old.” But there was no heat in the objection that had already been made a million times before.

Matt chuckled—as she’d known he would. “You really did look like a pumpkin when you arrived to live with us. Chubby and wearing orange dungarees—don’t know why Mom ever thought you’d win any of those baby pageants.”

“Chubby? Oh, you!” But she laughed up into his teasing face. “I was two—hardly a baby. And it’s your fault Aunt Tilly craved a little girl, you were all such hooligans.” As much as the four scruffy boys had overwhelmed her in the beginning, she’d grown to love them all—even her well-meaning aunt. El Dorado, the boutique vineyard her uncle had acquired shortly before her arrival, had become home.

“When do you leave for home?” Her cousins still based themselves at El Dorado—as did she when in California.

“I fly out first thing in the morning.” Matt unfolded himself from the armchair and rose, yawning, to his full height. “I’ve still got to prepare for my meeting tomorrow.”

Avery scrambled to her feet.

“I wish you could stay longer.” A wistful note crept into her voice. It was cowardly wishing Matt would stay to help her cope with Guy. Yet his departure felt like a desertion.

“No chance, pumpkin.” Matt threw an affectionate arm around her shoulders. “It was hard enough taking these two days out my schedule, but it was worth the exposure that today’s talk gave the business.”

“You did great.”

She gave Matt a fierce hug and hoped he hadn’t detected the desperation behind it. Those hopes were dashed as he held her at arm’s length and studied her face.

“Dad will be okay.” All teasing vanished, leaving his expression unexpectedly serious. “Don’t wear yourself down with worry.”

He’d sensed her unease but he’d attributed it to the wrong cause. Immediately guilt constricted her chest. She’d been so busy fretting about Guy, she’d hardly spared a thought for her uncle. Selfish!

Taking a deep breath she said. “Make sure your dad looks after himself. I don’t like that he’s ill.”

“He’s a tough old codger.” Matt gave her a squeeze. “He’ll be fine—you’ll see. Mom will coddle him to death. But I’ll give him your love when I see him tomorrow.”

Over Matt’s arm Avery found herself looking into a pair of stormy eyes. Guy Jarrod. Then the shutters came down, and all expression leached out, leaving her wondering if she’d imagined the flash of emotion.

Ignore him, she commanded herself. He’s not worth the heartache. She hoped she’d be able to follow her own advice in the weeks to come.

Avery made herself glance away from Guy’s blank stare to give her cousin a wobbly smile. “I’ve decided to spoil myself. I’ve booked a massage at the resort spa and I’ll have a soak in a hot tub afterwards. That should guarantee I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.”

“I suspect you haven’t done enough of that lately.”

“What do you mean?” She stared at her cousin in surprise.

“I’m not going to pry, but you came back from New York looking like a wraith. It was all we could do to stop Mom interrogating you.”

Avery felt herself flush. “You’re joking!”

“We love you, pumpkin. You’re family. If I ever meet the man who put that bruised look in your eyes, I’ll be giving him a few bruises of his own.”

Matt’s tone was light but his eyes were deadly serious. She didn’t dare glance past him to see where Guy was. If Matt knew that Guy had expected her to sleep with his friend, before returning to join the ménage à trois himself, her cousin would be ready to kill him.

She gave a dismissive laugh. “He was nothing!”

“Get over him,” Matt said gruffly.

“Oh, I intend to.” She smiled at him. “When you see me again I’ll be heart-whole and fancy-free. Who knows, later in the week I might go shopping … do a little sightseeing.”

“Or find yourself a hot lover.”

“Matthew!”

“If you’re going to live it up, pumpkin,” Matt grinned down at her, “Aspen is the place to do it. Indulge yourself. No regrets. And, don’t worry, I’ll keep you updated about Dad.”

“Thanks, you’re the best.” She stood on tiptoes and brushed her lips across his cheek in a gesture of gratitude and affection.

Giving up on wrestling her foolish need to search out Guy, Avery turned her head. To her relief the man who had haunted her nightmares was nowhere to be seen.

The sight of brass letters on the wall announcing Tranquility Spa was enough to ease some of the diabolical tension that had been building ever since Avery’s encounter with Guy yesterday.

The first thing Avery noticed was the calming sound of water as she entered the spa. Water trickled down stone fountains set in wall panels along the reception area. Between the fountains scenic paintings formed vistas of incredible beauty.

Two women were talking behind a long counter carved from pale, polished wood, and one turned as the front door clicked shut.

“Avery?”

The gold badge the woman wore read Melissa Jarrod, Manager. With her long, wavy blond hair and blue eyes there was little resemblance to Guy’s dark hair and metallic, almost black, eyes. Perhaps Melissa Jarrod was a cousin or married to one of his brothers.

Giving a hesitant smile, Avery said, “Yes, I have an appointment for a massage.”

Melissa glanced at the flat computer screen on the desk, and said to the nervous-looking woman beside her, “Rita, would you let Joanie know her client is here? I’m going to leave now, I’m so tired I can barely stand.” With a sweet smile to Avery she said, “Let me show you where your treatment room is.”

Melissa did look pale, Avery thought as she followed the other woman down a corridor where smaller wall fountains were set between wooden doors.

“You’re in the Red Room,” said Melissa. “The saunas and steam rooms are further along. I’d recommend fifteen minutes in one of the steam rooms after your massage, followed by a soak in a hot tub.”

“Sounds fabulous.” Avery had every intention of following that advice.

Melissa pushed the next door along open, and Avery glimpsed an interior painted a shade of welcoming red ochre. A huge seascape of a dramatic sunset dominated one wall, while a dark red massage bed with a soft throw stood in the foreground. Farther back sprawled a large, wood-paneled hot tub with an ice bucket resting in a black wrought-iron stand beside it. Three fat white candles cast a soft glow, adding to the womb-like warmth of the room.

“Oh, wow!”

The other woman laughed. “You may have gathered that our mission at Tranquility Spa is to ensure that you relax.”

Avery stepped into the embrace of the warm, sensuous room and gave a sigh of contentment.

“Can I pour you a glass of champagne?”

“No, but I’ll definitely help myself to some of those while I soak.” Avery pointed to the tray of dark chocolate truffles at the side of the tub. “What a heavenly, decadent treat.”

“You can change out of your clothes.” Melissa was smiling as she handed Avery a soft towel. “Joanie will be here in a few minutes to give you your massage.”

The massage passed in a delightful haze of well-being. Avery felt her muscles easing as the pent-up tightness dissipated under Joanie’s skilled fingers. Guy had loved stroking his hands along her back when they made love….

Yes, if she was brutally truthful, she’d missed the passion they’d shared. Missed laughing with him at the end of a day when they sat in the massive tub in his starkly modern apartment after sating themselves in his king-size bed. But she hadn’t been prepared to pay the cost that Guy had demanded.

A cost she’d never expected.

His promise that he had a surprise in store for her birthday had caused a surge of hope … after all, she’d fallen for him like a ton of bricks. Even though she’d sensed his reticence about commitment, she’d hoped.

He’d promised a surprise.

It was her birthday.

Maybe.

Avery had been almost too scared to hope.

Yet when she’d opened the door of Guy’s apartment that evening, the last thing she’d expected had been Jeff. She’d met Guy’s business partner twice before. Briefly. He’d seemed pleasant enough. What she had managed to piece together was that Guy and Jeff had started Go Green fueled by a desire to create a place where consumers could find all-green cookware and cooking technology for a green, clean diet. Avery loved the concept … and Guy was convinced that the corporation was already making a difference to people’s mindsets.

Yet the Jeff bouncing up and down on the doorstep hardly resembled the mild man she’d encountered previously. “Yes?” she asked.

“Guy asked me to drop in, he’s been held up at Baratin.”

Typical. Guy had gotten into the workaholic groove at his beloved Baratin and spending time with her on her birthday had been shoved onto the back burner.

Quashing her qualms about letting Jeff in, Avery stepped back. “Come in.”

Jeff followed her through the sky-lit lobby where the white walls were lined with modern abstracts into a spacious lounge with polished dark-wood floors, leather furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows.

“I’m to escort you down to Baratin for your birthday dinner in—” Jeff glanced at his ornate watch “—just under an hour.”

So Guy hadn’t forgotten about her birthday. The leap of joy was quickly followed by a feeling of letdown. He hadn’t cared enough to collect her himself for their date.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

Jeff flung himself down onto the closest couch and grinned up at her. “I try.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Bourbon. Neat. On ice. Thanks.”

Avery crossed to the tallboy that housed Guy’s bar. The clink of ice cubes followed by the gurgle of bourbon filling the glass broke the silence. When she turned it was to find Jeff examining her in a way he’d never done before.

A frisson of discomfort feathered along her spine.

Stop it. He’s Guy’s friend, his business partner, someone he trusts, she told herself. She handed the drink to Jeff. Before she could retreat his free hand snaked out and he hauled her onto his lap.

Then he was kissing her, wet, alcohol-drenched kisses that made her stomach turn, muttering fantasies that made her cringe. A furious struggle, and she was on her feet.

“Get out.”

He stood. “Don’t be so hasty, sweetheart.” Avery was trembling with outrage, fear … and something else.

“Go, and don’t come back.” She backed away. A glance showed her that her cell phone lay on the sideboard. “I’m calling Guy.”

Jeff laughed. “That’s not going to help you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He knows, sweetheart.”

Avery froze, her heart thumping in her chest. “Knows what?”

“He sent me, remember?”

“To play taxi driver.” She tossed her hair back.

“Oh, you are an innocent.” It didn’t sound such a good thing the way Jeff said it—and the way his eyes roved over her made her feel grubby. “Despite that fantastically sexy little body.”

“Guy wouldn’t want to hear you saying things like that.” He laughed again. “Guy sent me. I’m your birthday present.”

Horror shook her. “What do you mean?”

“Guy sent me to pleasure you. I’m to chauffeur you to Baratin when we’re done. Then we were going to feed you your favourite foods.” He licked his lips suggestively. “Afterwards all three of us were going to share dessert.” There was no mistaking his meaning. “Guy wanted it to be a birthday you’d never forget.”

Jeff reached for her. “No!” She slapped his hand away. His face contorted. “Come here.” As his hands clamped down on her shoulders, Avery kicked him in the shins. “Ouch, you—”

She didn’t wait to hear more. The front door seemed a mile away but she made it. Once outside she looked both ways before bolting for the stairwell. And cocked her head to listen, while her heartbeat slowed, until she was sure that Jeff hadn’t followed.

Then she brushed her fingers across her eyes, surprised to find no residue of tears.

This had been Guy’s surprise?

Even now, lying facedown on the massage bed, surrounded by the soft light of scented candles, she could still remember the maelstrom of emotions that had shaken her that night. By gifting his friend to her for the evening of her birthday and expecting her to sleep with Jeff, Guy had destroyed her trust.

Yet meeting him again here at Jarrod Ridge had proved she wasn’t immune from his effect on her, that she still desired him.

That discovery horrified her.

What kind of woman did that make her? How could she lust after such a jerk? And how could she reconcile that with her most secret desire for a loving husband and a clutch of tow-haired kids?

“Here’s a terry robe.”

Joanie’s voice stirred Avery from the conundrum threatening to short-circuit her brain. “Thank you.”

Turning away, the masseuse said, “I’ll fill the tub with hot water. The steam rooms are down the hall from the massage rooms. You can leave your belongings in here. I’ll give you an access card to get back in.”

The next fifteen minutes passed in a haze of heat. Avery couldn’t help thinking of the conversation she’d had with Matt.

“Get over him,” Matt had said.

And Avery was determined to do just that. By the time she left Jarrod Ridge it would be without a backward glance. She would exorcise this wretched awareness of the man. She would banish him from her thoughts … no matter what it took.

By the time Avery exited the steam room, filled with resolve, a sheen of moisture dewed her skin.

As she reached into the pocket of the robe for the access card to the treatment room where she’d had her massage, a masculine hand came down on the door in front of her, blocking her entry. Avery found herself face to face with the man who’d occupied so much of her recent thoughts.

“I’ve been looking for you. Rita said you were here.” Guy’s face was harder, more remote, than she’d ever seen it. The only evidence of the humor and amiability that had been so dear to her back in New York lay in the laugh creases around his eyes.

For a fragment of time her heart ached for what had been, what might have been, what was now forever lost.

No sign of laughter lingered in the steely gaze that roamed her giving no quarter. Avery became conscious that her face was cleansed of makeup and the spa’s white robe ended inches above her knees.

“I see you’ve already managed to find yourself a rich lover.”

Avery froze. Then, not deigning to answer, she knocked his hand off the door and pushed past him, seeking the sanctuary of the private room.

But Guy was quicker. Before she could slam the door in his face and lock it, he was inside, and his foot kicked the door shut behind him.

Balmy steam from the hot tub cocooned them, adding another dimension to the tension that pulsed between them. The warm reds that had appeared so welcoming suddenly seemed sensual and sultry. Avery’s heart started to pound. An acute feeling of vulnerability swamped her. She drew the toweling robe more tightly around her.

“Get out, Guy.”

Guy stalked closer. “Yesterday I thought it was my brother you were after. But by last night you’d found someone else. Did he share your bed?”

“What?”

“The Californian.”

“Californian—” Realization dawned. He was talking about Matt.

“Did he touch you? Love you?” The darkening eyes smoldered in the glow of the candlelight. “Pleasure you?” His hand came up and stroked her skin, causing a rush of shivers to follow in its wake.

Guy thought Matt was her lover.

Avery almost laughed. Then she took in the tight-pressed mouth, the flexing muscle in his jaw.

Help … he believed it. And it had made him furious. His fury ignited her own.

What right did he have to judge her? To leap to conclusions? She launched into attack. “Why?” she asked softly. “Are you jealous?”

The dark tumult in his eyes turned to flame.

In that instant a truly outrageous realization stunned her. Guy was jealous! Not because he cared for her, but because he thought she was sharing her body with someone else. Someone he hadn’t sanctioned …

Bastard!

“You—” His grim voice broke off as he advanced on her.

A thrill of all-too familiar and totally unwanted electricity shot through Avery. She stood her ground, refusing to back away. He was close, so close that she could feel the force of his breath, smell the tangy male scent of him, all intensified by the steam rising from the freshly filled hot tub.

His hands gripped her shoulders. Before she could protest, his mouth slanted across hers.

Mindful of her resolve to free herself of his thrall, Avery kept her lips primly shut, yet Guy made no attempt to force entry. Instead, after the first press, his lips softened, teasing hers, pressing little kisses along the sensitive seam. Despite her determination to resist him, he was too seductive. Every bit as good as she remembered from the halcyon days before it had all turned to dust. The familiar warmth lazily uncurled in her stomach and spread through her, leaving her craving more.

Too soon he’d raised his head.

“Did he kiss you like that last night?”

Before she could tell him that Matt wasn’t her lover but her cousin—almost a brother—that she’d grown up with, Guy’s mouth was back on hers. Hot. Voracious. Devouring. Her hands crept up around his neck, caressing the smooth male skin with her fingertips. He pulled back and sucked in a shuddering breath.

“No one kisses like that,” she whispered into the cavern of space that separated them.

The vibrating tension in his body eased a fraction. A hand cupped her cheek and he tilted her head back. Avery closed her eyes … waiting … waiting for his mouth to descend again.

“Look at me!”

Her lashes fluttered up. Reluctantly she met his gaze. An indefinable emotion lurked in the turbulent depths. Despite the warmth of the spa room, and the steam swirling around them, Avery shivered. This was not the easy-going restaurateur she’d thought herself in love with. She didn’t know this man.

“Not even Jeff?” he asked.

“What?” Avery blinked up at him in confusion.

“Forgotten how he kisses already?” There was a caustic bite to his tone.

“N-no.”

Forgotten? Guy sent me. I’m your birthday present. Then Jeff had breathed over her with boozy breath and touched her with hands that made her feel unclean. The words that had spewed from his mouth had made her feel dirty to her soul. I’m to chauffeur you to Baratin when we’re done.

How could she ever forget?

Was Guy jealous of the man he’d all but pimped her to? Well, she hoped he’d suffered the tortures of the damned. He’d destroyed her illusions. If he was jealous now, it was his own damn fault for opening a forbidden box that should have stayed shut.

He deserved to suffer.

The temptation to inflame his sexual possessiveness was too much. Avery gave him what she hoped looked like a seductive, kittenish smile. “I never kiss and tell.”

“You did more than kiss Jeff. You slept with him.”

She stretched her eyes wide. “Why the curiosity? Wish you’d been there? We almost called you to join in.”

The instant the words left her lips, Avery experienced a rush of regret. She’d thrown away the opportunity to tell Guy the real truth about how much she’d hated what had happened that fateful night.

But how could she recant now? How could she tell him her sarcasm had been prompted by hurt and anger at his ready acceptance that she’d slept with a man he’d sent to her? Pride wouldn’t let her. He could go to hell.

Guy didn’t love her. Had never loved her. It was enough to make her want to weep.

“Jeff told me that you’d been chasing him for weeks, and that night he couldn’t resist what you were offering.”

What?

Had he not sent Jeff to her? She gazed at Guy, searching for a chink in his shuttered face. But the only softness came from the flickering candlelight that danced over his skin, causing shadows to lurk under his cheekbones.

“That I offered?” she prompted.

Guy pushed a hand through his hair. “I was busy—”

“You were always busy.”

His jaw tensed. “Jeff called just as I was about to ring you to ask you to catch a cab. He offered to make the call for me and get the cab so I could finish what I was doing. I thought it was important.” His mouth twisted in a parody of a smile.

“So Jeff called me,” she said flatly.

“And you asked him to pick you up—only when he got there did he find out what you had in mind.”

“Of course.” Avery felt numb. He’d believed Jeff.

The man must be dumb. How could he not know what they’d discovered was special? Something she’d never found with another man? Yet he believed her capable of sleeping with Jeffrey … and Matt … at the drop of a hat.

She shivered.

“You’re cold.”

Not cold. Goosebumps from reaction. She was hurting, exposed and vulnerable. Unlike him. “Get into the hot tub,” he ordered. “With you here?”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Why not? There’s nothing I haven’t seen many times before.”

The biting sarcasm made her see red. All the objections that threatened to spill over fizzled out when he hit a button on the control dial and the jets started to froth.

Why not?

She’d told Matt that she was going to exorcise him.

No time better than the present.

With a reckless awareness of playing with fire, Avery dropped her terry robe. She was naked beneath. She heard Guy suck in air, but refused to turn her head to gauge his response. Instead she stepped over the lip of the tub into the churning water of the sunken spa.

And wondered if she’d ventured too far.

Guy could’ve sworn his heart ceased when Avery’s robe slipped down her glorious body.

Any hope he’d nursed that Avery had not been playing cruel games with him and Jeff as her pawns had been extinguished by the brazen admission that she’d seduced poor Jeff.

It only took a glimpse of her naked form for the rage to flare into mind-blowing sexual hunger. Given that she was so little, Avery had the longest damned legs he’d ever seen. His eyes followed the sleek bare length to the delectable curve of her butt. She was perfect. Absolutely god-dammed perfect.

He wanted her. Damn, he ached with wanting. It had been too long….

The tub swallowed her as she settled down, the long legs and curvy body disappearing beneath the frothing water that gleamed in the light of the candles. She leaned her head against the edge of the tub and gave a sigh.

Only the top of her breasts were visible, yet even that was enough to make him hard.

After her betrayal he’d told her he never wanted to see her again. He’d been certain if he saw her, he’d throttle her. Famous last words. No doubt she planned to make him eat them, morsel by morsel. Well, here he was achingly aroused and dying to kiss that sassy provocative mouth again.

Damn.

She was here for the duration of the Food and Wine Gala. Why not sate this inconvenient hunger for her that gnawed at his gut like a wild, feral beast? This time he would make her as mad for him as she’d made poor, broken Jeff. The fool had risked everything for her. His friendship with Guy. Their business, Go Green.

Guy had been ready to plant a fist in Jeff’s face for his perfidy until he’d realized how bad his friend had it. Jeff had told him about how Avery had teased and tempted him for weeks, until he’d been unable to resist her summons.

What would he have done if Avery had opened the door in nothing more than the bustier and G-string Jeff had told him she’d worn to welcome him?

Guy could understand Jeff’s desperation. Would he have reacted any differently to her seduction? Hell, if he climbed into that spa beside her, he’d touch her and it would be over in moments.

Dragging in a breath he wrestled for control. Instead of allowing himself to be drawn into her trap, he dropped to his knees beside the sunken tub and started to knead her shoulders. This time it would be on his terms.

Avery started, she moaned.

“Good?”

“Mmm.”

“Relax, let the warm water ease all the cricks.”

“I already had a massage—that helped,” she murmured so softly he had to bend forward to catch the words. “But how can I resist?”

Guy could see the edge of her pouting mouth. Her hair fell in soft tendrils about her face, and her features had relaxed.

He growled, a rough, throaty sound. “I better tell my sister to start a service offering neck rubs in the tub.”

“Melissa is your sister? You mentioned brothers yesterday. I didn’t even know you had a sister.”

“You never asked,” he pointed out.

“I suppose.”

“We had better things to talk about.”

It was true, he realized as he massaged her flesh. Their focus had been on the white-hot passion that had exploded between them, consuming them in an affair that had erupted before they could draw breath—let alone get to know each other.

But her silence made him feel a pang of guilt. Maybe they should’ve talked more …

“I’ve got another sister, too,” he offered. “Erica. She’s my half sister actually.” He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Erica. Until now he’d maintained a friendly, but definitely cool, distance. “We only discovered her existence after my father died.”

“I heard about your father. I’m sorry.”

His father had died less than a week after she’d slept with Jeff and walked out on him. It had been the worst week of his life. But Avery didn’t need to know that.

“We weren’t close.” Guy dismissed her sympathy.

“It must’ve still been hard to discover he had another child.”

“It was.” Guy forced himself not to be abrupt. “The knowledge that my father had an affair so soon after mom’s death was—” He broke off, reluctant to supply the words that might reveal any lingering vulnerability.

After a moment’s pause, Avery said carefully, “It must have been hard for Erica, too.”

Her voice held no judgment, she simply stated a fact. He wished he could see her expression. “It couldn’t have been too bad for her. She inherited an equal share in Dad’s estate. She’s a wealthy woman now.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

Avery of all people expected him to swallow that?

Guy found a knot and rubbed it, and Avery winced. He slowed his movements, his fingers lingering on flesh that had taken a golden glow under the candlelight.

“Erica found love, too.” A note of cynicism entered his voice. “She’s engaged to Christian Hanford now. The family lawyer,” he tacked on, in case he wasn’t making sense. Stroking her skin had that effect on him. Touching her made him forget everything else existed.

She was undoubtedly a sorceress. A magic woman who held him trapped in her secret sensuality.

“Where are you staying?” Guy changed the subject. He didn’t want to talk about Erica, about the uncomfortable emotions his father’s affair aroused and the sense of helpless loss that his father’s death evoked.

“At Jarrod Manor,” she replied, a little drowsily.

“So am I.”

Avery stiffened under the stroke of his fingers. “Oh.”

“Relax,” he said. “It’s the largest lodge. No danger of finding me—unless you want to.” He didn’t add that he was staying in one of the family suites on the top floor, which had their own card-access elevator. There was little chance of Avery’s finding his suite by accident.

“But you only need to ask reception to find out where I’m staying—you’re a Jarrod, they’d tell you whatever you wanted.”

His hands stilled. “Do you want me to ask?”

“No!”

The water swirled around her as she moved in agitation. For a brief instant Guy caught a glimpse of pale pink nipple before she hastily sank beneath the bubbling water.

“On second thought, you probably don’t even need to ask, do you? You’d have access to all the computer and reservation systems—and key cards.”

“I’d never enter your room—or any guest’s room—without an invitation.” Guy was appalled by her assumption that he’d abuse his position—or the privacy of a guest. “You’d have to ask.”

“Promise?”

The look she slanted up at him almost undid him.

“Yes!”

She relaxed with a sigh, her head dropping back against the lip of the bath, the candlelight giving her blonde hair a rich patina. “I believe you.”

I believe you. Her instant trust caused a rush of elation. Wordlessly, he rubbed his fingers in little circles along the apex of her shoulders, seeking out the tell-tale knots, massaging them. Her flesh was soft and supple beneath his fingers, and he savored the subtle, flowery scent that clung behind her ears, released by the sultry, heat of the steam, tempting him to set his lips against the silken skin.

Guy let out the breath he’d been holding. The tendrils at her nape lifted, and a rush of gooseflesh danced across her skin.

Unable to resist, he bent his head and placed his mouth against her nape.

Avery gave an audible gasp.

But no objection followed. He parted his lips and planted a row of open-mouthed kisses on her water-dewed skin, aware of the sound of her quickening breathing. His hands slipped forward around the curve of her body, and his fingers trailed over the soft, rounded mounds of her breasts.

She drew a sharp, jagged breath.

“Avery,” he whispered, “invite me to join you in that damned tub.”

Four

The one thing that Avery had learned about Guy in the month she’d shared his apartment in New York was that every inch of his body was pure, sinful temptation … and she was incapable of resisting any of it. Tonight was no exception.

But tonight she knew exactly what she was doing … knew that this was not about dreams—only desire … and getting over Guy. She’d think of it as therapy.

“Join me?” she invited, her pulse skittering. “There’s plenty of space.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He was already on his feet. The jeans and T-shirt he wore were discarded in a flash. He kicked off his boxers, and stepped into the tub.

Once he stood inside, the tub shrank. He was tall and big … six feet one inch of honed male muscle. Aroused male muscle, Avery noted with an awed, heart-stopping glance. Her nipples peaked. Her pulse picked up, and the air surrounding them became heavy with unspoken messages.

Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all.

But it was too late to undo the dare she’d instigated the moment she’d dropped that robe. If she told him she’d made a mistake, he’d laugh. Or accuse her of being a tease.

Her best choice was to tough it out. A few minutes of polite, uneasy silence, then she could chicken out with dignity, climb out the tub, say goodnight, and that would be that.

Avery sank lower into the water, and shut her eyes.

Except it wasn’t quite that easy.

Images of his naked form warmed by soft candle flame danced across her eyelids. The smooth golden skin. The sculpted muscles. His burgeoning erection.

This was how she was getting over the man?

She bit back a gasp, and concentrated on mentally ranking the merlot wines she’d tasted today. She lost interest after rating the third wine. Ears straining, she tried to figure out what he was doing.

Was he looking at her?

The silence throbbed like a writhing beast. Unwanted memories of the nights she’d spent in Guy’s bed, making love, entwined her. Now he was naked, a foot away from her, probably eating her alive with his eyes.

Avery couldn’t breathe.

She knew she had to exorcise him. Forever.

“Did you get a chance to make some notes for our presentation today?” When Guy finally broke the silence, she jumped, and wavelets lapped at her throat.

He wanted to talk business?

Avery cracked one eye open and sneaked a peek through the billowing steam. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Guy was lying back, his eyes closed, looking utterly relaxed. She’d steeled herself to resist him—tell him to go to hell—and the damn man was practically asleep.

And here she was back to being all knotted up, fully expecting him to leap on her!

Cheated.

It wasn’t—couldn’t possibly be—disappointment that crawled through her, could it? She was relieved that she didn’t have to fight him off. Wasn’t she?

Hmm. If she were absolutely, confidentially truthful she was a teensy-weensy bit miffed.

It made no sense.

“So did you?”

“Uh, yes. I made some notes.”

Collecting her scattered wits, she tried to remember what the thrust of them had been. And gave up. While she’d been scrambling for her sanity, Guy had opened his eyes. His gaze locked with hers. Lord only knew what he’d seen in her eyes, because his mouth curved up into a slow, knowing smile.

“Miss me?”

“Today?” She tried to laugh it off as a joke. “I didn’t get a chance. Especially since I used the few spare minutes I had to work out what we were going to say.”

“Pity.” Under the water his hand landed on her bare thigh.

A rush of emotion filled her. Desire. Confusion. Anger. All tangled up in a mass of contrary, conflicting feelings. Avery reminded herself of all the reasons why it was a bad idea to let this happen. For sure, she would get hurt again.

But her desperate caveats didn’t help. His fingers trailed up … along her belly. Her breath caught as they skirted precariously close to the underside of her breast.

Guy Jarrod was a drug and her body craved its fix.

She knew she should be telling him “No”.

Yet insanely when his fingers snagged hers, and tugged, she allowed him to draw her through the bubbling water toward him.

“I thought about you.”

Her insides melted. “I doubt it,” she said snippily. “You had too much to do.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about today—I’m talking about the past seven weeks.”

At the admission, blood roared in her ears. Guy had kept count of time? Her resistance crumbled a little more.

“I keep remembering this….”

His fingers surrounded her nipple, and the little traitor hardened.

Guy groaned. His other arm came round her and he drew her close until her body slid over him breast-against-chest, her nipples brushing the water-sleek muscle under his skin.

“So responsive,” he murmured into her ear, and shivers feathered down her spine. “How could I ever forget this?”

The hope plummeted.

It was the sex he’d thought about—not her.

A cold, dampening wave of disappointment swamped her. What had she expected? An avowal of love? For him it had always been all about sex, nothing else. Guy had no idea of the fantasies she’d woven around him.

Fantasies involving love … family … and forever after.

She must’ve been dreaming. Or drugged. By sex? Yet right now, sex was almost enough.

Sensation shuddered through her as his mouth closed on her tight nipple. Something close to ecstasy coursed through her blood, and she gave a moan of dark delight.

Nothing wrong with sex.

Especially since this time there’d be no emotional component. It would be nothing more than an exorcism of a very bad habit.

Her legs entwined with his. Breaking the connection of his mouth on the tingling bud of flesh, Guy linked his hands behind her neck, and she again came into full, too-tantalizing contact with him. The softness of her breasts again brushed against his chest, and arousal spiraled. He pulled her head down, and she could no longer resist.

His tongue swept across her bottom lip. Lust surged through her when the tip of her tongue met his. He sucked it into his mouth, and then plundered the warm heat of her mouth, seeking out every corner.

His fingers explored the indent of her spine, then moved under her belly and slid between her legs. At the first intimate touch she stiffened reflexively, then her legs parted. She was twenty-seven years old, too old to fool herself that Guy could make all the silly, romantic dreams of love-for-life come true. She’d left those behind the night of her birthday.

She was a woman, not a girl.

With a woman’s wants.

It was time to recognize that her desperation to find love was nothing more than a ticking biological clock—an animal need to find a mate to help her raise the brood of children she’d always yearned for.

The kiss ended. His touch did not. It was expert, knowing, and gave exactly what she craved. Opening her eyes, she saw that the taut mask of desire had transformed Guy’s face. Not even candle glow could soften the hunger.

He wanted her.

She wanted him.

At least there was honesty in desire. Tonight she’d settle for lust … and deal with the fallout tomorrow.

Stretching out a hand, her fingers lightly stroked the hard, bold length of him beneath the silken water.

Guy stopped caressing her, and used both hands to yank her up. “Stop! If you do that it will all be over way too soon.”

She gave him a wicked smile. “And we can’t have that.” “No,” he growled.

Avery bent forward and outlined his lips with the teasing tip of her tongue. His arms tightened around her, bringing her softness in contact with the hard rock-like ridge of his arousal. He raised his hips, and the friction was exquisite.

Another shift, and her body sheathed his.

His head went back, the tendons on his neck drew tight. Leaning forward, she tongued them, tasting the moisture of the water, the slight tang of salt from his skin.

He was moving below her, his body sliding within hers, heat twisting into a blaze of unbearable pleasure. The pressure built and built until her climax rushed toward her, at the same time as Guy shuddered beneath her.

Avery was floating on a cloud of pleasure.

Her skin was flushed a rosy shade, and her body was soft and pliant. She felt like she’d died and gone to heaven.

“So what about making this a more lasting arrangement?” Guy whispered, cupping her chin with his hand.

The dreamy, heavenly feeling evaporated. Her eyes popped open and, shocked, she gazed down into Guy’s smiling eyes.

“A more lasting arrangement?”

Avery almost forgot to breathe. This was what she’d wanted … hoped for … those two toe-curling weeks in New York, before the rug had been ripped out from under her on the night of her birthday.

What was wrong with her? Did she want to marry a man who thought her easy, a conniving gold digger? A man who’d wanted to share her in a tryst with his friend?

The Guy she’d imagined herself in love with didn’t exist.

“Marriage is a big decision,” she said finally, slithering off him to sit beside him. His hand fell away.

“I never meant marriage?” Guy’s smile slipped. The intimacy between them widened into a chasm. “Don’t make more out of it than it needs to be, Avery. There’s no reason why we can’t enjoy each other for as long as it lasts.”

Avery’s jaw dropped. This only demonstrated one more difference between them. A more lasting arrangement had different meanings to her and Guy. For him it hardly lasted past tomorrow … nothing more than hot sex with the gold-digging ex. For her it had meant a surge of hope.

Stupid.

Emotionally, Guy wasn’t available. To be fair, he’d always made it clear that he wasn’t in the market for a long-term relationship. She’d simply believed she could change his mind.

Her mistake.

Say no. Now!

Yet if she did say no, she’d always wonder.

What if.

No regrets.

Drowning herself in dead-end yearnings wasn’t going to get her over the man. What had Matt said last night? If you’re going to live it up, pumpkin, Aspen is the place to do it. Indulge yourself.

Avery bit her lip.

She didn’t want to indulge herself with just any one … she wanted Guy. Her body wanted Guy. So why not give in? And get over him?

“So what do you think?” His hand brushed her leg under the water. Clearly he’d decided she would go along with it. Her indignation flared up all over again.

Her good sense returned. “And what happens when the festival ends? When it’s time for me to leave?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter? Let’s take it one day—” his eyes grew slumberous “—and one night at a time.”

Yes, an affair would suit him just perfectly.

“I’d want to think about that.”

His look of surprise would’ve been comical if Avery had felt like laughing.

“I’m sure there’s enough work in all the exclusive Aspen resorts and restaurants to keep you busy for a while. I’m sure I can help you secure some contracts.”

“I’m sure you can,” she muttered, her irritation with him escalating. Didn’t he have any idea how that would look? People would take one look at her, at her obvious closeness to Guy and she’d be written off as a millionaire’s paid-for mistress. The professional reputation she’d worked so hard to establish would be gone in a puff of smoke.

Of course, it was partially her own fault. She should never have fallen into his bed so quickly. But she’d been unable to resist him. She’d thought he was her soul mate.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Discovering Guy still set her on fire would make it so easy to agree. She wasn’t caving in so easily this time. She stood up and the water streamed off her. Conscious of Guy’s smoldering gaze, she squared her shoulders. “I’m not sure I want to stay in Aspen.”

“Why not? You know you want to.” The corners of Guy’s mouth curled up. He reached up and ran a finger down her leg until it came to rest in the hollow behind her knee. “I’m here.”

His arrogant certainty took her breath away. She stepped away, over the lip of the hot tub. Picking up her terry robe she slid her arms into the sleeves and yanked the sash into a knot, then said brightly, “And so will I be—until the end of the month but I can’t guarantee anything past that.”

“Maybe by then the flame would have burned itself out.”

She could only hope.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “And maybe I’ll be homesick for California.”

“There’s that, too.” Reserve entered his tone and the slumberous warmth seeped out of his eyes. “Not even this kind of chemistry will survive the distance. In terms of my father’s will, I have to stay in Aspen. So we’ll only have the time you’re here.”

Lifting her shoulder, Avery let it fall carelessly. “Working with me every day, you’ll have had enough of my company.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” But Guy’s expression was brooding.

So he wasn’t happy about that? Good. Because she wouldn’t concede more than she already had. Even though she was unbearably tempted to settle for the affair he offered.

Sashaying away from him took every bit of nerve she possessed. She tossed her reply over her shoulder. “I’ll consider your offer. But don’t hold your breath.” He deserved to sweat.

Avery didn’t know what she was going to decide. One part of her, the part full of defiant bravado, was dying to say yes … have glorious get-over-him sex and walk away, sated and smiling. Cured. The other more cautious part of her was terrified she’d be addicted for life.

And where would that leave her?

At the door, his voice arrested her. “Uh, I meant to ask. Any consequences?”

“Consequences?” She swung around and stared at him blankly. He’d almost broken her heart. Did that count? Or did that only rank as mere collateral damage and therefore … inconsequential?

“Pregnancy,” he said a trifle impatiently from the steaming tub as she continued to gaze at him.

Oh. “I’m not pregnant.”

Thank heavens for that!

“Good.” He gave her a thin smile. “That’s one complication neither of us need at this stage of our lives.”

Speak for yourself. But Avery knew better than to voice her soul-deep yearning for a child … a family. Guy would never understand.

The water swirled as he rose. Avery’s eyes widened, but she forced herself not to look away from the sight of the water droplets running down his chest … over his flat, muscled stomach. Despite everything he’d done, she really did still want him. God. She was not going to survive this.

“I almost forgot. Art was going to come along to the first of the balloon landings tomorrow—we do a champagne breakfast on landing and I have some ideas for a new menu.” Her breaking dismay must’ve shown on her face because Guy added with a mocking smile, “You don’t need to come if you don’t want.”

How early could it be?

“I’ll be there,” she said, pursing her mouth. “What time?”

“The ascent is at dawn.” His grin deepened at her horrified groan. “I haven’t forgotten you’re not a morning person. Dress for comfort—jeans, boots and a jacket work best.”

In one bound he was over the edge of the hot tub. Avery didn’t wait another second, she fled.

Five

To Guy’s surprise Avery was already waiting in the lobby early on Sunday morning, studying the framed photos of the celebrity guests that had been taken every season since the resort opened.

She must’ve sensed him because she swung around at his approach. To his surprise, the Avery who peered at him resembled a sleepy, fluffy owl rather than the svelte, petite doll he was more accustomed to. She was even wearing spectacles—something he’d never seen her don in daylight.

At his curious look, she said, “I didn’t get enough sleep for my contact lenses to be comfortable. I’ll put them in later.”

“You don’t need them.”

He suspected she’d suffered lack of sleep for the same reason as he had. That quick coupling in the spa hadn’t been nearly enough; he’d wanted her in his bed, all night long. Lust bolted through him. Just in time he stopped himself from babbling that she looked just as beautiful with glasses as without.

Not flattery, but true, he realized with a slight sense of shock as he inspected her.

Wearing figure-hugging white jeans and a cropped denim jacket, she glowed with vitality. The glasses simply added a scholarly twist to the sexy package. The hint of studious, good girl added by the glasses only served to accentuate the simmering sexuality that her pouty mouth and curvaceous body radiated.

To his relief, the group booked to go ballooning trooped into the lobby, providing a much-needed distraction from just how much of his thoughts Avery consumed. But not before Guy took in the appreciative smile one of the men bestowed on her. A sharp pang of annoyance caused him to turn away, before he snarled at a guest of the resort.

Hot damn but he had it bad.

Shoving his hands into his jeans’ pockets, Guy hunched his shoulders and headed through the open, double glass doors, past the sleepy doorman in blue-and-gold livery, and out into the crisp, cool dawn air. Autumn was not yet here, but soon it would be.

To one side of the Manor Lodge, on a wide concrete apron that doubled as a helipad, he made out the figures of three pilots and a few members of the chase crew tending to the colorful nylon envelopes spread out on the concrete, while wicker baskets waited for passengers. The rest of the chase crew, including the resort staff who would be attending to the state-of-the-art catering, stood around joking and chatting and drinking coffee from paper cups.

An engine-driven fan droned to life and the red envelope of the closest balloon began to inflate. Minutes later the burners started to hiss, heating the cold air, and the envelopes rose above the baskets amidst whoops of delight from the guests. Twenty-odd guests quickly sorted themselves into three groups and entered the baskets to pose for last-minute photos and wave to well-wishers.

Once the first balloon started to ascend, the others swiftly followed.

“Isn’t that simply stunning?”

Avery spoke from behind Guy as fingers of sunlight poked over the mountain ridge behind them and caressed the vivid balloons with morning light, brightening the dawn sky to a blaze of red, magenta and yellow.

Guy turned. The blue of her eyes was blinding, and her smile caused a fresh rush of heat. He swallowed. “You can go up one morning if you want,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse even to his own ears.

She shook her head. “Never in a million years. I’m afraid of heights.”

“You?” Guy gave a choke of laughter. “I can’t imagine you afraid of anything.”

Although Avery might be delicate and fine-boned, she could be as fierce and fiery as a tigress with cubs. That thought caused him to grin—because Avery was the least maternal woman he’d ever met. It had been a major reason for his attraction to her back in New York. She was so focused on her career—which suited him just fine. He’d made a habit of steering clear of starry-eyed women with marriage written all over them in diamond-bright letters.

“I get dizzy,” she said with clear regret. “So you’ll never catch me up there.”

“In a balloon you don’t get that vertigo feeling.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Really! The ride is smoother than I can ever describe. You move with the wind. No swaying or jostling. So never say never.”

“Forget it, Guy!”

“Sometimes one needs to take risks, walk a little on the wild side.”

She took a step away from him and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I’ve done some dumb things in my life, but this sounds too wild for me.”

Her face had closed up.

Was she talking about sleeping with Jeff … or what had happened last night between them? He had no intention of discussing Jeff—the anger hadn’t yet settled. “I never pegged you for a ‘fraidy cat,'” he taunted gently in an effort to bridge the chasm that suddenly yawned between them.

“Too bad. You’re not talking me into this.” She hunched her shoulders. “I’m too risk-averse.”

Risk-averse? Avery? Puzzled, he frowned at her. “Not sure I swallow that.”

She glowered at him. “Because I leapt into bed with you the first day we met? Not my smartest move, I’ll admit. It’s contaminated everything you think about me.”

Did she count their affair as one of the dumb mistakes she’d made? That offended him.

“Contaminated? Hardly!” He moved closer to her, and lowered his voice to a husky growl. “Hey, let me tell you, there was nothing wrong with what we did together in New York. It was one of the most memorable times of my life. And last night was pretty damned amazing, too.”

He wasn’t lying.

He’d missed her, dammit.

Laying a hand along her cheek, he cupped it in his palm. “You’re so honest in bed, there’s none of the pretence women often play at.”

For a moment he thought she was going to fling herself into his arms. There was a luminous expression in her eyes that made his chest tighten in a way that was new … and more than a little disconcerting.

She started to say something, then she pulled away. “Not here, Guy, we’re in public.”

Annoyance jabbed him at her stubborn insistence to keep him at a distance. “Are you too scared to let anyone know that we’re—” he searched for a word to describe the scorching electricity they shared “—lovers?”

She snorted. “Lovers? That implies an intimacy we don’t share.”

Her dismissal was like a burr beneath a quarterhorse’s tail. “Nothing wrong with the pleasure we’ve shared. And which we could continue to share.” If she stopped being so darned pigheaded. But he didn’t add that.

Nor did he point out that for someone as risk-averse as Avery claimed to be they’d taken a hell of a risk last night. It had been out of character for him—not because he feared risks, but because he took responsibility for his actions. All his actions. Last night was the first time in his life that he’d had sex without a condom—he’d never done that even in his most reckless teen years.

While he knew from their past that Avery protected herself against pregnancy, he’d risked his own health.

It wouldn’t happen again. Ever. He didn’t need the kind of consequences that might flow from such spur-of-the-moment stupidity.

But damn, it had been good….

Instead of looking at him, she tipped her head back. The early morning sun turned the ends of her eyelashes to gold. “I don’t need to experience life from up there,” she said, changing the subject. “I can do it perfectly well with both feet on the ground.”

“Then you’ll never see the fields rolling out under you, never touch the leaves on the treetops, nor see the elk grazing on the mountaintops—and that’s losing out as far as I’m concerned.” From the set of her chin, he could see he didn’t appear to be getting anywhere. “If you tried it, you might find it worth it. The view is fantastic from up there—a whole different perspective. You can see for miles in every direction.”

“Sounds like you enjoy it.”

“I go every year during the festival.” Except that wasn’t true. Not anymore. “At least, I used to take a ride every year,” he amended. “I haven’t been home for a while.”

At last she looked at him, her scrutiny intense, making him shift uncomfortably.

“I was busy.” The unspoken question in her eyes caused him to prevaricate. “Come on, the chase crews are on the move.”

Striding across the concrete, he reached in his jeans’ pocket for the keys to a black SUV with the name Jarrod Ridge emblazoned on the side. Once they were both inside he started the vehicle and pulled in behind the second minivan that contained the catering crew.

Avery was perched on the edge of her seat. The tight lines had left her mouth and he could sense her rising excitement. “Is the landing spot pre-arranged?”

Guy laughed. “If only! The crew in the first vehicle are in radio contact with the pilots and have a rough idea where the balloons will come down. But it’s never exact because the pilots are at the mercy of the winds.”

She snorted. “And that’s supposed to reassure me about going up there?”

“The pilots are very experienced—they’re also in touch with air traffic control at the local airport.”

Avery fell silent for a few minutes. When she spoke again it was to sigh and say, “It is beautiful out here.”

Guy had to agree. The sun was rising quickly, illuminating the meadows in the valley and the jutting mountain peaks. “Just wait a few weeks until fall arrives and the aspens turn gold—it’s spectacular.” “I’ll be gone by then.”

Not if he had anything to do with it. Avery owed him—and he wasn’t going to let her go until he was good and ready. “We’ll see,” he growled. “I’m still holding my breath.” There was an uneasy pause.

Finally Avery broke it. “You clearly love it here. What kept you from returning all those years?”

So she intended to avoid the tension that bristled between them? Guy was itching for a confrontation … one that might explode into passion. Make her say yes. Maybe her course was wisest. For now.

Keeping his focus on the road, he said in the most even voice he could muster, “Work. After leaving school I studied haute cuisine in France, then worked for several years in London, before returning to the States to open Baratin. There wasn’t time to come to Aspen.”

“'The finest French restaurant on the east coast'. Or at least that’s what Cuisine magazine called it.”

The accolades didn’t ease Guy’s guilt. “This past month was the longest I’ve spent home in almost two decades.”

Home, funny that he still thought of Jarrod Ridge as home. Yet he’d only returned because of the terms of his father’s will. If he and his brothers and sisters didn’t stay, they would lose out on their inheritance.

None of them were ready to forfeit that.

Her hand brushed his leg, hovered, then settled on his thigh. Oh, hell. His muscles clenched involuntarily under the tantalizing pressure of her fingertips.

“Guy, your father knew you loved him.”

Her words wiped out the pleasure her touch had bestowed. Unerringly, she’d honed in on the crux of his guilt and pain. “Did he? I’m not so sure.”

“You saw him before he died?”

“I was too late.”

And not for the first time.

He couldn’t stand to see the pity in Avery’s eyes. God help him if she saw all the way to his soul and the festering regret.

If only.

“But you spoke to him while we were—” she hesitated “—together. I even took a message for you to call your dad.” She sounded rueful. “You know what? I never even realized I was talking to the legendary Donald Jarrod.”

Just as well.

Otherwise he might never have discovered that all Avery wanted was a man made of gold. She would’ve taken care to hide her avaricious streak from him, would never have gone after Jeff. He didn’t voice the cynical thought. Instead he swung the SUV left into a lane lined with poplars.

“I saw my father not long before I met you. He came to New York.” Because Guy had refused to go to Aspen. “He wanted me to take over running all the bars and restaurants at Jarrod Ridge.” He gave a crooked smile. “I refused. Then he died. Now I’m doing what he asked, anyway.”

“And you wish you’d told him yes while he was alive.”

Bull’s eye.

Guy swung the wheel, pulling the SUV onto the shoulder of the road, then turned in his seat to face her.

The understanding and empathy that glimmered in her eyes nearly undid him. He forced out a shuddering breath, and a heartbeat later he hauled her into his arms.

“Your father knows you loved him,” she murmured against his parka.

That uncertainty lay at the root of Guy’s guilt. He’d resisted all his father’s calls to return. Deep down he’d blamed his father for driving them apart after his mother’s death. “I doubt it—even though I tell myself that one day we’ll meet again, I’m not even sure that I believe that either. But thanks.”

With a sigh, he set her away from him.

Then, narrowing his gaze until he located the minivans in the distance, he put the SUV back into gear and trod on the gas to close the gap.

“Guy, my parents died in a boating accident when I was a two-year-old.”

“I didn’t know that.” She’d never told him that—he wondered what other vital, formative information she’d withheld.

“Uncle Art used to tell me I carried them with me, in my heart. They were with me all the time. But that worried me—I didn’t want them in my heart, I wanted to know they were up there.” Avery pointed through the windshield to the blue sky overhead. “It’s so perfect, so blue, so clear. How could there not be heaven and angels? I used to tell Uncle Art that one day I’d go there to visit them.”

So she still believed in angels and ever-after. How’d he missed this softer, more idealistic side to her? Guy wondered what other illusions she still clung to. “You wanted to visit them up there even though you’re scared of heights?”

A quick sideways glance revealed her smile and the dimple in her cheek. “You know, I never gave that a thought—I told my Aunt I could catch a plane from LAX.”

Guy couldn’t help himself, he gave a shout of laughter.

High above where the balloons floated sunrays glinted off a plane. “Matt is somewhere up there,” Avery said suddenly.

He sobered. “Matt?”

“My cousin.” There was an odd note in her voice. “You’ve seen him.”

He couldn’t remember meeting her cousin. One thing his father’s death had brought home was it was often better to say nothing than to mouth an inane bunch of platitudes at someone’s loss. First her parents, then her cousin, Matt. He decided to keep it factual.

“I don’t remember meeting him. Was it in New York?”

“No, last night. In the sky lounge.”

Confused, he slowed and turned his head to stare at her.

“Dark hair. Tall.” She held her hand above her head, almost touching the roof of the SUV. “We shared a drink. You came in. And left before I could introduce you. He was at the champagne-and-oyster party the previous night, too. He flew home today.”

Her cousin. He switched his attention back to the road. The man who’d hugged her … was her cousin Matt.

Not dead.

And not her lover.

Guy felt himself flush. After a moment of feeling like a complete idiot, he laughed. “You should have told me.” “And ruined your fun?”

The agony of emotion that had stabbed him when she’d embraced Matt last night had been anything but funny. “Not nice,” he said reprovingly.

Avery sounded unrepentant. “Serves you right for jumping to conclusions.”

“When you said he was up there, I thought you meant he was dead. Like my father.”

He nosed the SUV through an open gate into a field and came to a stop beside the chase vehicles. By the time he got to the passenger door, Avery was already on the ground.

“Guy—” she touched his arm “—I’m so sorry.”

Guy wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want her feeling pity for him. He wanted her teasing humor back. Everyone had been pussyfooting around the family since his father’s death almost six weeks ago.

“There’s a lot to do,” he said gruffly. “And almost two dozen hungry people who have just come off the high of a lifetime to feed.”

Guy was right. It was hectic.

After the balloonists landed the pilots shepherded them together for a celebration ceremony. Avery was conscious of the wonder on the faces of the new initiates, but there was no time to watch the ceremony as Guy and members of the Jarrod Ridge catering crew whipped up a scrumptious gourmet breakfast.

Mimosas—the orange juice and champagne fizzing in tall glasses, slices of melon, eggs Benedict, and bagels with smoked salmon and cream cheese were among the delicacies spread out on the tables that had been set up and laid with white linen and gleaming silver cutlery.

“How artistic it looks.” Avery stood back to admire the effect. “I don’t know why you think the menu needs overhauling. It’s perfect.”

“Delicious, too, I hope.”

She laughed at Guy’s droll comment. “That’s a given. Food always tastes better outdoors.” “That so?”

She nodded emphatically. “Definitely so.”

“We’ll have to test that theory out sometime.”

The first of the balloonists arrived at the tables, their faces glowing with excitement and their hair windblown.

“But not now,” Guy added, as he moved to stand behind where the serving tables were set up.

A tall Canadian loaded up his plate and paused beside Avery. “Where are you sitting?”

Avery smiled at him. He’d greeted her back in the lobby. He had a friendly grin and appeared popular with the group. “I’m only—”

Before she could complete the sentence and tell him she was part of the resort’s crew, Guy spoke from behind her, “Avery is with me.”

The heavy-handed male warning was enough to make Avery see red.

Six

Avery stalked away from Guy, and found herself saying, “Is there space at your table?”

The Canadian, whose name turned out to be Todd, introduced her to his group of friends and they all started to rave about how awesome the flight had been. But Avery found it hard to concentrate.

All she was aware of was Guy’s smoldering presence at the next table.

Why did she care? He had no right to behave like a complete idiot over Todd. She and Guy weren’t even a couple, darn it. He’d been the one who’d always made sure she tendered no hopes in that direction.

She had a job to do and she would do it. She wasn’t about to let Uncle Art down. Nor was she going to put up with Guy’s arrogance.

Avery speared a piece of melon and chewed. At the back of her mind she was conscious that she wasn’t being totally fair on Guy. She’d allowed him to provoke her into saying and doing utterly stupid things—because he infuriated her.

You’re so honest in bed, he’d said on their way here, there’s none of the pretence women often play at. If only he knew.

Instead of grasping the opportunity to admit how she’d misled him about Jeff, she’d chickened out.

Maybe she was the ‘fraidy cat Guy had called her. It was impossible to explain what had driven her to imply that she’d slept with Jeff. It had been such a stupid thing to do—heck, she didn’t even understand the foolish impulse herself.

Draining the hot, aromatic coffee, she set the empty cup down on the table.

All she knew was that she’d wanted to hurt him as he’d hurt her with his belief that she was an easy little gold digger. But that was no excuse. When she’d discovered he’d never pimped her to Jeff she should have cleared up the misunderstanding then and there. Instead, she’d discovered a deep yearning for him to trust her unreservedly. When Guy had eyed her with disgust, she’d lost all sense.

And the damage had been done.

Oh, what a tangled web.

Now he had her back up with his dog-in-the-manger attitude about Todd. Again she’d instantly reacted, rebelling against his dark, thunderous glare. And proceeded to dig herself deeper into the mess she’d created.

What did Guy think she was going to do, in heaven’s name? Sleep with Todd?

The frustration and anger cut deep.

Guy didn’t trust her.

At the heart of it all, that was what hurt most. That was what made her act so perversely. Her disappointment at his lack of trust about Jeff … then Matt … and now Todd. God, she’d just told him he’d been wrong about Matt, but did he learn? No, he simply leapt to the next wild conclusion about her.

If he knew her at all, Guy would never have believed her capable of that kind of betrayal. If he’d known anything about her he would’ve found it impossible to believe. She was really quite proper in her way. Not a wild wanton at all. But he hadn’t cared to find out who she was. All he was interested in was a sexy body in his bed. Coupled with his distrust, that made her loath to tell him about her stupidity.

Yet despite her annoyance with Guy she found herself tasting the food and observing the guests and keeping mental notes about what they ate and what they pushed away.

Still annoyed an hour later, Avery escaped the ride back with Guy by hopping in one of the other resort minivans with the balloonists on the way back. But when they pulled up in the courtyard, Guy was waiting for her, his eyes still stormy.

“I’ll introduce you to Louis Leclere, the chef at Chagall’s.”

“I met him yesterday, at one of the talks I listened to,” Avery said. “He told me that you and he are old friends.”

The Frenchman had confessed that Guy had lured him to Jarrod Ridge just over a month ago.

Guy’s mouth tightened. “Let me introduce you to the resort’s head barman then.”

“Oh, I met him, too. Louis thoughtfully introduced us. In fact the three of us are meeting—” she glanced at her watch “—in thirty minutes. They’re going to show me around the cellars. I better go change into something more suitable.” She gestured to the dust on the hem of her white jeans. “Otherwise I’ll be late.”

“Avery,” Guy put a restraining hand on her arm, and glanced meaningfully at Todd who was hovering nearby, “Louis tends to have a devastating effect on women. We have a policy that staff don’t date guests—I’ve told him that already. But I wouldn’t want you to tempt him to break the rules.”

Angrily, she shook off his hand. “Well, since I’m neither a guest nor staff but an independent contractor, that shouldn’t affect me. Of course, that won’t affect me asking Louis out on a date—he’s staff, and I’ve always had a thing for French accents.”

Guy glowered.

Jerk.

Avery spent the rest of the day avoiding Guy. Until he finally cornered her late that afternoon in the Sky Lounge where she was studying the proposed drink list for the winter ski season and jotting down notes into a moleskin notebook.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did this morning about staff and guest liaisons,” he said abruptly halting beside the bar counter.

“No, you shouldn’t,” she agreed, gazing unseeingly at the list in front of her. “You should’ve trusted me to behave with professionalism.”

Her rebuke was met with silence.

“Truce?” he said at last.

He had a long way to go. Setting the list down with a snap, Avery glanced up to find that Guy’s confusion was written over every hard line on his face. “If you’re not prepared to trust me, then so long as you treat me with the respect you accord other employees and contractors we have a truce.”

Heat flared in his eyes, turning them a smoldering, smoky gray. “Impossible. I can’t treat you like I treat everyone else. We’re lovers.”

“Shh!”

Avery glanced around to see if he’d been overheard. But the nearest group, three young women and two men, were clustered around the bar counter sipping margaritas and flirting furiously, showing no interest in her and Guy.

“Not any more.”

“But we were. We will be again. Soon.”

He brushed his fingers across her cheek and she flinched away. He couldn’t help remembering how demonstrative Avery had been in New York, always ready to touch him, stroke him. With the exception of last night, all she’d seemed to have done since she came to Jarrod Ridge was back away from him.

“I don’t want people knowing we had a relationship.”

That made it sound like she had no intention of considering his suggestion that they enter a more lasting arrangement during her stay.

He drew a deep breath. He wasn’t going to accept that. They were not through yet. No woman walked out on him. “Avery, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Not for you. Everyone will just think ‘what a stud', while I get the sniggers.”

“It won’t be like that.” Guy raked his hand through his hair, but the dark, shaggy strands sprang stubbornly back.

After a pause during which her blue eyes dueled with his night-gray ones, he said, “Tell you what, let’s have dinner at Chagall’s tonight.”

Avery shook her head. “Can’t you understand? I don’t want to be seen out with you, Guy.”

“We need to talk more about what you’ll be doing at Jarrod Ridge over the next few weeks.”

Avery had been dying to sample the dishes at the resort’s premier restaurant. But she got the feeling that dinner was less about setting up a professional work relationship than trying to get her back into his bed.

Why was he bothering to pursue her? It wasn’t about her agreement to step into Uncle Art’s shoes. Guy had been averse to that from the start, and he could easily contract another sommelier. Nor did she flatter herself that he wanted only her in his bed. He’d made his opinion of her clear. Finding another lover would be equally easy for a man like Guy. It had surprised her that he hadn’t already acquired a new lover, until she’d realized that his father’s death and the terms of his will had left Guy with no time to find a new girlfriend. How fortuitous for him that she’d turned up, saving him the bother.

No, the only attraction she held was the fact that she wasn’t falling over herself to get back into his bed. How galling that must be when he’d already labeled her easy and a gold digger….

With a jolt she took in Guy looking at her expectantly, no doubt waiting for her to agree to dinner—and to serve herself up as dessert.

“No thanks, not tonight. It’s been a long day, and I need a good night’s sleep. Alone,” she added pointedly.

By the tight line of his lips she knew he’d gotten the message.

“Then I won’t be seeing you for a few days,” he said. “One of the national supermarket chains is interested in stocking Go Green products, and Jeff and I are meeting with them in New York to hammer out an agreement.”

Avery forced herself not to react to the mention of Jeff-the-Jerk’s name. What would it help? It wouldn’t repair the damage she and Jeff between them had done or encourage Guy to trust her. He’d made it more than clear that his loyalty lay with Jeff, and the friendship and business relationship they shared.

All she said was, “Well, I hope your meeting is productive.”

“No reason why it shouldn’t be. Oh, and speaking of meetings,” he added, “on the afternoon I get back we’ll be having a progress briefing about the Food and Wine Gala before Blake flies out back to New York. You should be there.” Guy pointed to her notebook. “Some of the information you’ve collected will be very useful.”

By Thursday morning, Avery had convinced herself that she didn’t care if Guy’s loyalty lay with Jeff. All she wanted was a professional relationship with a man she’d been dumb enough to almost fall in love with. Her notebook clutched in her hand, she scanned the family room on the top floor of Jarrod Manor with interest. Forcing herself to ignore the impact that seeing Guy again had on her, she inspected the high beams, the woven rugs scattered over the landing, the wood finish that all combined to give a cozy, homey feel.

The Jarrods were seated around a sunken conversation pit in front of a fireplace, which in winter would give the room a warm ambience.

Blake patted the table to get everyone’s attention. The group slowly fell silent. “Gavin … Trevor … you’re both here. Anyone missing?”

Gavin and Trevor were remarkably similar-looking in coloring and build and even mood, Avery noticed. Much more so than Blake and Guy. She compared the twins. Their dark hair and determined jawlines were the only resemblance they shared.

“Except Melissa,” said Erica from an armchair set to one side. “She was feeling off color and went home.”

“She’s been tired a lot lately,” said Christian, Erica’s fiancé, who was perched on the arm of her chair. “Perhaps she should go see a doctor.”

Guy shuffled a pile of papers. “Okay, let’s get down to business.”

Nothing could’ve more effectively made Avery realize how wrong he was for her. All he cared about was business … and sex.

Even his sister’s health was of little concern to him.

Nothing about him made him a good prospect for the husband she wanted, for the father of the family she yearned for. So why had she wasted three whole days pining after the darn man?

He didn’t want a family. Look how relieved he’d been when she’d told him there had been no consequences to their affair. If she’d had any sense she might’ve told him about the very light period she’d had and made him fret a little.

In fact, it was probably worth purchasing a pregnancy test just to make sure there’d been no slip. Not that she expected there to be a baby, but the two weeks she’d spent in Guy’s bed in New York had been over her most fertile time of the month. She’d been on the Pill then, even though she was off it now.

She doodled on the pad on front of her. A row of daisies with smiling faces. She told herself that it was for the best that she couldn’t have conceived. That she should be as happy as the daisies she’d captured on the legal pad.

After the meeting was over she’d go into town. Just to make sure.

Guy couldn’t find Avery anywhere.

He’d unexpectedly missed her in the days he’d been gone, and now she’d vanished into thin air.

Rita confirmed Avery wasn’t booked for a treatment in the spa. Nor had Louis seen her all morning—much as it galled him to ask his friend if he’d seen her. So she hadn’t been to Chagall’s. Reception said she hadn’t used her card to access her room.

He was dying to tell her about the success he’d had with Go Green. Jeff hadn’t made the meeting in the end, and Guy had been left to do all the wheeling and dealing alone. It was the first time that Jeff had let him down, and Guy knew it could only be because his partner still felt awkward about having slept with Avery. The relationship between them had become strained.

Despite Jeff’s absence, the supermarket chain had placed a large order, but there were tough deadlines and production would have to get moving. Now Guy found himself wanting to watch Avery tip her head to one side as she evaluated the progress he’d made, to hear her arguments against it. And watch her eyes widen and her head bob if she considered the opportunity as good as he did.

So where the hell was she?

Grumpily, Guy took his cell phone out from the chest pocket of his white business shirt and located her number. Three rings later her breathy voice greeted him. Instantly desire curled in his groin.

“Where are you?” he asked more brusquely than he’d intended.

“In town.”

She’d gone to town? Why? “You didn’t tell me you were going.”

“You didn’t ask.” “Why the big secret?” “It’s not a secret.”

A chill feathered along his spine at the defensive note in her voice. Avery was not being completely truthful with him. Why?

What was she hiding?

Was she meeting someone—hell, be honest—he wanted to know if she was meeting Todd. He swallowed the bile in the back of his throat. Had they become an item in his absence?

Guy suspected he was being unreasonable … he’d never reacted with this kind of unwarranted jealousy with his other girlfriends. But then he’d never experienced this degree of turmoil over any of them.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said finally.

“What about?”

Suddenly it all felt flat. This call wasn’t going the way he’d planned. “It doesn’t matter.”

“We can talk when I get back—sorry, I have to go now.”

Guy stared at his BlackBerry in disbelief. She’d killed the call. No woman ended a call until he was good and ready … it was always he who cut the woman short. In New York Avery had been openly admiring, now she barely had time for him. He didn’t like the role reversal one little bit.

But why the hell did it matter?

He didn’t want her to love him. The last thing he wanted was a needy woman—he’d made it his life’s mission to avoid them. All he wanted was sex. Good sex. No, he wanted more, he wanted great sex. The kind of sex he’d always had with Avery.

But that didn’t explain this sudden pressing need to talk to her about how the Go Green meetings had gone. Guy shook his head, confused.

The sooner he got Avery back into his bed the better. In his experience sex fixed everything.

Seven

Back in her hotel room, Avery stood in the bathroom and stared at the applicator stick.

The emotion that surged through her at the sight of the single pink line was not the relief she’d expected. Instead she felt unaccountably sad.

Her throat was tight and achy. She wanted to cry.

There’d been two tests in the box she’d driven to Aspen to buy earlier. Both had given the same result.

One pink line.

Not pregnant.

It’s for the best, she tried to convince herself. It was what Guy had wanted. What she should’ve wanted, too. If she’d had any sense.

She ought to be dancing around with delighted relief. Not staring at the second stick praying for the second pink line to appear.

Because she wanted a baby. She longed for a family.

And, damn it, she wanted Guy, too. All in the same breath. Even though she knew such pie-in-the-sky dreams were utterly impossible.

Pink. She felt downright blue.

A knock sounded on the door of her room.

Avery stuck the traitorous stick back into the box and hurried out of the bathroom.

Wrenching the door open she found Guy on the other side.

Horrors. For a moment she couldn’t marshal her thoughts. All she could think of was the telltale pregnancy test sitting on the bathroom slab, incriminating evidence of all her dashed hopes.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she stuttered. For a wild moment she considered slamming the door in his face.

“I came to help you move your stuff.”

“Move my stuff?” She retreated into the room, and barely noticed that he’d followed.

“Didn’t Reception call? I’ve changed your room.” He frowned as he scanned it. “I didn’t know you were given a room in this wing. The view isn’t great.”

“It doesn’t matter—I spend so little time here. Frankly, I’d be grateful for a broom cupboard, I know how scarce accommodation in Aspen is.”

“Now’s not too bad, but during the ski season it’s diabolical.”

She didn’t bother to remind him she wouldn’t be here for the ski season.

He strode across the room.

“Where are you going?” she squawked, intent on distracting him before he entered the bathroom and discovered the telltale stick. She’d already told him she wasn’t pregnant, she didn’t want him doubting her.

Instead he stopped just to the left of the door to the bathroom, and threw open the wardrobe doors.

Avery’s breath whooshed out in a gust of relief.

He spoke into the wardrobe. “It shouldn’t take you long to pack up.”

“I’m not packing up.”

“If you don’t want to move into another room, you can move in with me. Because you never did give me an answer. And I’ve been very patient, I’ve given you more time than you need.”

She stared at his back, achingly conscious of the shaggy length of his hair where it brushed the collar of his T-shirt.

“I’m not moving into your quarters.”

“The view is far better from my suite upstairs.”

She wished she could see his face. “I’m sure it is. But as I just said, I’m not in my room enough for it to matter.”

He spun away from the wardrobe.

Avery caught a glimpse of tumult in the dark gray eyes, before his jaw firmed, and he moved toward her with long, swinging strides.

Hooking his arms around her shoulders, he bent his head until his forehead touched her hair.

“I want you with me,” he said into the cave of space between them.

Oh, dear heaven. How was she supposed to resist this?

If only he’d been a different kind of man …

A family man.

But he wasn’t. And she had to be strong. She had to resist.

“I’m not going to have an affair with you.” “And I’m not going to accept no for an answer.” Her breath whooshed out in frustration. “You have to accept it. You can’t force me to move in with you.”

“I can certainly use every advantage I have to persuade you.” His lips brushed hers in a light teasing kiss.

“I need some space,” she said desperately.

“Why? Just admit you want me.” He kissed her again, his mouth lingering on hers.

Unfair!

“We’re working together. Trying to keep a professional distance.” Her breath mingled with his. “We’re both going to need space, time away from each other. Otherwise we’ll drive each other crazy.” And she refused to let herself fall in love with him all over again.

“I don’t want any space between us….” He pulled her up against his body. “Almost a week has already slipped away, I want to spend every remaining minute we have together.”

He sunk his tongue into her mouth in a primitive act of possession that sent a thrill of desire along Avery’s bloodstream.

The sentiment was all well and good, but Avery knew he didn’t mean it. Not in the way that she needed him to mean it. All he was talking about was sex.

He wanted her within reach all night long.

And first thing in the morning, if it came to it.

Guy was a demanding lover. He’d take whatever she gave, without giving much of himself in return. Having her in his bed, at his convenience, didn’t mean he wanted to be close to her.

Not in any of the ways that really mattered.

Avery drew away. “No. I’m keeping my stuff in my room. This room. I’m not your lover anymore. I don’t want special treatment. I don’t want the staff, your family, thinking that I am your lover.”

His hand brushed her hair off her face, his touch so gentle her throat thickened. “I’m not going to give up until you agree.”

She was going to have to spell it out this time. So that he’d understand and never ask again. She couldn’t bear this.

“Because I’ve worked damn hard to get where I am. And I’m not having anyone denigrating my efforts by saying that I got there because I slept with one of the Almighty Jarrods.”

“That didn’t matter to you in New York.”

“Because I didn’t know you were a Jarrod then—not one of these Jarrods.” She drew a steadying breath, refusing to be provoked. “And in New York I didn’t know anyone—I was on temporary assignment. Here, at the Food and Wine Gala, there are a lot of people I know. People who respect me. People who may offer me work.”

She tilted her head back and gazed up at him.

“How long do you think their respect will last once they know I’m living in your penthouse suite?”

“It won’t be like that.”

“It’s always like that. Everyone will think me a lucky little gold digger who landed a rich lover—exactly what you accused me of only a few days ago.”

His gaze fell before hers.

“I apologize, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Your apology is accepted. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not moving in with you.”

There was a long pause. Avery tensed, waiting for an argument, for him to sweep her up in his arms, for something.

But he only said, “We need to work on the presentation we’re giving tomorrow.”

Back to work. The professional relationship that was all she could ever afford to share with him.

So why did she want to sag with disappointment that he’d accepted her decision? At least she knew she could deal with Guy on the work front.

Hurriedly she said, “Well, we might as well talk about both presentations.” The second presentation was next Wednesday, less than a week away. “Give me an hour, I’ll come up to your suite.” She made herself give him a cheeky smile. “Have dinner ready, but don’t think that you can change my mind about staying the night.”

Avery was true to her word.

The intercom buzzed exactly an hour later—and Guy activated the private elevator for her to come up, then opened the door to his suite.

She stepped into his living room, a tote slung over her shoulder and a bright smile on her face. She was wearing high-heel slides, a pair of her trademark white jeans and a strawberry-ice silk blouse that clung to her curves. She looked good enough to lick.

“Come in,” said Guy huskily.

“Oh, that looks good.”

Her attention had homed in on an array of mouthwatering tapas spread on the low square coffee table where two sofas sat beside the empty fireplace. “Funny how the sight of food always seems to remind me of how long it’s been since I last ate.”

“Room service,” he said laconically.

She slid him an amused look as she sat down on the nearest sofa. “And there I thought you’d been slaving in the kitchen preparing our meal. You still owe me a meal—you promised to make me one in New York, and you never did.”

Never again. He’d done that on the night of her birthday … and had been left cooling his heels while she entertained herself with Jeff.

“We’ve got a lot of work to get through,” he said tersely. “Let’s get started.”

She didn’t take the hint. “You know, while I stayed with you most of our food was take out from Baratin’s—”

“What’s wrong with that? Most women would kill to never have to cook.”

“I cooked.”

“Very occasionally—and then only breakfast.” He tipped his head to the side. “Now that I think back, it was toast and cereal most mornings.”

“Do you have any idea how intimidating it is to cook for a chef? Obviously not! Except you never cooked—I’m seriously beginning to wonder if you actually know how to cook, or whether you’re just a fraud.” She slanted him a teasing glance from under those fluttery eyelashes.

Despite the gloom that the memory of her birthday had cast over him, Guy found himself laughing. She’d always been able to charm a smile from him.

“Avery, that’s something I sometimes wonder myself. I employ chefs these days. I seem to spend more time doing paperwork and juggling numbers than cooking. The business courses Dad insisted I take are being used more than my chef credentials.”

“I’m always impressed when I watch food shows.” She leaned back on the couch, folding her hands behind her head. With her glinting eyes half closed, she was all temptress. “Those so efficient chefs, chopping onions without weeping, producing masterpieces in minutes. You’ll have to show me how it’s done.”

Guy suppressed the urge to rush to the kitchen, don an apron, anything to impress her. Been there, never again. “Maybe one day.”

But he had no intention of exposing himself that way again.

Avery kicked off her slides. Guy caught a glimpse of pink-tipped toes before she tucked her feet underneath her. From her tote, she drew out a black notebook and a pen.

“Okay, so where shall we start?”

Guy was still admiring the picture she made, the way her white jeans clung to her thighs, and fantasizing about feeding her strawberries that he’d flambéed to impress her then licking the flavour from her lips.

Caught off guard by her businesslike demeanor he found himself stuttering, “Uh … I have a PowerPoint presentation that will provide some material.”

She tipped her face toward the flat-screen television that dominated the wall across from where she sat, then looked expectantly back at him. “Let’s watch it.”

Hell, he hadn’t linked his laptop.

Guy rubbed the back of his neck. “When we’ve finished talking.”

She shifted, a little wriggle that had Guy clenching his teeth in frustration, before she settled again.

He barely knew what they talked about for the next twenty minutes, except that Avery seemed to take copious notes … and make numerous suggestions—none of which he was likely to retain.

Not when she was such a tempting distraction.

Finally, Avery closed her notebook with a snap and said, “Good, that should wrap it up.”

Guy was simply relieved that the torture was at an end. Until she reached for a toothpick and speared a piece of spicy chorizo with it. Popping it in her mouth, she chewed, head tilted to one side, then said, “That was very tasty. There’s a smoky flavor that would go well with an oaked and well-aged red made from tempranillo grapes.”

“That would be a great match.”

A frown furrowed her brow. “I detect a spice I can’t place.”

Guy tried to tell himself that this was still work. Matching food and wine. But his body refused to believe him. All he could do was stare at her mouth like a hungry hound after a meal.

“Have you eaten?”

He shook his head, not trusting his voice. “You should.”

With delicate grace she took a second toothpick out of the white porcelain holder and spiked a piece of chorizo then added a sun-dried tomato, and offered it to him.

His heart thumped.

He bent his head, took it from her fingers, aware of the unconscious eroticism of the gesture.

The sweetness of the tomato and the spicy sausage complemented one another.

“What do you think?” Her brow had crinkled. “Can you identify that elusive spice?”

“Pimentón,” he said huskily, watching her help herself to a shrimp cake. “Spanish paprika.”

She snapped her fingers. “You’re right.” Then she speared a fat, shiny black olive. “So,” she said, “what thoughts do you have about the menus for the restaurants?”

This was work, what Jarrod Ridge was paying her for. No doubt she’d be keeping track of every second to bill the resort. He forced himself to concentrate. “A total re-vamp.”

Another olive went the same way as the last. Guy almost growled. But he managed to feed himself and stanch some of the physical hunger. Too soon the platters on the table were empty.

“When are you going to put the PowerPoint on?” She had to be joking, right?

One glance revealed she wasn’t. The notebook was propped against her thigh, and a pencil twisted between her fingers. She expected them to work. Guy suppressed a sigh and hooked his laptop up to the flat screen. Then he settled down on the couch beside her. He put his hand on her leg.

“Hey.”

He took it off. This time he sighed loudly.

With no choice he focused on the screen, conscious of every move of her hand as she scribbled the occasional note.

The room grew darker. There were a couple of clips of interviews and Avery put her pad and pencil down on the coffee table.

“Seen enough?”

She shook her head. “I want to watch it all.”

Guy’s thoughts wandered. He’d seen parts of the presentation countless times. He was tempted to flick it forward, speed it up.

Dammit, he’d had enough of work.

He ached to kiss Avery. It had been too long. When her head brushed his shoulder, his pulse surged and he slung an arm around her. She rewarded him by snuggling up against him. Guy couldn’t wait for the program to finish.

Her breathing grew more regular. Guy peered down at her through the dim light, and suppressed a groan.

Avery had fallen asleep!

She looked so young, so innocent, with her dark lashes falling against smooth cheeks. Guy stroked the feathery bangs off her face with gentle fingers. She stirred, and he stilled, but instead of waking she only burrowed closer.

Emotion bolted through him, fierce and primitive and defying him to put a name to it.

With one hand he pressed the remote and the screen went black. Scooping Avery up into his arms, he rose and headed for his bedroom. Muted light spilled from the bedside lamp. There, surrounded by the burgundy and muted gold décor, he laid her down and gently arranged the covers over her, before shedding his shirt, dropping his jeans and lowering himself beside her.

Instantly she curled into him.

The spontaneity of the gesture pierced his heart. Guy gathered her close, and closed his eyes. Nuzzling at the soft fluff of her hair he was conscious of a welcome sense of contentment seeping through him.

This time he wasn’t going to let her go.

She woke in an unfamiliar room.

Avery blinked against the shaded glow of the bedside lamp. Shifting, she became aware of the warmth of a body in the bed beside her. Guy! They’d been in the sitting room of his suite, she’d felt replete and pleasantly tired. Then nothing.

They hadn’t made love. She would’ve remembered that.

Her body was curved into Guy’s spoon-fashion, her legs tangled with his. She suspected his were bare—unlike hers that were still clad in jeans.

At least he hadn’t undressed her.

He’d retained that much decency.

Nor had he made love to her.

Okay, so what did that prove? Only that Guy wasn’t a necrophiliac. She stifled a giggle and eased herself away from him. He groaned and rolled onto his back.

Avery slipped quickly out the king-size bed, her bare feet sinking into thick carpet. Guy’s arm was flung out above his head, his dark hair mussed. In sleep he looked younger, carefree, more like the Guy she’d met … what? … could it be only ten weeks ago now? She couldn’t remember what her life had been like before Guy.

A sigh escaped. Once the Food and Wine Gala ended, so would her time with Guy.

For a moment she contemplated diving back into the soft, welcoming bed and cozying up to him. They could make love. Add another treasured memory to the trove in her heart to take away with her when she left. Then she squared her shoulders.

She wasn’t going to spend the night with Guy … and have the world know about it. She wasn’t going to become his lover—at least not until he began to trust her. Really trust her.

Far better to sneak out like a thief in the night now than to face that humiliation in the morning when the staff came on duty.

Swinging about, Avery headed into the darkened sitting room to find her shoes, her notebook and her tote, before she risked her self-respect.

Guy stirred, and reached out an arm … only to discover an expanse of smooth sheet. An empty expanse. His eyes shot open, and he rolled over.

The bed was cool, no residue of body warmth lingered. The only signs that Avery had been there were the slight indent on the pillow beside him and the lingering scent of her perfume.

Despite Avery saying that she would not move into his suite, Guy had comfortably expected to be able to change her mind last night—once he got her there. He hadn’t banked on her falling asleep, but he’d certainly expected her to still be in his bed when he wakened. Hell, he’d been arrogantly sure that he could persuade her to stay.

Her absence was a significant shock.

He’d planned to convince her that her scruples were insignificant, to pull her into his arms and make love again … and again in the shower … as they had for those two passionate weeks in New York.

Not to awaken to this void of emptiness.

Nothing was going the way he’d planned. In the past two months his life had been turned upside down. What with Avery’s betrayal, Jeff’s weakness in the face of temptation, his father’s death, the discovery that he had a half sister he’d never known … his world had gone crazy.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t have the answers. He’d expected to hate Erica, to be able to forgive Jeff, to cope easily with his father’s loss—after all it had been years since they’d spent time together. Most of all he’d been certain of his ability to persuade Avery to resuscitate their smoldering affair, until he grew bored.

But Avery had changed….

And so had everything else around him.

Eight

Avery stood behind the presenter’s podium in the grand marquee waiting with some trepidation for Guy to join her. She took a sip of water and pretended to scan the notes she’d typed up on her laptop in the hours before dawn, when she should’ve been fast asleep.

It was not the prospect of facing a crowd that was responsible for her trepidation, only the thought of seeing one man. Guy. She’d sneaked out like a thief in the night. And paid the price by her inability to doze.

No doubt he’d slept like a baby.

When she caught sight of him coming her way, her heart did a somersault.

He was wearing dark trousers ironed to a knife-edge, and a white shirt that hung out giving him a rakish look. There was a faint line of stubble on his jaw that should have made him look untidy, but only made him more irresistible.

His gaze caught hers, and for a moment they both stilled, then he gave her a faint smile. It widened, full of charm and promises. Empty promises.

Avery glanced away as he wound toward her side, checking around to see if anyone else had noticed that moment of jolting awareness between them.

No one sitting in the rows of seats appeared remotely interested.

She relaxed a little.

“You ran out on me.”

The whisper as he placed a laptop on the podium beside her notes caused Avery to shudder.

“Hush!” She slanted him a frown. Then ruined it by adding, “You looked like a baby, all innocence and eyelashes.”

A flush stained his cheekbones. “I can assure you, I didn’t feel nearly as innocent as a baby when I woke up this morning….”

The loaded words caused a rush of heat. For a moment she half wished she’d given in to the reckless temptation to stay in his bed all night long. For sure she would’ve slept better in his arms than she had alone. She’d missed him from the moment she’d left.

Avery had a sinking feeling that she was about to cave to his demands. She reminded herself she simply wasn’t the kind of woman who could sleep with a man without an emotional connection. And tried to convince herself that her hurt and anger at Guy had broken the emotional connection that had bound her to him.

She could never do pleasure for pleasure’s sake.

Yet she knew she lied to herself. Because Guy still drew her like a moth to flame. God. How could she feel something so self-destructive about a man who felt nothing for her?

“.only to find that you’d gone.”

His murmur was so low she barely heard it, but it was enough to make her stiffen her spine. He might not love her, and she might feel a lot more for him than she wanted, but she couldn’t afford to forget that he only wanted her for sex—however much he wrapped it up in pretty words.

“Guy, stop it! This is my career, it’s important to me.”

She couldn’t afford to compromise her career, her own professionalism for a relationship that was headed nowhere. She had to make him understand that.

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “I accept that.”

“Good.”

But was this what she really wanted?

There would be no more nights of illicit passion. It would all be over. She would be well on her way to getting him out of her system—out of her life. She would never be the butt of a host of insinuations about a little gold digger sleeping with the boss.

It was all for the best.

She had to stick to her guns … and not cave in to his demands or her desires. Those would only cause her harm—even though the hold Guy had on her heart would make it all too easy to assent.

By contrast their second presentation five days later was all business.

Yet it belied the fact that Avery and Guy had fallen into a routine since the night she’d fallen asleep in his suite. Each day they would spend several hours going through recipes Guy wanted to add to the menus and seeking the perfect wine and beverage match. Avery also spent a couple of hours each day reviewing and training the restaurant and bar staff. In the evening, she and Guy would order in room service to Guy’s suite and analyze the day’s progress. There was a delicious domesticity about their relationship, and Avery stored up every memory.

After their speech, a trio of foodies came up to talk to Guy, and Louis, the French chef from Chagall’s, told Avery that they’d done a great job. Then Trevor and Gavin were both there adding to the crowd.

Trevor took her hand and shook it. “Good job. You had me wanting to visit some of those California vineyards you mentioned.”

“Thanks,” she smiled at him when he dropped her hand. “Start with El Dorado, it’s a winery I know very well—I grew up there.”

Erica arrived with Christian, and the talk quickly turned to the December wedding they were planning.

“I thought we could serve champagne cocktails to the guests as they arrive. What do you think, Avery?” Erica asked.

“You could add a hint of cassis.”

“Christian suggested I talk to you, Trevor, about where to hold the service since you live here.”

“Hey, I’m a freewheeling bachelor. What do I know about weddings?”

Everyone laughed at the expression of mock horror on Trevor’s face.

“But as president of marketing you’re the perfect person to ask,” Erica retorted. “Besides, apart from Christian, you’re the only one who actually lives in Aspen.”

Trevor spread his hands. “Of course I’ll help. Hmm, your wedding will be in December, why don’t you have Blake and Guy dress up as twin Santas?” Trevor suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

“I heard that,” said Guy from the other side of the trio he was talking to.

Erica laughed. “They’d both need big white fluffy beards. I’ve gotten to know a few of the local vendors, I’m sure Dorothy from the yarn shop could organize something.”

“Forget it,” ordered Guy. And everyone laughed again.

“On a serious note, Christian and I will be using as many locals as we possibly can to help us prepare.”

Guy had been watching Erica, but at this he broke in. “They’d like that. It’s a good idea to include them—and it will have the bonus of garnering a lot of goodwill for Jarrod Ridge. Although I know that’s not your primary motive for including the locals in the celebration.”

Erica beamed at him, and Avery’s heart turned to marshmallow. Any resentment that Guy might once have harbored toward his half sister had clearly been set to rest.

Discussion continued about the wedding for a few minutes more before Avery excused herself. As she walked away, she was aware of more than one pair of eyes on her retreating back.

“That woman is good-looking,” Louis commented as Avery sauntered away.

Guy groaned, attracting Christian’s sharp gaze. “You don’t think so, Guy? Or is it just that you’ve been too busy to notice?”

Hell. “How could I not notice?” he retorted in response to his future brother-in-law’s sly observation.

“Ah, so you have noticed.” Christian’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “What do you intend to do about it?”

Mentally Guy crossed his fingers. “Nothing.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Trevor entered the discussion. “A sommelier and a restaurateur has to be a match made in the industry heaven.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Dad. Who said I want to always be talking work to my lover?” Guy protested.

“At least you’d be doing something you love—think of me stuck here, torn away from everything I’ve achieved over the past decade.” Gavin sounded utterly frustrated. “What was Dad thinking setting his will up in such a fashion? I feel like I’m being buried alive.”

“And think about how much you and Avery would have in common.” Erica added her weight to the argument after a short pause.

Guy felt under siege. He could hardly disclose the one thing that would stop his family from matchmaking him with Avery. Once they knew that she’d cheated on him, they’d close ranks against her. But he’d never admit what a fool he’d been. “Just as well Blake has gone back to New York, otherwise you’d be canvassing him for an opinion, too.”

“We can still ask Melissa,” Erica grinned at him, an infectious smile that had Guy wanting to smile back.

“I haven’t seen her all morning,” Guy said as he thought about his sister. In fact he’d barely seen much of her all week, and when he had she’d been much more quiet than usual.

“She’s probably run off her feet at the spa,” Erica said, ever practical.

“She wasn’t there when I went to the gym earlier,” said Christian.

“She’ll turn up.” Guy raised an eyebrow. “Then you can start matchmaking her with some man—so start looking for someone suitable.”

They all laughed, and to Guy’s great relief talk turned away from Avery and back to Erica and Christian’s Christmas wedding.

It was late afternoon before he caught up with Avery again.

“I wanted to talk to you more about the brief for the restaurants,” Guy said to her as they walked up the pathway lined with a profusion of colorful flowers on the way back to Jarrod Manor.

“We can talk later.”

He got the feeling she was about to disappear again. “Tonight. Come up when you’re done.”

“Let’s meet in the sky lounge,” she said quickly, “I’m still working on adding some more variety to the beer list for the Christmas season.”

Didn’t she know that anyone seeing him with her would be unable to miss the attraction she held for him? Even his family had noticed. “Maybe it would be a better idea to go check out some of the competition—we’ll go to town, hit the bars and restaurants.”

Avery’s eyes lit up. “That sounds like fun.”

Guy thought so too, and that way he wouldn’t have to be so on his guard against his family’s well-meant teasing. Nor would he have to disillusion them about what kind of person Avery really was. Although it was getting harder and harder for him to remember that himself.

She truly had bewitched him.

Avery decided she could easily fall in love with Aspen. Main Street was buzzing with activity. Pickups, Porsches and even a lovingly restored old Cadillac filled the lanes. And the stores—there was everything from Gucci to Macy’s and burgers to up-market restaurants that the rich and famous were known to frequent.

Guy parked the SUV and Avery emerged from the passenger door to stare around like a wide-eyed child in a candy store. Couples strolled along the sidewalk, people spilled out of restaurants, families bundled together. Guy came round to her side. Avery scarcely noticed when he threaded his fingers through hers.

He pointed to a sign ahead. “There’s the first bar where I thought we might conduct some covert espionage.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Maybe I can get some business from them, too.” It was a thought. That way, if things were going well between Guy and her perhaps she could stay longer than the month they’d agreed….

God! What was she contemplating?

“Not until you’ve completed your contract with Jarrod Ridge.” He gave her a mock frown. “I’ll have to get that signed and sealed as soon as we get back.”

She gave a gurgle of laughter.

The next second she was spinning into his arms. His lips slanted across hers. Avery’s laughter dried up. For a moment she responded, then she pulled away, and shook her hand free of his.

Oh, my, she was even holding hands with Guy.

To cover her confusion, she said, “Oh, an art gallery. Let’s have a look.” At that point even an abattoir would’ve elicited a squeal of delight. Anything to escape the confusion of being thoroughly and publicly kissed in the midst of Aspen’s main street by Guy Jarrod.

“We’re almost at the bar.”

“I want to have a look.” She needed a moment to regain her composure. “You can wait outside if you want. I won’t be long.” She dived through the door into the gallery, grateful for the respite. There was a row of touristy watercolor paintings of the town, and the gallery keeper was securing a round, red Sold sticker to one of them. Avery walked quickly past.

To the right was an alcove—it would’ve been a misnomer to call it a room. On the far white wall, plumb in the center, hung one canvas.

Avery stopped dead.

The power of that single painting sucked the breath out of her lungs with its sheer poignant beauty.

It was a while before she became aware of Guy standing silently beside her.

“Isn’t this piece amazing?”

“Amazing.”

There was a peculiar note in his voice. Avery glanced at him, a little resentful that he didn’t share her enthusiastic admiration. His face was taut … pale.

“Guy?” Concern gripped her. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ll wait for you outside, okay?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away, his shoulders hunched as he headed for the door as though he couldn’t get out fast enough.

What had evoked such a response? Was he annoyed because she’d pulled out of his too-public embrace? Or did his reaction have something to do with the gallery? She glanced back at the painting she’d been admiring when he’d come up beside her.

The painting was riveting. But disturbing enough to arouse such a strong reaction in Guy? Avery studied what should’ve been a peaceful subject. Perhaps. It was an abstract of a river. A swollen, moving river. There was turbulence in the dark, raging colors and the brush strokes. It was full of raw power … and anger. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“It’s compelling, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Avery didn’t glance up as the gallery keeper came up beside her. She was still trying to fathom what it was about the painting that aroused such strong emotions.

“Margaret Jarrod loved to paint the Roaring Fork—but this is one of her last works of the river.”

Now Avery looked at him. “Margaret Jarrod?”

“Don Jarrod’s wife.” He pushed the round wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and glanced through the sheet window to where Guy was pacing the sidewalk. “I thought you knew it was her work.”

Avery shook her head numbly.

“The whole town was very sad to hear about Don’s passing.”

“Yes, it was a tragedy for the family.”

Questions swirled around her head. Guy had never mentioned his mother. She wanted to know everything. But it seemed … invasive … to ask the gallery owner while Guy cooled his heels outside.

“For everyone. The resort helped draw people to Aspen. The Food and Wine Gala that’s on now is only one of the events that Don set up to benefit everyone in the town. There are fears that his children might abandon the resort—or, God help us all, sell it to outsiders.”

Avery didn’t know how to reply. “I’m here for the festival—and it’s been wonderful” was what she settled for. With a smile she excused herself, “I must go, Guy is waiting.”

Outside, Guy’s face still wore that closed expression that had perturbed Avery.

With a burst of sudden longing she wanted the man who’d planted that joyful kiss on her lips back. But he’d vanished under the mask of stony indifference. Avery was determined to find him again.

She had a feeling it wasn’t going to be easy.

But she’d always relished a challenge.

Best would be to put him off guard. To that end, she threaded her hand through the crook of his arm, “Lead the way. I’m ready to examine the competition.”

The bar Guy took her to had attracted a well-heeled, casually-dressed crowd, where jeans were the order of the day. Mostly designer brands—Diesel, Calvin Klein. Although Avery also spotted the odd pair of working Levis—and footwear ranged from Jimmy Choos to dusty cowboy boots. But certainly these Colorado cowboys were ranch owners rather than hired hands, and the glitter at women’s throats were diamonds rather than rhinestones.

The bartender took their order, and Avery turned her attention to the cocktails chalked up on the blackboard behind the bar, then inspected the wine and beer list.

“Not bad,” she said at last. She smiled her thanks when her drink arrived, while Guy paid for the round. Expenses, she told herself, suppressing the urge to object. This wasn’t a date. He stuffed his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and settled himself onto a wooden barstool.

“But you’d do better.” He made it a statement.

“Of course.” She set the wine list down on the counter and met Guy’s gaze with confidence.

“Tell me how.”

“I’d add some of the newer wines that are taking the country by storm.” She warmed to her topic. “Then I’d look to add some international flair. What they’ve done here is to stick to the well-known Napa Valley wineries. They’ve done the same with the cocktails—the names might be risqué but there’s nothing here that’s new and refreshing. No imagination.”

“What you’re telling me is they’ve played it safe.”

“Exactly!”

“You’d take more risks?”

The smile that tugged at his lips warned her of the trap she was headed for. “Forget it. I’m not going to go ballooning, Guy. I’ve got too much imagination.”

The smile widened into a grin that had her innards melting.

“Did I even ask you to?”

“You didn’t need to … I know where this is going.” He was the most persistent devil she’d ever met. But she could be even more stubborn … and she would prove it.

Their next rendezvous was one of the most popular bar-and-grills in town, located in a brightly lit mall. They strolled along Mill Street, which gave Avery a chance to admire the store frontages. As they passed a busy eatery, Avery was startled by the loud sound of metal clanging.

“What’s that?”

“Probably a bear.”

“A bear?” She stopped and stared at Guy. “You’re joking, right?”

He shook his head. “Nope. About a year back they started moving into town.”

Just then two boys ran around the corner, one of them brandishing a Stop sign. Guy gave them a quelling look.

“Where did you get that?”

“Sorry, mister, we’ll put it back.”

With a scuffle they disappeared back around the corner, the sound of giggles following in their wake.

“Well, there goes your bear. Hope the little devils put it back.”

“I’d say they were first-time offenders,” Guy replied. “They didn’t look sulky enough to be hardened miscreants.”

“You recognize the difference?”

“I was a boy once upon a time.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t a bear this time,” Avery said as Guy held a door open for her. “Boys I can handle—even in a place like Aspen which seems too glamorous for kids. But bears?” Halting at the bar, Avery wasn’t ready to let the subject go.

The bartender had come over to greet Guy and take their order, and overheard her amazement. “You’re hearing about our black bear problem?”

“So Guy wasn’t having me on.”

“Oh, no!” The bartender crossed his arms. “There was even a bear in the tree in front of the courthouse.” Avery blinked.

“In front of the courthouse?” Laughter bubbled up in her throat. “Does that mean the sheriff had to arrest him for trespassing?”

Guy shook his head. “Nor the momma bear that stood watch while her cubs raided someone’s kitchen after momma had broken the door down.”

“Wow.” Avery knew her eyes must be as wide as saucers.

“Don’t feed any bears you might see.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Avery loved Guy’s honesty, his determination to protect the bears, and his insistence that people should take responsibility for their actions. “Trust me, I’ve got no intention of getting within a hundred yards of any bear.”

“Ever the risk taker,” said Guy.

And Avery gave him a sweet smile.

Sensing he’d missed out on a private joke, the bartender said, “Now what can I get you two to drink?”

“Make mine a strawberry margarita,” said Avery. “I think I need it after all that bear talk.”

“I’ll have a beer.” Guy made his selection and set the wine and beer list down.

Avery studied Guy, committing every feature, every nuance of his expression to memory. She watched as he brushed back the lock of hair that fell forward onto his face. “Have you ever seen a bear in the wild? That must be amazing—so long as it’s a decent distance away.”

“Plenty of times. And guess what?” Guy grinned across at her. “If you go up in a balloon you’ve got a good chance of seeing one too—and from a safe distance.”

“Forget it!” She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’d rather be on the ground wishing I were in the air than in the air wishing I were on the ground.”

He chuckled, his eyes warm and filled with humor. “Let’s study these menus, and see if the opposition is doing anything better than us.”

Nine

Guy said no more about whatever it was that bothered him at the gallery during their outing. But an opportunity to learn more about him presented itself unexpectedly several days later.

“There’s something I want to show you,” said Guy interrupting the train of thought that Avery had been tapping into her computer while sitting at a table beside the sparkling resort pool.

She stretched lazily. She was feeling particularly content. A call from Matt had updated her on her uncle—he was almost back to normal. And earlier that morning her solo presentation had gone off without a hitch. “What is it?”

“You’ll have to shut down your computer, because it will take a while.”

Guy’s gaze raked over her and Avery became conscious of how her blouse had pulled tight over her breasts. She lowered her arms.

“How much is a while?”

“My, but you’re full of questions today.”

The only way she was going to find out was to go with Guy. And her curiosity had been whetted. Busying herself with shutting the computer down, Avery packed it into its case, then rose to her feet. Guy led her through the spacious lobby scattered with tables and chairs and into an elevator.

“But this is the way to my room,” she said as the doors opened to her floor. “What are you going to show me here?”

Avery followed him up a short flight of stairs, until he halted outside her room. “Open up.”

She dug in her toes. “What’s going on?”

“Get your swimsuit and a towel, we’re going on a picnic.”

“A picnic?”

He grinned, looking like he had no cares in the world.

“Why not?”

“Haven’t you got work to do?”

“It’s Monday, the slowest day at the resort. The sun is shining, it’s eighty degrees. The perfect day to show you the best swimming hole in Colorado. And test your theory that food tastes better outdoors.”

“I suppose you’ve prepared the perfect picnic feast?”

“Uh … Louis did.”

“In that case perhaps I should go on a picnic with Louis.” Then she tensed at her stupidity and tried to think of an inane comment that would take the edge out her words.

But Guy didn’t react with the suspicion she’d half expected. “No go. I organized the food, no one is hijacking my picnic.”

Avery laughed and relaxed a little. If he was starting to trust her then they were making progress.

Better she accept that Guy was not going to cook for her. Not because he hadn’t had sufficient opportunity, but because for some reason he didn’t want to.

She wished she could read him better, understand what drove him.

Today he was back to the easy charm that had attracted her that first day she met him. But she’d learned that the easygoing attitude also hid a reluctance to commit his heart. Avery didn’t want the shallow charmer any longer; she wanted the complex, passionate man she’d glimpsed beneath.

Maybe a picnic would help unearth him.

Swiping her access card, she opened the room door. “Give me two minutes to drop off my laptop and change into a swimsuit.”

Guy parked the black SUV under the trees and led Avery down an overgrown path to where the river flowed lazily into a calm pool in the lea of a large rock.

“Best kept secret in Colorado,” he said.

“Gosh, the water is like a mirror.” The willows along the river bank and the wide cobalt sky overhead were reflected in the flat surface.

“Not on the southern side of the rock, there’s a waterfall there.” With the picnic basket in one hand, Guy reached for her fingers with his free hand. “Come.”

A bolt of pure happiness shot through Avery as his fingers threaded through hers. This was what she yearned for. This sense of companionship and contentment … with no hint of suspicion and distrust.

Near the edge of the river bank, in the green space under the largest willow, Guy set down the basket and let go of her hand. Then he tugged off his T-shirt and Avery caught her breath at the sight of his broad chest, his stomach tight with muscles that rippled in the sunlight.

Before he could see the effect his body had on her, she turned away and stripped off her jeans and tank top to reveal the lime-green bikini she wore. By the time she reached the river bank, Guy was already moving across the ledge below the large, flat rock. He took three running steps and leapt into the water.

Avery edged down the bank until she stood knee deep in the swimming hole.

“Brr.” She crossed her arms over her breasts to hide her puckering nipples. “It’s cold.”

“Of course it’s cold. What did you expect? A hot tub?”

That brought back memories she didn’t need revived right now, and a wash of heat replaced the water’s chill. But when the water crept up her midriff, Avery forgot about hot tubs and nipples and squealed out loud.

“You should’ve jumped in while you had the chance.”

Avery took one look at the wicked gleam in Guy’s eyes as he swam toward her and sank hurriedly under the water.

“You beast.” She came up stuttering at the shock of the river’s chill. “You’ll pay.”

She splashed a wide arc of water at him.

He retaliated and within minutes they were engaged in a water fight, the cold forgotten, until they ended up under the stream of bubbles from the waterfall.

“That was wonderful.” Finally worn out, Avery hauled herself out of the pool. Spreading her towel out on the grassy bank, she lay back in the sun, closing her eyes. Her stomach rumbled as hunger started to set in.

Peering through her eyelashes, she could see Guy sitting on his towel. Drops of water ran down his chest, causing her to follow their pathway over his chest, and belly … lower … to the waistband of his trunks. Those drops looked totally lickable.

She flushed, and jerked her gaze back to his face. “You always promised you’d cook for me one day.”

“Did I?” His expression was impenetrable. “Don’t you remember?”

He shrugged. “I’m too busy to prepare food these days.”

“You told me that back in New York.” She braved his sarcasm. “You also said you missed it. That conjuring up dishes for your patrons didn’t bring the same satisfaction as feeding friends and family.”

Did he really not remember? Or was this another way of closing himself up to her?

“Sounds like I said entirely too much.”

“Don’t you recall the conversation?” Perhaps he had forgotten. Or never taken much notice to the promise he’d made. It only went to show how little their relationship had meant to him. It irked her that she was so forgettable he couldn’t even remember their conversations.

Every word he’d spoken to her was engraved on her soul.

Don’t call me again. Ever.

And she hadn’t. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Art falling sick, she’d very likely never have met Guy again. She’d sworn never to take an assignment in New York. Even among the millions of people the risk of encountering Guy was too great.

So maybe she was a ‘fraidy cat.

Yet here she was trying to remind him he’d once promised to make her a meal. A fierce and stubborn determination crept in. “You said it the day that—”

“I vaguely remember.”

Vaguely? That was even more insulting. Before she could object to his choice of words Guy had moved away to unpack the hamper.

“There’s a selection of cheeses, a baguette, some pickles made at the resort, grapes and a nut terrine that is irresistible.” Guy spread them out on a checked blue-and-white rug. Then he dug back into the hamper. “As well as a bottle of Pinot Noir from the Sonoma Coast. No champagne today—I don’t want to make you sneeze.”

At least he’d remembered that! While it might not be exactly the same as having Guy prepare food for her, the spread looked heavenly. Avery’s mouth started to water.

“I suppose I could settle for that.”

Reaching forward, he tore off a piece of bread and scooped a little terrine on to it. “Try this.” He offered it to her.

She took it daintily, closed her eyes, and chewed.

“Good.”

Her eyes opened, and caught him watching her. “What are you staring at?”

“You’re a pleasure to feed,” he said simply. “So feed me.”

Guy’s pulse leaped. But he took her at her word. Within minutes they’d demolished the contents of the basket.

“Just as well there wasn’t more.” Avery grinned at him and desire clawed at his gut in a way that was only too familiar. “A full stomach and warm sunshine would guarantee that I wouldn’t move for a week.”

He forgot about work. He forgot about the menu that Louis was waiting for him to finalize for the black-tie fundraiser for the coming Saturday night. His whole world consisted of Avery’s sparkling blue eyes, and her wicked smiling mouth.

“There’s still dessert,” he murmured.

“Oh, I couldn’t eat another thing.”

“I think you’ll find space for ripe black cherries.” Guy shifted closer to her. The blue of her eyes deepened as she realized his intent.

“I love cherries.”

They’d talked about cherries one evening at Baratin. She’d said she’d match the sweetness with a sauce of bitter chocolate. He’d argued that honey drizzled over would match better—he’d been teasing, his gleaming laughter-filled eyes had told her that much.

“There’s a bottle of honey to complement it.”

Her heart sank a little. No, he didn’t remember. Or if he did, he didn’t care enough to take her suggestions to heart. Avery felt unaccountably crushed.

“That will be nice,” she said, subdued.

He took a glass bottle out the basket.

“But that’s—” Her startled gaze shot to his.

“Chocolate. Bitter and dark.” There was humor in his eyes. “I must have selected the wrong bottle.” His brow wrinkled.

“Silly me.”

He hadn’t forgotten!

That he’d remembered, taken the trouble to arrange something she’d said she liked was suddenly, overwhelmingly significant.

Avery helped herself to a cherry. “Definitely tastes better out here under blue skies. Sweet and juicy, all it needs is the chocolate.”

His eyes darkened. “Very tasty.”

“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

“I don’t even need the chocolate.” He leaned forward and placed his lips against hers. His tongue swept across her lip. Slowly. Sensuously. Tasting the sweet juice of the cherry she’d eaten.

Her heart jolted, and began to race.

“Now I have,” he whispered against her lips.

Avery pulled back. She had a feeling she was going to regret this later. For heaven’s sake, he didn’t even trust her. “Guy, where is this going?”

“All the way.” His eyes were intense.

That wasn’t what she’d meant. But she let it pass as he drew picked up the rug and drew her into the shadowy hollow under the willow. The rasp of his breath as she arched her back was enough for now, Avery told herself. When he was ready he would tell her why he shied away from intimacy.

It was up to her to convince him there was nothing to fear.

She put her arms around him and pulled him close. “Make love to me, Guy.” Love not sex. Out here, feeling so close to Guy, she needed to make herself believe it was more than only sex. Even if she was deluding herself.

He didn’t protest.

Instead he dropped his head and swirled his tongue through the valley between her breasts. Avery moaned. Her head tipped back, and the next moment she felt the stroke of his tongue against the arch of her throat.

She shuddered.

“Let’s get this wet suit off.” His voice was hoarse.

That gave her pause. “What if someone comes?”

“Oh, someone will come, all right,” he growled.

Avery gave a shuddering laugh. “Don’t joke.”

“No joke.” The eyes that burned into hers were scorching hot. “I promise.”

For a moment her natural caution reared its head. Then passion took over. Under the canopy of the willow they were out of sight. Avery pushed all worries about interruptions, about tomorrow … next week, out of her head. Guy filled her vision, her world.

Lifting her hands she rested them on his shoulders. His skin was sleek and smooth under her touch, his muscles firm. She gloried in the warm hardness of him. He felt so vital, so alive.

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” she murmured as her hands traveled down and stopped at the barrier formed by the waistband of his board shorts. Languorously she tugged the laces undone. Slipping her hands inside the waistband she pushed them over his hips and down his legs.

By the time the wet bathing suit landed on the ground, he was hard and quivering. Avery sank down onto her knees, and heard him gasp as her mouth closed on him.

Seconds later he was tumbling her onto the rug, spreading her thighs. Touching her … stroking her with hands that shook. Until her body started to sing. Just when she feared she could take no more he slipped between her thighs and sank into her, filling her until she could think of nothing.

Except Guy.

Avery arched her back and gave a breathy moan of pleasure.

He lifted his head. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Oh, yes.”

His lips curved. “I’m glad—for me, too.”

She wanted to say that it could be even better. If he could only relax his guard, let her into his heart, and learn to trust her.

But she knew that if she voiced the intense thoughts his smile would vanish, he’d withdraw. Because the reality was that Guy didn’t want a lasting relationship. Now was all that mattered to him. She was a fool to want more with a man who didn’t even trust her.

So she bit her lip instead, closed her eyes, and focused on the connection they had.

Then he started to move and she forgot everything. Except the pure blinding silver pleasure of the moment.

Afterward they sat out on the sunny river bank and ate dessert.

The cherries and rich chocolate dipping sauce might as well have been stale bread and cold broth for all Guy cared. It tasted bland. Prosaic. It was Avery that he hungered for, her skin, her lips that he craved. Not food.

He couldn’t take his eyes of her. She’d pulled a tank top on with the lime bikini bottoms. She looked so breathtakingly colorful, so alive. And she’d been so passionate, so giving … everything a man could ever desire.

Yet one part of him still hung back, knowing that she would never be what she promised.

There’d be other men. And in the end she would leave again. He had to steel himself. He couldn’t afford not to keep a part of himself carefully in reserve.

“Guy—” she hesitated “—we need to talk.”

“Let’s enjoy the sunshine.”

She fell silent. Then, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

No.

Whatever it was he didn’t want to hear. “I don’t need confessions.” It came out more harshly than he’d intended.

He felt her grow stiff in his arms and he suppressed a sigh. Why couldn’t she just be satisfied with what they had? With the joy of the moment? Why did women always have to complicate everything?

But he sensed this was important to her. That she needed to get whatever it was she wanted to talk about off her chest. Guy told himself he could take whatever it was. Hell, he’d already gotten over her fling with Jeff, hadn’t he? He could get over whatever else she was about to reveal, too.

It wasn’t as if he were emotionally invested in her.

They were lovers, not soul mates—he’d always scorned the very idea of those.

“Tell me,” he said with a touch of weariness.

“Maybe now isn’t a good time.”

Typical. Guy stifled a burst of impatience. “Don’t go all feminine on me. You can’t start something then pull back.” “You’re not making this easy.”

He suppressed the urge to groan. They made fantastic love. All he wanted was to spend the afternoon lazing in the sunshine with Avery beside him. She had to go wreck the mood with her urge to make a confession he had no desire to hear. And she said he wasn’t making it easy?

She drew a deep breath. “It’s about that night with Jeff.”

Heaven help him … this he most definitely did not want to hear about.

She must’ve read the reluctance on his face, because she said hurriedly, “That night, you need to know—”

“No. I don’t need to know anything about that night,” he interrupted. “It’s over. Forgotten.”

If he told himself that often enough he might start to believe it.

“It’s not over,” she said stubbornly. “It hangs between us all the time.”

“Nothing hangs between us, as you put it.”

Guy wanted to end this discussion. He hated the thought of her with Jeff, responding to his friend with the same glorious abandon she’d just responded to him with. He didn’t even want to think about it, much less do a postmortem on the distasteful topic. Nothing would take away the pain of Jeff telling him what a wildcat she’d been in bed.

“Of course it does. I implied I’d slept with Jeff, when I hadn’t.”

He went still. She wanted him to believe she’d lied? “Why would you do such a thing?”

How the hell was he supposed to believe this when she’d just admitted to lying to him once already?

She glanced away. “Surely that’s obvious?”

“Nothing is obvious.” He rolled away from her and, propping his arms behind his head, gazed up through the bent branches of the willow to the fragmented pieces of bright blue sky beyond. He refused to feel relief … or hope. Jeff had told him she’d seduced him, and Avery had confirmed that. Now she was changing her story. The chances that Jeff had lied, too, were too remote to even consider. “Why don’t you spell it out?”

“I was angry with you.”

“With me?” Guy turned his head and stared at her incredulously. “What did I do?”

“You put your business ahead of me—just like you always do.”

“Hold on a minute. Do you know how I worried about you? Waiting for you at Baratin—and you never arrived.”

For a moment Avery caught a glimpse into the depths of hell. Her fury evaporated. That night in the spa he’d told her that he’d asked Jeff to arrange a cab for her and to let her know. Instead Jeff had decided to collect her himself. And she’d run. So why had Guy worried? “But Jeff told you I seduced him. Why should you worry about me?”

“He told me over two hours later. I came back to my apartment to see if by any chance you were there—even though you weren’t answering your cell phone or the apartment phone—only to find a devastated Jeff.”

“I left my cell phone behind on the sideboard in my hurry to escape.”

“It wasn’t in the apartment.”

Avery searched for a logical explanation. “Then Jeff must’ve taken it.”

“Every explanation you offer comes back to blaming Jeff.”

Avery let the accusation go. “When did he tell you about the supposed seduction?”

“When I found him drunk as a skunk in my apartment. He was torn up with guilt for sleeping with my girlfriend.”

“Who seduced him,” she said with a snap of her teeth. Jeff had been very clever.

Guy’s gaze bored into her. “He begged my forgiveness.”

Another brilliant touch. “After he’d convinced you it wasn’t the first time I’d tempted him.” Oh, she could see how Jeff had played it. “He manipulated you.”

He’d manipulated her, too. She’d never even paused to call Guy and check his story out. She’d been too outraged and hurt. So she’d simply cut her losses and run. Exactly as Jeff had probably intended.

Guy had deserved more.

Guy was shaking his head. “I don’t think so. He was crying—it really cut him up. He blamed himself. He was even making statements that sounded dangerously suicidal.”

More manipulation.

Yet how could she place all the blame on Guy for being taken in? She’d believed Jeff, too. Had it given her a convenient excuse to run? Deep in her heart she’d known that she and Guy would never last … he wasn’t looking for a wife, a family. He’d told her, too often, how happy he was with his life just the way it was.

Taking in the shadows under his eyes, Avery decided he didn’t look terribly happy now.

He looked strained … and tired.

She’d been so angry on the night of her birthday because he’d put work before her. She needed to try to get that frustration across to him.

“You told Jeff to get me a cab so I could meet you at Baratin.” Even now it annoyed her that he hadn’t bothered to leave his precious business and pick her up for their date. “At the time I thought you’d forgotten all about my birthday. Until Jeff arrived and told me you’d sent him to pick me up because you were too busy—”

“Wait a minute—”

Avery discovered she was shaking. “He made it clear he was supposed to be the appetizer for our dinner date—that he was the special surprise you’d promised me for a birthday I would never forget.”

Guy straightened.

“What?”

The stormy expression on Guy’s face only made her shake harder. He wanted her to bare her soul to him, while he watched her from behind slitted, shuttered eyes?

Sure thing.

Clearly he didn’t believe her. She’d taken a risk telling him, and lost everything. In his eyes she was a gold digger, a slut, a liar. So what was she still doing here?

Avery stumbled unsteadily to her feet. “Take me back to the resort.” His disbelief had withered the last bloom of hope. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

It was all over.

She couldn’t work with Guy anymore, couldn’t bear to see him. There was too much love lost, too much hurt and heartbreak.

She’d find a way to explain to her uncle. At least the two presentations were over. She’d done Uncle Art proud…. “You can’t—”

“I have to. I can’t stay here.” It was going to damage the professional reputation that she valued so highly to walk out in the middle of a contract. But she couldn’t endure Guy’s distrust any more.

Guy’s hand closed around her elbow. “Avery, listen to me!”

She froze within his grasp.

The warmth of his fingers was at odds with the harshness of his tone. She glanced up. “I’m listening.”

“I never sent Jeff to have sex with you.”

She started to laugh uncontrollably. She already knew that Jeff had lied to her. But there was a certain irony in saying, “I suppose you expect me to believe that? After all, Jeff told me, and you trust Jeff implicitly. Why shouldn’t I?”

Guy’s fingers tightened on her wrist and his skin stretched taut over his face.

“He lied.”

“So you say. Did Jeff show you the bruises where I kicked him in the shin? He should’ve been limping, I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t see him for a few days after he told me—” Guy paused “—that you’d begged him to make love to him. That it wasn’t the first time.”

“Now that is a lie.” Avery lifted her chin. “You always believed Jeff. So it’s pointless for me to deny it, isn’t it?”

“What do you expect when you told me nothing about it at the time?”

“I called you—”

“After you’d already packed up and left.” “Because at the time I thought—” She broke off. “Because you thought what?” Because she’d believed Jeff.

She’d been put off balance by his turning up at Guy’s apartment, knowing it was her birthday and that she was having dinner with Guy—information he could only have gotten from one person. Guy. Then there’d been the way he’d made himself at home accepting her offer of a drink, his presumption that she’d let him make love to her because Guy had gifted him to her.

A monstrous lie.

But she’d been too taken aback to question it. She hadn’t trusted Guy….

“I thought that you were into sharing me with your friends—I didn’t want that. Jeff was very convincing. He made it sound like it was the kind of stunt you two pulled all the time,” she said, trying to justify it. “In the end I had to fight him off.”

“Fight him off?” Darkness—doubt?—entered his eyes. “Jeff’s not aggressive.”

“You think I’m making this up?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “God, I don’t know what to believe. I keep thinking you must’ve misunderstood Jeff—or overreacted to a joke he made.”

“He’d been drinking. He wasn’t joking. I had to kick him to let me go.”

“You should’ve called me.”

“I told you, I rushed out without my cell phone. I just wanted to get out,” Avery confessed. “And frankly I was so mad at you. Right then you occupied the number one spot on my all-men-are-bastards list. Once I reached the airport I cooled down a little and rang you from a pay phone.”

She’d needed him.

That’s when he’d told her he’d leave her bags with the doorman and said, It was fun while it lasted. Don’t call me again. Ever.

And cut the connection.

That had convinced her that he was angry with her for not fulfilling Jeff’s drunken fantasies, and that Guy Jarrod was a total, hedonistic bastard. That she was well out of the relationship. To top it off, she’d had to catch a cab back to his apartment to retrieve her bags from a curious doorman. It had been the final straw in her humiliation.

Guy raked his hands through his hair. “Avery. I’ve been in business with Jeff for three years. I’ve never known him to hurt a fly.”

“So you don’t believe me,” she said tonelessly.

It stung that he hadn’t accepted her word. But she’d expected this. She could hardly whine about it. After all, her pride had caused her to make that ridiculous intimation that she’d slept with Jeff.

And she hadn’t trusted Guy, either. She’d been so busy thinking of herself as the victim, that she hadn’t even realized she’d done Guy a disservice too. They were both a pair of fools.

“I didn’t say that I don’t believe you. But I have to give him an opportunity to give me his side of the story.” There was a hesitant note in his voice.

Was it possible that she was gaining ground?

“You didn’t let me give my side when I called from the airport,” she pointed out.

“Because I barely knew—”

“Because you barely knew me,” she finished for him. “I was only the woman who’d spent two weeks in your bed.” The woman who’d fallen in love with him. “What’s that compared to male friendship?”

“Hey, wait a minute, this has nothing to do with sexism.”

“Doesn’t it? You think Jeff is less likely to lie to you?” Irrationally she ignored the fact that he had known Jeff for a lot longer than he’d known her. That there might be merit in his argument. But she wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable right now. Her throat was tight with unshed tears. Damn Guy Jarrod. He was breaking her heart all over again.

“The point you’re not getting is that Jeff didn’t just walk out without a word and leave. You did.”

The silence simmered after his outburst.

Guy clenched his fists and let out a hissing breath. “Look, I didn’t intend to say that. I think we both need to calm down. I’ll put the hamper in the SUV. Why don’t you change out of that damp swimsuit?”

Ten

Avery ducked under the large willow tree and swapped her still-damp bikini bottoms for a panties and jeans, and started to untangle her hair and finger-comb it out.

Why had Guy been so wound up by the idea that she’d walked away from him? She’d never thought that would’ve caused any resentment at all. He’d made it more than clear that she wasn’t an important fixture in his life.

Had she misunderstood his casual, carefree manner? Had she meant more to Guy than he revealed?

Avery put her bikini in her tote and hefted it onto her shoulder, then shook her towel out. But the actions were performed without thought. She couldn’t get Guy’s face out her mind.

Surely what she was imagining was insane? Guy had never cared for her—not in any way that mattered. The snapping of a twig caused her head to turn. “Guy?”

Instead of Guy she found herself looking into the furry black face and inquisitive eyes of a bear. A very young bear. A cub.

Oh, help! Where was Momma? Her towel falling from her numb fingers, Avery started to back up.

The bear started to sniff at the hedge on the far side of the willow. Leaves rustled on Avery’s left. She whipped around in time to see a second large cub come gamboling into the green cave under the willow.

Damn.

Momma definitely wouldn’t be far away.

Her pulse pounding, Avery eyed the trunk of the willow tree. It wouldn’t be too difficult to pull herself up onto the lowest branch. Then she remembered the bartender in town saying that a bear had invaded the tree outside the courthouse.

Momma bear would probably have her butt before she reached the first branch.

The newcomer leapt on the smaller cub and they started to roll around on the thick mat of grass. Then the smaller cub rolled onto his feet and shambled over to her towel.

Get away, she willed.

He didn’t heed her silent urgings. After sniffing it, he pawed it. The other cub joined in and before long they were playing tug-of-war with Avery’s towel.

Where was Momma?

A loud snort answered that question. The bottom fell out of Avery’s stomach as both cubs paused and pricked their ears, turning their heads toward where the sound had come from. Yes, that’s right. Good babies. Go find Momma. Then they turned their attention back to the bright yellow towel.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Avery knew she didn’t have long before Momma came looking for her recalcitrant cubs. But her legs didn’t seem to want to work, a result of the adrenaline rush that the cubs’ arrival had brought.

Dry-mouthed, she swallowed, but the coppery taste of fear stayed on her tongue.

She took another step back and came up against a wall of flesh.

“Easy,” Guy whispered in her ear. “Keep still.”

Her legs, already weak, turned to liquid with relief at the sound of his voice. Avery leaned back, grateful for his presence, the feel of his chest solid against her shoulders.

“Where’s the mother?”

“At the river bank. I saw her when I came back.”

Thank goodness he had.

“She’ll come looking for her cubs.”

Even as she spoke the cubs tired of the game of tugging and clawing at her towel. Dropping it, the larger cub trotted through the willow fronds and then after a few seconds the smaller cub followed.

“Whew.” Avery darted forward to pick up her towel, then linked her trembling fingers through Guy’s. “I have never been so glad to hear your voice.”

“You kept your head. Although I will admit I got a shock when I saw the bear knowing you were nearby. When I heard the cubs cavorting I grew more worried. Luckily I found you before their mother did. Look,” Guy parted the fronds of willow, “there’s the sow.”

Avery took in the black bear, her brown muzzle snuffling at her cubs.

“She can smell your scent on her cubs from the towel.” “Thanks—that reassures me.”

Guy chuckled softly. “I’m not going to chase her away. Let’s leave them to their world.”

Avery was only too ready to follow him through the hedge at the rear of the willow and scramble up the slope to where the SUV was parked. Once safely inside she said, “Strange as it may seem, I don’t think I would’ve missed that experience for the world.”

“What? You weren’t terrified?”

“Oh, I was terrified all right. But it was worth it.”

Guy shot her a narrow-eyed look. “You know what? I may still get you up in that balloon after all.”

The first thing Guy did on his return to the resort was to close himself up in the wood-paneled study that had been his father’s and put a call through to Jeff Morse.

Vivienne, his partner’s very efficient PA, promised to have Jeff call him back shortly. An hour later, Jeff hadn’t called. So Guy tried again. By the third call, Vivienne sounded uncharacteristically flustered as she advised that Jeff had just left to go hunting for a couple of days on a property that was out of cell phone range.

Guy set the phone down, propped his elbows on the walnut desk and stared for a long time at his steepled fingers.

Finally he moved to the computer in the corner of the study and booted it up. Fifteen minutes later he was satisfied with the e-mail he’d drafted. He hit Send.

Notifying Jeff of his intention to dissolve their Go Green partnership would provoke a response.

The picnic beside the river changed something between them.

Guy didn’t raise the confession Avery had made about Jeff. But every night they met for dinner at Chagall’s, obstensibly to discuss work, and afterward Guy would escort her to her room, and here they would make love. Not sex. Silent, desperate love.

After the first night Guy had refused to leave and they’d ended up sleeping in each other’s arms. Even though the next morning Avery had complained that he would be missed on the family floor.

“I have my own suite, it’s self-contained,” Guy said. “Melissa prefers the peace of Willow Lodge. Erica’s moved out into Christian’s house. Trevor’s living in town. And Blake probably spends more time at airports commuting between Aspen and New York than he does at Jarrod Ridge. We’re hardly living in each other’s pockets. Too often I’m down in the kitchens checking the produce coming in from the markets early in the morning. Trust me, no one’s going to miss me if I don’t come to breakfast in the family kitchen.”

When Guy put it like that, her reservations sounded absurd.

“You should move in with me.”

“I don’t want to be seen emerging from the private elevator early each morning,” she said stubbornly clinging to her convictions. “People … staff … will talk.”

“Then I’ll fire them.”

Her eyes went wide.

“Hey, that’s a joke—bad one, but still a joke.”

But it did remind her of the kind of power a man like Guy Jarrod had. He did have the power to make decisions about people’s lives.

Even hers.

Later that day Avery felt restless and found herself needing more space than the resort, crowded with the continuous bustle of the Food and Wine Gala, allowed.

A drive into Aspen accomplished that. Without any conscious volition, Avery found herself back at the gallery where Margaret Jarrod’s work hung. The gallery owner greeted her, and she smiled politely back before walking to the alcove in the back of the gallery to stare at the riverscape, as though that might give her the answers she sought.

Clearly Guy must’ve grieved when his mother had died. He’d missed her. Yet he never spoke about her.

Speak to me, Avery implored the painting. Help me understand.

But the picture remained a swirl of angry color and eventually Avery sighed and took herself off for a cup of coffee at a sidewalk cafe. Half an hour later she returned to her hatchback and made her way back to the resort.

On the stretch of tarmac just before the right turn onto the bridge that crossed the Roaring Fork River, a red sports car swerved to pass an oncoming white van.

Avery suppressed the fierce urge to scream. Faced by the sports car blocking her vision, Avery gritted her teeth and swung the steering wheel hard to one side.

The car bumped across the verge and lurched to a bone-jolting stop in a roadside ditch. Avery was flung forward as the airbags activated.

The radio hummed country music. Beyond the window she glimpsed bits of a tilted world. Dirt and shrubs and blue sky. Closing her eyes Avery said a silent prayer of thanks. When she opened them, it was to find herself staring through the windshield into a pair of feminine eyes.

“Are you okay?” The young woman asked, pushing her dark hair off her face.

“I think so.”

Avery unclipped her seatbelt and tried to open the door. It was jammed solid. A wild sense of panic filled her. She had to get out!

“The car is on its side. You’ll have to climb out. Are you sure you should be moving? Maybe it would be better to wait for the paramedics?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Avery couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped. The opposite door swung open. Avery clambered over the gearstick and hoisted herself out.

“I thought we were both finished when that idiot overtook me so recklessly.” The other woman’s expression turned to concern. “You’re bleeding. There’s a graze on your forehead.”

Avery touched a hand to her head. “I’m fine—but I’m not sure if the other driver will be if I ever lay my hands on his throat.”

“I’ve called 911, help is on its way.”

Oh, thank God. “You must be an angel,” Avery said with relief. “He was driving like a maniac, I didn’t think I was going to be able to avoid a crash.” Reaction was starting to set in.

“I thought we were all dead.” The brunette was ashen, too.

So she wasn’t the only one who’d been terrified out of her wits for those moments, Avery realized. Moving off the verge, she flinched as she put her weight on her left leg. She felt unexpectedly shaky. “I’m going to sit down,” she announced.

“Try putting your head between your knees.”

Avery bent forward.

“Shock. My name is Nancy, by the way. Can I call someone for you? The tow trucks will probably be arriving soon.”

“Guy.”

“Which guy?”

Avery raised her head and caught Nancy’s troubled look. The woman thought she was in shock. “Guy Jarrod—he lives at Jarrod Ridge.”

“Okay.” Nancy’s face cleared, and she pulled a cell phone out the front pocket of her jeans.

Closing her eyes, Avery was dimly conscious of Nancy telling someone what had happened. She concentrated on trying to stop the shaking that seemed to consume her.

At the sound of a vehicle slowing, she looked up.

“The paramedics are here,” said Nancy, rising to her feet.

While the paramedics—a young beanpole of a man and a plump, motherly woman—tended to Avery, she tipped her head up to Nancy.

“How can I ever thank you enough for stopping to help me?”

The young woman shrugged. “It was nothing. It could as easily have been me who ended up in a ditch. And I didn’t even get that idiot’s license plate number.”

“Me, neither.”

They shared a smile.

The shaking had stopped. “Thank you for staying with me.”

There was the sound of several vehicles pulling up. “Oh, and here’s the tow truck, they’ll probably take your car to town,” said Nancy.

“I’ll have to inform the rental company of the damage to the car.” Avery winced at the thought. That was a call she was not looking forward to making. At least there would be insurance to cover the mess.

“Looks like your Guy is here too. So I’ll be off.”

Avery started. She was tempted to beg Nancy to stay.

“Is that sore?” The young paramedic asked, prodding gently around her knee.

“No.”

“Avery!”

She jerked her head up at the sound of that all-too-familiar male voice.

“You are hurt!”

Guy moved faster than Avery had ever seen.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s only a graze—it barely stings.”

“But that ankle will need X-rays,” said the motherly paramedic. “We’ll take you to the hospital.” “I’m fine.”

“I’ll take her.” Guy was grasping her hand. It gave Avery an unexpected sense of comfort, of being cared for.

She let him help her to her feet but as she put her weight on her foot, her ankle crumpled.

“Ow.”

“Definitely to the hospital.” Guy’s tone brooked no argument.

Yet Avery tried. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m sure it’s nothing terrible—ice and elevation and it will be fine by tomorrow.”

Guy shook his head.

“Guy, I’m fine. If you absolutely insist I can go to the medical center at the resort.” “You’ll need X-rays.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist.” Avery tried to make light of it.

But Guy only put his arm around her waist and said, “Lean on me. The sooner you get treatment, the better.”

“He’s right, my dear,” added the motherly paramedic. “And if the only way to get you there is to let him take you, then so be it. But I need you to sign here for me.” She produced a clipboard with a form.

With them all ganging up on her, Avery quit arguing and signed.

Once Guy had her in the SUV the drive to town went quickly. At the hospital a receptionist handed Avery a further sheaf of forms to complete. Full of questions about personal details. Medications. Consent.

Whether she was pregnant.

Pregnant. The word jumped out at her. If only …

She hesitated, before dismissing the sudden, startling fear. She wasn’t pregnant. The test she’d taken—twice—had confirmed that. Before she could have second thoughts, she signed the form and gave it back to the receptionist with a smile.

“How long is the wait?” Guy loomed over the desk, his posture far from comforting.

“Not too long.” The receptionist gave him a polite smile. “There’s a coffee machine, feel free to help yourself.”

Avery limped away to the seating area.

Guy came up behind her. “Can I get you a hot drink?”

“I’m fine.”

Instead of settling beside her, Guy started to pace.

More out of a desire to give Guy something to do, than from thirst, Avery said, “I wouldn’t mind a bottle of water, I saw a kiosk when we came in.”

“Right.”

Guy was gone before she could say more.

The receptionist caught Avery’s eye and said, “Good idea to keep him busy.”

Avery laughed in agreement. “I’ve only twisted my ankle, but he’s behaving like it’s broken.”

The woman clucked. “Some men fuss when they’re worried.”

Avery didn’t set her right. Guy wouldn’t possibly be concerned about something so minor.

He still hadn’t returned by the time Avery was ushered into an examining room. The doctor had kind brown eyes that looked years younger than her cropped, gray hair suggested.

“You’ve hurt your ankle.”

Avery nodded and told her what had happened. “Just one thing,” she tacked on, “why do you need to know whether I’m pregnant?”

“So that we can take the necessary steps to protect the baby. It’s always better to be safe than sorry. Is it possible that you may be pregnant?”

“I can’t rule it out.”

The doctor made a note on her pad. “We’ll get that checked out to give some certainty in case we need X-rays. For now, let me take a look at that ankle.”

Avery slipped her shoes off. “I took an over-the-counter pregnancy test—it was negative.” The sinking regret that had swamped her returned for an instant. Reason told her that she wasn’t pregnant. If she were, she’d be almost three months along by now. Surely she wouldn’t have missed the signs?

It was impossible.

Yet since the first time Guy had raised the possibility of her pregnancy the thought had lingered, haunting her, refusing to dissipate, playing on her mind, recalling the dreams of motherhood … a family.

Wishful thinking?

No, it had been nothing more than dreams. Dreams that didn’t—could never—include Guy.

Determinedly Avery shook herself free of the reverie.

“How does this feel?” The doctor’s touch was cool on her ankle.

“No pain.”

“What about now?”

Avery flinched. “That’s tender.”

There were more questions, and afterward the doctor said, “There is some swelling. It’s probably only a twist, but I’d like to x-ray it just in case.”

“It must’ve happened while I was trying to get out of the vehicle.” Nancy had wanted her to wait for the paramedics, but she hadn’t been able to bear the idea of being trapped inside the crippled car.

“The X-rays will confirm whether there are any fractures, but first let’s get a specimen and check for pregnancy. I may have to examine you, too.” The doctor lifted the handset of the phone on the wall. “Let me call the nurse to show you where the bathroom is.”

Eleven

“You were right to be concerned,” The doctor said ten minutes later as she leaned forward on her stool and studied Avery. “You are pregnant. When was your last period?”

Avery’s ears started to ring and a numbness filled her. Frantically she calculated in her head. “I should’ve started my period this past weekend.” But she hadn’t. More desperately, she continued, “But the test—”

“When did you take the test?”

The test had failed. Despite the claims on the package of ninety-nine percent accuracy. How typical. Struggling with the daze of disbelief that had enveloped her, Avery tried to concentrate. “About two weeks ago.”

“Too early to have shown.” The doctor sounded very certain.

Avery stared at her in surprise. “What do you mean, too early?”

“By my estimation you’re only about three weeks pregnant.”

“Three weeks?”

That meant it had probably happened that night in the hot tub. Oh, God, how unlucky. And how lucky, too. She’d wanted a child … Guy’s child … now it had happened, against all odds.

And against Guy’s will.

Joy withered and dismay set in.

“I know it must be a lot to take in,” the doctor said kindly. “There are always adjustments to be made.” Glancing down at the form on her desk, she continued, “I see you work at Jarrod Ridge. I’ll give you a card for a local prenatal group. Here’s a diet sheet with suggestions of what might cause discomfort—don’t forget to take plenty of folic acid.” With a smile, the doctor added, “Congratulations. After you’ve had the X-rays done, come back and we’ll talk about what to do to make that ankle as comfortable as possible. Ice and as much rest as possible for starters.”

“Won’t the X-rays harm the baby?”

The doctor shook her head. “You’ll be protected by a lead apron. It will form a cone right down to your ankles. Baby will be perfectly safe.”

Avery staggered back into the reception area, still reeling with shock.

Guy sprang forward.

“What did the doctor say?”

“Uh—” she gazed into his alarmed eyes. I’m pregnant. Yeah, that would allay his fears. Instead she forced a smile. “A twisted ankle. Nothing major.”

Nothing major?

How on earth was she supposed to break the news? Guy had never wanted a long-term relationship. He considered her capable of sleeping with his friend, his business partner.

Of flirting with every eligible male who came her way. If he thought she was capable of that kind of treachery, surely he would never believe this baby was his? Particularly when she wasn’t even sure whether he believed her about Jeff. Oh, God, Jeff was his friend, someone who was part of his everyday life. She’d prefer to see Jeff in hell. How could she bear to tell Guy that he was her baby’s father when that would mean giving a creep like Jeff entry into her life? And her baby’s life.

It was all enough to make her feel ill.

And that sensation had nothing to do with morning sickness—although that would probably not take long to follow.

Guy was staring at her expectantly. He must’ve asked her a question.

“I need to ice it and keep my weight off it, the doctor said,” Avery bubbled, hoping that her response wasn’t too far off what he asked.

His brow creased in a frown. “The room you have has a flight of stairs in the corridor. You can’t stay there. Now you’ll have to move in with me.”

“No!”

Panic set in.

She couldn’t bear to stay with him given all the tension between them.

“Avery, I swear I’ll protect you. Your business credibility will not be compromised. But you need to be realistic. If you’re going to have your foot up to rest it, you should have someone around.”

“I’ll be fine.”

His jaw firmed. “We’ll see.”

A nurse came forward. “Ms. Lancaster? Follow me.” Guy caught her fingers. “Where to next?”

Avery shook her fingers free. “I’ll be back as soon as the X-rays are done.”

A backward glance revealed Guy pacing in the reception area, the bottle of water she’d requested still clutched in his hand.

“About time you got here.”

Gavin, the next oldest Jarrod after him and Blake, came loping across the tennis court swinging his racket. Guy had called his brother to let him know that Avery had met with an accident, and he would be late for the game that had become a weekly fixture since their father’s funeral.

“How is Avery?” Gavin brushed his light brown hair back from a face tanned to a shade of gold by the August sun.

“She banged her ankle.” Guy shrugged, reluctant to let on how anxious he’d been. He hated hospitals. And all the while that they’d been there he’d kept worrying that something was going to go wrong. It had started with that dratted confrontation with the bear by the river. Hell, he’d almost been expecting today’s call.

He had to get a grip.

Because Avery wasn’t going to die.

She’d hurt herself—it was far from fatal. He wasn’t about to share his baseless fear with Gavin, even though Gavin—not Blake—had been closest to him growing up. His twin Blake had always been able to say exactly what his father wanted to hear, whereas anything that Guy had said or done had been subject to criticism. His father had dismissed his drawings as useless. And when he’d told his father he wanted to be a photographer when he grew up, his father had bellowed so much that Guy had terminated his membership with the school camera club.

“She’ll need to rest,” Gavin said.

“I know.” Guy unzipped his bag and pulled out his tennis shoes. “But she’s such a stubborn little thing, I doubt she’ll listen.”

Gavin gave him a swift look. “Sounds like you know her pretty well.”

Oh, hell. That’s right, Avery hadn’t wanted his family—anyone—to know about them. He was so bad at keeping secrets. Especially from his family.

“Uh, we’ve talked a bit over the past weeks.”

“A bit?” Gavin started to grin. “I heard about drinks in the sky lounge, dinners at Chagall’s … you were even spotted out in town one night.”

“All work—we were talking about the menus and beverages.” It sounded so damn righteous. So he looked down and fastened his laces and added, “Truly.”

The snort Gavin gave told him his brother hadn’t bought it.

“I suggested that she stay in one of the family suites until her ankle gets better, but she refuses.”

Gavin raised an eyebrow. “Your suite, I suppose?”

Avery would have his head if she overheard this conversation.

“The woman is injured.” Guy tried to look affronted as he picked up his racket and zipped the cover off. “She will need help. Get your imagination out of the gutter, Gavin.”

After giving him a penetrating stare, his brother said, “Perhaps she could stay with Erica and Christian.”

Guy considered it. “Avery might feel like she’s a third wheel—those two are nesting … planning their wedding.”

“What about if she stayed with Melissa at Willow Lodge?” Gavin suggested.

“Willow Lodge is the cabin farthest from the Manor. It would be too hard for Avery to manage.”

“Too hard for Avery to manage—or too far from your suite?” Gavin taunted as they walked to opposite ends of the court.

Guy didn’t answer. This was exactly the kind of talk Avery wanted to avoid. At Willow Lodge she’d have some space, some privacy. He concentrated on his serve. Fault.

After a double fault, he collected the balls and said, “You know, you might be onto something there. Willow Lodge would be perfect. Avery might be happy with that idea.”

“You better take care,” Gavin called a few minutes later when Guy served another double fault that gave Gavin the game. “You’re distracted. Looks like woman trouble to me.”

Ignoring the comment, Guy handed two tennis balls to his brother as they switched ends. “You still climbing the walls with nothing to do?”

Gavin said, “It’s been extremely frustrating. A month ago I was in Namibia designing a wall for the biggest dam in that desert country. Now all projects are on hold. I’m twiddling my thumbs. Sitting around, waiting for Dad’s estate to be wound up is driving me nuts.” Opening his gear bag he pulled two bottles of water from the depths and handed one to Guy.

Pausing to open the pop-up top, Guy considered his brother’s problem. “The Food and Wine Gala might not be the kind of thing that spins your wheels, but there must be some challenge you can sink your teeth into.”

“I’ll have to find something. Otherwise I might explore that old mine we played in as children. Maybe I can strike gold.”

Guy laughed then tipped his head back and took a long swallow from the water bottle. Way back in 1879 Aspen had been the destination for a silver rush. Among the miners had been Eli Jarrod, their great-great-great-grandfather.

“Come on!”

With a start Guy realized that his brother was waiting to serve. After tossing the bottle into his unzipped gear bag, he jogged back onto the court. “Ready.”

The next few minutes passed in a flurry of action, during which Guy conceded most of the points to his brother. He sneaked a look at his watch. What would Avery be doing now? She’d gone to Tranquility Spa for a massage after their return. Surely that would be over by now?

A ball whizzed past him.

“Great ace,” he yelled, hoping flattery would distract his brother from his moment of inattention.

“Ace? My eye.” Gavin was laughing as he crossed to the other side and lined up for the final serve of the match.

This time the delivery was indeed an ace. No doubt about it. Guy shook Gavin’s hand over the net and took the ribbing about where his thoughts had been for the duration of the game.

“You must be in love, brother.”

Guy chuckled loudly. “Me? Not going to happen. I was thinking about what to do to keep you busy. Can’t have you going insane with boredom.”

He shifted under the unerring focus of Gavin’s gaze.

“I always thought that when you fell for a woman you would fall hard,” Gavin said finally. “Looks like it has happened at last.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Guy growled.

“Who’s kidding whom?”

Guy had a sinking feeling that despite his wide-eyed mock innocence Gavin might be right, that he was indeed teetering on the edge of the precipice yawning ahead of him.

The vision was not comforting.

* * *

Guy paused for a moment at the door of the premier spa room that Melissa had told him Avery was using.

Avery was sitting on a ledge in a long pool. Water lapped at the top of her bikini-clad breasts in little waves. It rushed over an angled sheet of granite into the pool, sluicing over Avery below. Guy knew from experience that the water was hot—but not as hot as the next waterfall along.

Below the lime green triangles of her bikini top, her hands were touching her tummy with long, slow strokes that he found incredibly arousing. She wore a dreamy expression he’d never seen before.

“What are you thinking about?”

At the sound of his voice Avery started. Her gaze shot to his … then away.

“Guy.”

She didn’t sound delighted by his presence.

A feeling of déjà vu crept over him as he stepped into the room and closed the door.

Avery gave him an uncertain smile.

“How are you feeling?” he asked coming closer.

Her face cleared a little, and she laced her fingers together. “A lot better, thank you. Joanie has magic hands and Melissa made sure she pampered me to death.”

His face softened at the mention of his sister. “Melissa has always been the nurturer in the family. I’ve just organized for you to stay with her for the night.”

“But I can’t just descend on her!”

“Of course you can—she’s looking forward to the company.”

“I’ll consider it.” Avery sank deeper into the water and her nose tilted up into the air.

He started to grin. Was it possible that his little spitfire was mad at him for doing something for her own good? “It’s already sorted out.” She glowered at him.

She was cute when she was mad, and he had a feeling she was going to be madder still. Guy pulled his shirt over his head in one, swift movement, revealing a broad, muscled chest.

“What are you doing?” Avery shrieked.

“Easing out my tired muscles.” In two paces he’d reached the door, and locked it. Next he toed off his sneakers. When he shucked off his tennis shorts, Avery closed her eyes.

He slid in behind her and pulled her up against his naked body.

“Guy!”

He kissed her nape. The skin was warm and steamy, and her hair was swept up on top of her head. Irresistible.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be in here!”

They’d done this—and more—before. Already his body was hardening at the memory. But this time he had no intention of making love to her. Although Avery didn’t know that. This time he just wanted to hold her.

“Give me one reason why not?”

“We work together—I don’t want anyone to know we’re involved.”

“I’m not going to make love to you. I came to see if you’re all right.” He put on his most innocent expression, but it made no difference—she couldn’t see it at this angle.

“I’m fine. And I sure thought you were making love to me. Because you’re kissing the wrong part of me better.”

His husky laugh caused the soft bits of hair at her neck to dance. “I’ll kiss whatever part you want me to.” He blew lightly onto her neck and felt her quiver. So responsive.

He tightened his arms convulsively around her.

“Thank goodness you’re safe.”

The images that had flashed through his mind when a young woman had called to say that Avery had been involved in a car accident …

Guy shivered. He never wanted to re-live those excruciating moments.

The thirty seconds it had taken to get confirmation that Avery was alive were amongst the longest of his life. The piercing pain had been a thousand times worse than the two hours he’d spent waiting for her at Baratin the night of her birthday. Because now he knew what it felt like to lose her.

He’d spent forty-nine days without her. After the past three weeks he was starting to feel like he never wanted to let her go.

Avery tilted her head back. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

“My mother thought she was, too.” The words came from nowhere. He hadn’t even thought about Mom for days. He usually tried not to talk about her at all. The topic always led to grim silences. But suddenly he couldn’t prevent himself saying, “She promised me and Blake that she would beat the cancer.”

Turning over, Avery looked up at him, her eyes luminous. “I’m sure she wanted to more than anything in the world. A woman with five young children would not want to leave them.”

“I was foolish enough to believe her, in the way a six-year-old does. I thought she’d get better.” How could he explain the devastation that he’d felt returning from a night at a friend’s home to discover that his mother had been taken into the hospital, that she’d passed away? “She refused to have chemotherapy, you know. She chose to die, to leave us all. How can a six-year-old ever be expected to understand that?”

Avery slid up and pressed a kiss against his lips. “You poor little boy.”

Hell. He didn’t feel very much like a little boy right now. Not with her lying breast to hip along his body, her legs tangling with his. He gave a groan. “Avery, I got in here to hold you, to comfort you, not to make love. But you’re making it very hard.”

A wicked sparkle lit her eyes and she moved her body against his. “Am I?” The little witch.

Guy groaned again. “Have mercy … and don’t move.” “Why not?”

He swallowed. “You might jolt your ankle.” “My ankle is already feeling a lot better.” But she shifted and slid onto the seat beside him. Guy wished she’d stayed where she was. Yet if she had, the temptation would’ve been too great to resist. Instead he placed an arm around her shoulders, marveling at the tenderness that welled up inside him, the contentment that merely holding her brought. It wasn’t something he’d experienced before.

Placing his index finger under her chin he raised it, and sealed her mouth with his kiss. Guy let himself sink into her … into the soft femininity that was Avery. Sweet. Feminine. Unique. His.

When the kiss was over, he stared down into her blue eyes, stunned by how she’d inveigled her way into every crevice of his life in such a short space of time. She blinked, and the spell was broken. “There’s something I have to tell you.” She sounded subdued.

Guy wanted to shout “No.” He didn’t want to hear anything that might break this accord that lay like a golden thread between them, joining them in a way that was somehow special.

Yet he found himself saying, “What is it?” while he hoped furiously that there were no further revelations about Jeff, or anyone else in her life, to follow.

The deep breath that she took warned him that he wasn’t going to like it. But what she did murmur knocked the guts out of him.

“What did you say?”

She shifted in his arms, and Guy realized he was gripping her uncomfortably. He instantly slackened his hold.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated more loudly, edging away from him.

“How?” His head spinning, he asked, “Forget that. Have you known all this time?”

She blinked. “What do you mean ‘all this time'?” “Since being at Jarrod Ridge.”

“Are you asking if this is the reason I came to Jarrod Ridge?”

He hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. Now he considered it. Was this why she’d come? Guy shifted in the hot water. Had it been nothing to do with her Uncle Art at all?

Maybe it was what his subconscious mind was asking.

“Yes.” His tone was terser than he intended as he tried to process the information that Avery was going to have his baby.

She slowly shook her head, and he could’ve sworn that the divide between them grew—even though she didn’t move. “I only discovered today at the hospital.”

“You’ve had symptoms?” And she hadn’t bothered to reveal anything to him by word or action? He felt unaccountably put out.

“Nothing obvious. In fact, you started me worrying when you asked whether there’d been any repercussions after our time in New York. I hadn’t even thought about it. I bought a test from the drugstore—”

“So you had a suspicion that you were pregnant.” Guy found himself glaring through the water to the pale skin of her stomach just visible through the swirling water. He couldn’t see any sign that made her look remotely pregnant. “Thanks for letting me in on the secret.”

“Hey, hear me out.” She turned her head so that he looked square into her face. Her skin was dewy from the steam, and her eyes had darkened. She’d never looked more beautiful. “The test was negative—I took it twice. I wasn’t pregnant then—”

“But you’re pregnant now? How does that work?” Guy’s brows shot up. “That is what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Yes!” She was breathing quickly, her breasts rising and falling. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And before you even think of accusing me of trying to fob off someone else’s baby on you—”

“That never occurred to me,” Guy said heatedly, forgetting all about her breasts at the accusation. “Whatever gave you the idea I’d think that?”

“Your reaction to seeing me with Matt?”

Well, she had him there. He couldn’t precisely argue without revealing his gut-grinding jealousy before he’d discovered Matt was her cousin.

“Your idiocy over Todd.” She raised an eyebrow. “Warning me away from Louis? Need I go on?”

Guy started to feel very foolish. “Are you sure you’re pregnant? It could be a mistake.”

“Stop clutching at straws, Guy. I’m probably pregnant.”

“Probably pregnant?”

But she didn’t laugh as he’d intended at his emphasis on the absurd way she’d put it.

“I am pregnant, Guy. I know it’s the last thing you want in your life. So I have no expectations of you. You are free. But you need to know I’m going to keep this baby.”

He stared at her. What did she expect him to say to that?

Of course he didn’t want a child—he didn’t even want a wife, or a partner, or a significant other. He was quite happy the way his life was.

But he wasn’t ready to lose Avery from his life either. For days he’d been dreading the idea of her leaving. He was no longer free—nor did he wish to be.

It struck him that the baby would give him a great reason to keep her in his life, without having to define to himself—or to her—exactly what their relationship was.

“Avery—” under the water he placed a hand on her thigh “—this gives even more reason why you should move in with me. You’re pregnant with my child. That’s hardly the kind of thing you can hide for very long. It’s bound to come out.”

Her thigh tensed. “You mean we should set up home together?”

Home? He wriggled like a trout hooked by a particularly attractive lure. “I was thinking we should live together and see how things work out.”

She put her hands over her face. “Guy, a baby is about as lasting an arrangement as anything can be. It brings responsibilities like motherhood … and fatherhood. You don’t have to assume that responsibility if you don’t want to. I absolve you.”

She was deliberately misunderstanding him.

Guy gave a sigh to vent his frustration and increased the pressure of his hand to make sure she didn’t try to bolt. “Dammit—” he hesitated “—it’s hard to take in. I never wanted a family.”

“That’s why I told you I’m not expecting anything of you.” Her hand closed over his. “Please understand I’m not trying to trap you.”

“I know that.” His certainty surprised him. His outburst had been boorish—the situation they were in was as much his fault as hers. He’d acted recklessly that night in the hot tub, and they’d both reaped the consequences. “And it’s no longer about what either of us want. I’m sure this is every bit as much a trap for you as for me. The last thing you must want is a baby—particularly as your work is going so well.”

After the Food and Wine Gala was over Guy had no doubt she’d have more work offers than she could handle.

“Not at all. I’ve always wanted a family … and kids.” That dreamy look was back on her face.

Guy’s heart stood still.

Sliding his hand out from under hers, he wondered if this had been a trap he hadn’t even suspected? Giving her a narrow stare, he said, “Did you deliberately not use protection?”

“No! I stopped taking the Pill when I went back to California. I’d sworn off men.” She gave him a wry smile. “And contrary to popular belief, I didn’t come to Jarrod Ridge expecting to have an affair.”

Ouch.

Was this a trap? If it was, hadn’t he deserved to be caught? He hadn’t taken precautions that night in the spa, even though he’d taken great care every time since. But once was all it took.

Avery stood up in the water and said, “I’ll be going back to California in four days. There’s no point in my moving in with you and telling the world that your mistress is pregnant with your baby.”

Before he could temper his reaction, Guy burst out, “That’s insulting to us both. You wouldn’t be my mistress.”

“Scared you couldn’t afford me?”

Beads of water streamed over her curves … curves that Guy knew intimately. But Avery was so much more than a sexy body.

He tore his gaze away. “Don’t demean yourself! You’re far too proper, with too much sense of your self-worth, to ever have accepted such an inequitable relationship—and I have too much respect for you to suggest it.” Avery was far too independent to be any man’s mistress. Although Guy was sure there were men who would’ve loved to have decorated her with diamonds and paid for her upkeep. She was smart, sexy and spirited. What more could any man want?

She looked stunned by his heated defense of her. What could he say? It had startled him, too. He justified it by adding, “My dad would’ve torn a strip off any of his boys for making a decent woman such an offer. He always said that honor was part of the Jarrod name.”

Avery took two towels off a shelf, arranged one at the edge of the pool and sat down.

“A bit of a double standard, hmm? He must’ve kept a mistress, otherwise there would be no Erica.”

“He didn’t keep a mistress—not while my mother was alive.” Guy glared at her for even suggesting that. Then he conceded, “But he did seduce another man’s wife. Not much honor in that, I have to agree.” Which was only one of the reasons he’d so resented Erica’s existence. It went to prove that his father’s high standards were nothing more than hypocrisy.

“Maybe he was lonely,” suggested Avery.

“Lonely?” He shook his head. “That’s stupid. He had a family—maybe we were farflung, but we were his children. He had Jarrod Ridge … the business empire he always wanted.” Had it not been enough? Was Avery right? Had his father been lonely? Guilt pierced him. He shoved it aside, and focused on the woman who had turned his world upside down.

Leaning forward, Avery started to pat herself dry with the second towel. “I think it would be far better for me to stay with Melissa as you’ve arranged, and for no one to be any the wiser about my baby.”

Her baby? What about his rights? The surge of primal possessiveness took him aback. If Avery was planning to deny him access to his own child she was in for a surprise.

But it wasn’t worth fighting now. They both needed time to absorb that they were going to be parents.

Finally he sighed and pushed his damp hair out of his eyes. “If you’d rather stay with Melissa, I’ll take you to Willow Lodge.”

Twelve

Willow Lodge oozed mellow serenity.

It was set away from the main resort complex, in a spot sheltered from the winds. Inside, the walls and floors were crafted from wood the color of honey and dramatic picture windows looked out over the willows for which the lodge was named. The fragrance of lavender and beeswax lingered in the air, and Avery found herself instantly unwinding.

And Melissa did everything to make her feel comfortable.

“Treat Willow Lodge like your home,” Guy’s sister said. Avery took Melissa at her word. After sleeping under a down comforter and having a leisurely breakfast, Avery propped her leg up on a footrest in front of a window overlooking the willows and showing glimpses of the river beyond.

A constant trickle of visitors kept her entertained. Guy was the first to arrive. Shortly after Melissa departed for Tranquility Spa, he came through the back door. “How’s the ankle?”

“Much better.” Avery turned her head. Guy wore dark trousers and a black-on-white striped long-sleeved shirt with elegant European panache. The years he’d spent in France showed. She forced herself to stop gawking at the man like a lovelorn teenager.

He came closer and his breath was warm on the top of her leg as he leaned down. “No sign of swelling.”

“Only a little bruising.” With her fingertips Avery found the tender spot.

“It will go all the colors of the rainbow before it fades.”

Avery groaned. “I hope not.” He was so close that she could detect the subtle green notes of moss and musk in his aftershave. “I’m keeping it iced. It’s helping—even though it’s freezing.”

“Good.”

Avery wrinkled her nose at him. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you were the one wearing an ice pack.”

He hunkered down beside her, and put his hand on her ankle. “Probably not.”

A delicious warmth cruised through her at his touch. Avery had thought her ankle too numbed by cold to respond to stimulus.

Not so.

When he started to move his fingers in little circular strokes her breath hooked in the back of her throat. His hand stroked up her calf, across the back of her knees, and tantalizing shivers followed. The taunting fingers stopped just below the hemline of her fitted dress, and she knew if she tried to protest her voice would be nothing more than a thin thread of sound. Then Guy would know precisely how much he was rattling her composure.

She glanced away, only to be transfixed by the sight of his long, square-tipped fingers caressing her flesh.

She inhaled a deep, steadying breath, and his heady male scent filled her senses.

How could one man have such an impact on her?

Only him.

Ever.

She feared it would only be Guy for her, all her life. And now she was pregnant with the baby he didn’t want. It was over. He’d made it crystal clear he didn’t want a wife … children … a family.

On Monday she was returning to El Dorado, to her family. Undoubtedly Guy would be amiable, offer support; Christian would be asked to negotiate the terms of any agreement, which she would insist on being kept confidential. Perhaps Guy would even offer to do his duty and see the child on the odd occasion. But Avery fostered no illusions that Guy would want to be actively involved with his child … or with her. She’d likely have more contact with Christian than with Guy.

At least she would have his baby….

She glanced up into his eyes. And stilled. There was an emotion she’d never seen exposed. A mix of tenderness and desire. Or something else?

Slowly he removed his hand from her leg. “I better get going. Otherwise I might not get to work today—and with the charity auction fundraiser tomorrow night, there’s a lot to do.”

Avery’s heart skipped a beat.

For what seemed like a lifetime their eyes held. Then he leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn’t like any of the kisses they’d shared before. It was gentle, tender, with the promise of passion in the way his lips moved on hers. And it left her yearning for more.

Then he pulled away and rose to his feet. “I’ll be back later. Take care of yourself.”

It was only as he walked away that Avery realized that despite his concern for her, he’d never once mentioned their baby….

After Guy had left, Erica dropped off a pile of magazines, and Avery discovered that they both shared a passion for collecting recipes and baking.

“Christian has a meeting in town tonight, so I’ll come by with some ingredients to bake an apple pie,” Erica promised.

Avery agreed in a rush. Guy had said he would return. The more people around to act as a buffer, the better. Guy clearly had no intention of talking about the baby, and nor did she. It would only cause tension and misery between them.

Erica had only just departed when Gavin and Trevor trooped in to see how Avery was getting along.

She was rather touched by the concern the Jarrods were showing her.

Late that afternoon Guy returned with food he’d had Louis rustle up in the kitchens at Chagall’s. So by the time Melissa came home from the spa, the table was laid and candles lit, giving the honey tones of the lodge a cozy warmth.

“I seem to have taken over your home,” Avery told Melissa apologetically.

“I don’t mind.” Melissa smiled at her. “It’s nice to have company.”

“But you’ve always said you wanted peace,” Guy protested. “If you’re lonely, you should come and stay in one of the family suites at Manor Lodge. In fact, there are two spare ones right now.”

“I’m not lonely—and having Avery as company is different from living with you guys.” Rolling her eyes, Melissa said to Avery, “Believe me, sometimes a girl needs a break from her brothers. It was a pleasant surprise to discover I had a sister when Christian revealed Erica to us.”

Avery slid her gaze to Guy to see how he was reacting to Melissa’s revelation. But she detected none of the resentment she’d half expected.

“So that’s a roundabout way of saying you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like,” Melissa smiled at Avery, “but my brothers are not.”

Guy howled in protest.

Avery started to giggle. “Hey, I know exactly what Melissa means.”

More laughter bubbled up in her throat as Guy glared at her.

“Traitor!”

“I was two when my parents died. I was lucky enough to be taken in by my aunt and uncle and I grew up with my cousins—four boys. Believe me, I always wanted a sister, too.”

“Hey, now you’re both ganging up on me.”

“Wait until Erica arrives, you’ll be outnumbered three to one,” said Melissa with sisterly satisfaction.

Guy gave her an evil grin. “I’ll have to call in reinforcements.”

“No!” Avery and Melissa chorused. They glanced at each other and started to laugh.

When Erica walked in, she paused in the doorway. “Sounds like a festive dinner.”

“Avery mentioned you were coming to bake a pie. There’s more than enough food, so join us for dinner.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

But Avery wondered if she was the only one to detect Erica’s hesitation. Her hand touched her tummy. These people were her baby’s family … she would’ve loved her baby to have grown up among them.

If only things could’ve been different. Not going to happen. Even though she’d needed Erica and Melissa present to stop the awkwardness between her and Guy, she was a little irritated that he’d made no attempt to corner her and discuss the baby.

It only underlined the fact that this was no romantic daydream; this was real life and sometimes it didn’t work out quite as planned.

Guy had hoped for time alone with Avery.

The shock and terror that had followed her announcement that they were expecting a baby had started to wear off. Perhaps it was for the best that their talk didn’t happen tonight. Avery deserved time to recover from the accident, and he could do with more time to get his head around the idea of the baby so that he could decide how he was going to handle the problem.

After they’d finished dinner, Guy found himself slouching on a barstool in the kitchen watching as the three women worked around the preparation island in perfect harmony. His sister, the half sister whom he’d treated with extreme wariness until very recently … and Avery.

Guy couldn’t quite decide how best to describe his relationship with Avery.

He frowned as he watched her kneading the dough for the apple pie, her small hands moving with sensuous grace. Melissa had cut the apples into elegant slices and at Avery’s insistence she settled down on the kitchen stool beside Guy and started to rub the small of her back.

“Did you hurt your back at work?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what I’ve done. It’s aching a little.”

For a split second the image of his mother rubbing her back in a similar fashion flashed through his mind. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Then Guy shook his head to clear the image, and said more truthfully. “Actually, for a moment you reminded me of Mom doing that. I think she used to rub her back as well.”

“How old were you when your mom died?” asked Erica from the other side of the kitchen island.

“Six.”

Guy hadn’t been there when she’d died. He’d been sleeping over at a friend’s home. For years he’d been convinced if he’d been home she might not have died. It was his fault.

Blake had gotten to say goodbye. So had Gavin and Trevor and his father. Even Melissa, though she was only two at the time.

Guy had pretended he was fine, and retreated behind a happy-go-lucky facade that everyone except him accepted as the real Guy. He’d resolved never to give another human that much power over his life.

The only sound that broke the silence was the slap of the rolling pin on dough as Avery rolled it out.

Erica was sprinkling cinnamon over the apple slices. “I’ve heard plenty about your dad but not that much about your mom.” Giving him and Melissa a swift glance, she added, “I don’t mean to be nosy, but I’ve wondered, and you are my family now.”

Melissa gave a sigh. “Dad changed after Mom died. He was very upset by her death, so we avoided talking about Mom at all.”

“How sad!” Avery stopped rolling. “I never realized how lucky I was. My uncle told me all about what my mom had been like growing up. And both my aunt and uncle regularly pulled out the photo album and showed me photos of my parents’ wedding, of my first birthday party. I always knew who they were.”

“Guy used to stare at Mom’s paintings.”

Melissa clambered off the seat and started to cut the left over pastry into strips, while Avery pressed the dough into a baking tin. Erica carefully arranged the apple slices on top of the dough.

“He used to say they made him remember Mom, what colors she liked and how she smelled,” Melissa continued after putting the pie in the pre-heated oven, “but Dad sold all the pictures—he didn’t want anything to remind him of Mom. We’ve since managed to buy some back.”

“Dad also got rid of the camera he and Mom had given me for my sixth birthday.”

Melissa looked horrified. “I never knew that.”

He didn’t look at Erica … or Avery. “I used to say I wanted to take photos like Mom’s paintings when I grew up. I suppose it was too painful for him to contemplate. Later I bought my own camera and joined the school’s camera club.”

“I remember that,” said Melissa. “You wanted to be a photographer.”

“But Dad wanted me to do a business degree. Like Blake.” Guy shrugged. “Eventually we compromised. I did the business degree, but only after he agreed to let me go to culinary school.”

“How could he do that?” Erica protested.

“Easily. He was Don Jarrod, he was used to imposing his will on everyone around him.”

All three women had fallen silent, their eyes focused on him with varying degrees of … pity.

Guy forced an easy smile. “It was a long time ago. At least I got to do something that I loved. Something creative and satisfying, yet still lucrative.”

“But you never forgot your mom,” said Erica.

“No, I didn’t, but it took a long time for me to stop resenting her for leaving us,” he admitted in a rush of honesty. “Losing her wrecked Dad’s life. I didn’t like the kind of man Dad became after Mom died.”

“How did he change?” Avery asked in a tentative voice. She’d propped her elbows on the island and her chin on her hands.

Guy shrugged. “None of us could do anything right.”

“He had huge expectations of us all and wanted us to stay in the business doing what we were told,” added Melissa, shaking out her blond hair. “Just like Guy said.”

“And he let you go to France?” Avery’s voice was filled with disbelief.

“He tried to stop me. He’d planned for me to stay closer. I won that battle.” Even all these years later Guy could remember the satisfaction he’d gained in that moment.

“Guy wasn’t the only one who left. Blake went to New York and I escaped to Los Angeles where I ran an ultra fashionable spa,” Melissa added from where she’d perched herself back on the stool beside him. “And once Gavin finished university, he worked all over the globe, as far from home as possible. Only Trevor stayed in Aspen—yet even he wouldn’t work for Dad at Jarrod Ridge.”

“So Don Jarrod’s empire was in danger of crumbling.” Erica said, her hands busy as she wiped the surface of the island clean. “But he had the last say from beyond the grave, and forced you all to come back and work together if you wanted anything of the estate—”

“Don’t forget his will also introduced you into the family,” interjected Melissa. “You also stand to inherit a share of his empire.”

Erica put the cloth in the sink and pulled a face. “Much to everyone’s dismay.”

“Not mine,” said Melissa quickly. “I told you I always wanted a sister. You’re part of the family now.” There was a silence.

Avery was looking at Guy expectantly. What did she expect him to say? That he wanted another sister? That he was glad to discover Erica’s existence?

Hell, no. It only proved that his father had not been as inconsolable as Guy had foolishly believed all his life. So much for his resolve never to love a woman as faithfully as his father had loved his mother because he didn’t want to risk the same heartbreak. He’d never been the kind of man who dug too deep into feelings, and he wasn’t about to start now. It hurt too dammed much, revealed too much of what was missing in his life.

Except he couldn’t for the life of him think of a flippant comment to make.

He turned away only to have Erica raise a questioning eyebrow at him from the other side of the kitchen, then glance meaningfully toward Avery. She was matchmaking! Erica had suspected his interest in Avery on the night of the oyster-and-champagne cocktail party, and it had become a certainty, he could read it on her face. Yet instead of irritation, Guy experienced a sudden unexpected bond with his half sister. And couldn’t stop himself from winking at her.

Instantly Erica winked back.

“Okay, maybe it won’t be so bad having another female in the family,” said Guy with feigned reluctance.

“Good to know you feel that way.” The sparkle in Erica’s eyes outshone the radiance of the diamond solitaire on her ring finger.

Without intending to, Guy found himself seeking out Avery, and the approval in her sweet smile caused warmth to pool deep in his chest. For the first time since he’d come back to Jarrod Ridge he felt some degree of peace.

He had to remind himself that he wasn’t the kind of man who indulged in emotion and soul-searching.

“The timer just went off,” he said. “Which one of you three is going to cut me the first slice?”

Wearing her dressiest outfit the following night, a gold satin Versace dress that had been a gift from her aunt and uncle for her twenty-fifth birthday, Avery arrived early at the ballroom—more out of habit than anything else. She’d taken care with her makeup, and barely limped in the gold ballet flats she wore.

Camera crews were setting up for a segment that was to be filmed for a television show.

Guy was nowhere to be seen, and Avery rather suspected he was caught up in the kitchens overseeing the chefs, making sure that every detail was perfect. She was learning that the laid-back, carefree persona he cultivated concealed a far more complex, intense man. A perfectionist.

The wine selections had already been made—a collaboration between herself, Guy and Louis—and Avery was pleased with how well they complemented the dishes. Guy had been pleased, too.

She had done the job Uncle Art had wanted her to do. She would be leaving with her pride intact. Her heart was a different matter. There would be a large chunk left behind at Jarrod Ridge.

But she’d have Guy’s baby to fill the hole.

Erica and a woman Avery had never seen before were fiddling with the flower arrangements.

“The flowers look beautiful,” Avery told Guy’s half sister. She smiled, and for the first time Avery saw a hint of Guy in her features. Her heart tugged. Would their baby have that look, too?

“Don’t they?” Erica introduced Avery to the woman standing beside her, a local florist, who was overjoyed to have been given the job for the fundraiser.

“I only opened my shop three months ago, this is an amazing break for my business.”

“Avery is right, the arrangements do look beautiful. I’m sure you’ll get a lot of business.” Undetected, Guy had come up behind them. “Erica said from the start that you are very artistic.”

“Christian and I will be among those customers—for our wedding. And heaven knows I’m not easily impressed.” But Erica looked delighted with Guy’s praise. “I’m so glad we’re supporting local businesses.”

“It was a great initiative.”

Avery saw the glances Guy and Erica exchanged. There was understanding … and fondness. She couldn’t help feeling pleased for Guy. The discovery of Erica’s existence had been a shock—but both of them had gained so much.

The ballroom started to fill.

By the silver flashes of light Avery gathered that the beautiful group moving to one of the tables at the foot of the stage must be movie stars.

Gavin and Trevor came over to join them, both tanned and athletically built, with an appealing surf-and-sun openness that made them look so similar. Avery looked from one to the other, then to Blake and Guy. All four brothers were clad in tuxedos and looked devastatingly handsome. But only one held her heart….

“You know,” she announced, “Gavin and Trevor should be twins. They look far more alike.”

Erica was the first to agree. “Funny, I had a similar thought when I first arrived in Aspen.”

“Let’s go settle down at our table,” Guy murmured to Avery.

The siblings had divided themselves among different tables, to spread the effect of having hosts throughout the ballroom. Avery hadn’t inspected the final table lists, but it made sense for her to sit with Guy. After all, they were working together, and it would be downright weird if she objected.

And her only reason to object was one she didn’t want made public: she loved a man who didn’t love her, and she was expecting his baby.

He rested his hand under her elbow, and the contact sent a shiver of awareness through Avery. Oh, heavens, would this wretched wanting ever stop?

It grew worse when she discovered that she had been seated beside him. His thigh brushed hers as he sat down, and she was conscious of his dinner-jacketed arm beside her bare arm. She shifted a little away—the seat on her other side was the only one at the table not yet occupied. To her surprise she found a familiar face on the other side of the empty seat.

It broke the ice.

“Nancy!” She turned her head. “Guy, this is Nancy who rescued me … and called you.” When the excitement settled, Nancy introduced the older couple beside her as her parents.

“We’ve been coming to this event for years,” said Nancy’s mother. “But this is only the second time Nancy’s been with us.”

“I’ve been working in Boston.” Nancy rested her fingers on her mother’s arm. “But I decided I missed home. So I came back to Aspen.”

“I’m back after years, too—” At the arrival of the white-jacketed waiter, Guy broke off.

Avery chose a spinach-and-bacon salad as a starter, while Guy had wild mushrooms. The wines she’d selected worked well as an accompaniment and she couldn’t stop herself from giving Guy a triumphant smile as he kissed his fingertips in appreciation.

He leaned toward her. “We make a good team.”

“Glad you’ve got confidence in me.”

“I have every confidence in you.”

“You didn’t to start with.” She tossed her head and gave him a mischievous smile. “Are you ready to eat your words?”

Then she froze.

Beyond Guy a man was wending his way through the tables, a man she’d hoped never to see again. Avery whispered, “What’s he doing here?”

A desperate look around showed that the only empty seat was the one right beside her.

Guy glanced up as the newcomer stopped beside their table, and cursed.

Thirteen

“What are you doing here, Jeff?” Guy demanded.

Jeff stuck his hands in his pockets and swaggered forward. “Already forgotten that you ordered me to come?”

Avery gasped.

Guy placed a steadying hand on Avery’s arm and felt her tremble.

“I arranged our meeting for Monday afternoon—not tonight.” A fierce emotion filled Guy. Jeff had come to cause trouble. Guy didn’t doubt it.

Jeff had tried to pressure her to sleep with him, and Guy no longer had any choice but to break his partnership with Jeff, and walk away from the years of friendship they’d shared.

He believed Avery trusted that she’d told him the truth.

Avery came first.

Stunned, Guy looked at her. He took in the doll-like features, the blue eyes, the tendrils of blond hair that had escaped her upswept hairstyle. Why had he never realized how important she’d become to him?

Because he hadn’t wanted any commitment.

Hadn’t wanted the pain—the loss and loneliness—it might bring. Yet when Avery departed for California there would be a chasm in his heart that no one else would be able to fill.

The empty feeling had a name. Grief. He was already missing Avery. But this was different to his father’s experience. His father hadn’t had a choice in losing his Mom.

He did.

And he wasn’t going to let Avery go. Or the baby.

They were his … and he was going to keep them both safe. In any way he could. It was about far more than sex, about sating his senses with her. It was about waking with her beside him in the morning, sharing a joke with her. Simply knowing she was in the same room as him brought him joy. That could only be love.

He loved her.

He narrowed his gaze on his business partner. Jeff glared back.

“You shouldn’t have come tonight, Jeff,” he said quietly. “I would’ve listened to your side of the story on Monday.”

Avery clambered to her feet. “Excuse me, I need the bathroom.”

Guy gave her a few seconds to get a head start. Then turning to Jeff, he said, “Maybe you’re right. Let’s talk now and finish it. Come.”

Without a second look, Guy rose to his feet leaving his erstwhile friend to follow.

Avery was standing in the pre-function lobby off the ballroom. In the light of the chandeliers overhead, Guy could see that her face was pinched with strain. Placing his hand around Jeff’s arm, Guy marched Jeff over to where she stood.

Her blue eyes went wide.

“Jeff, first, I think you owe Avery an apology,” Guy said as they reached her.

Avery’s lips parted in astonishment.

“I have nothing to apologize for,” Jeff blustered. “She got what she was asking for.”

Avery started to object, but Guy was too quick. He stepped forward until he stood nose to nose with his business partner. “Then why have you all but disappeared off the face of the earth since I tried to call you to confront you with what Avery told me? Why did it take an e-mail from me saying that our business partnership was over before you had Vivienne contact me to set up a meeting for Monday?”

Beside him, Avery gasped.

“She lied to you,” said Jeff heatedly.

“I haven’t even told you what she accused you of, so how can you know that she lied?” Guy asked gently.

Jeff pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the beads of sweat that had popped out over his forehead.

“You’re not going to let a little bitch like her ruin what we’ve built up together?”

“Watch yourself!” Guy’s tone was as dangerous as a lash. “And she didn’t ruin anything. You did that all by yourself.”

“You don’t really mean to dissolve our partnership.” The bluster had evaporated.

Avery’s hand touched his sleeve. “Guy, you don’t have to—”

“You don’t need her.” Jeff spoke right over Avery. “Surely you don’t intend to be ruled by a piece of—”

“Don’t say it.” Even Jeff knew better than to argue with the lethal softness.

Guy rested his hand on Avery’s waist and drew her close.

“We’re both waiting for your apology, Jeff.” Jeff looked from Avery to Guy and his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.”

Avery tipped her head up. “He told you he didn’t—” “No,” Guy cut across Avery’s words. “He didn’t have to. I know you told me the truth when you said that he arrived at my apartment pretending that I’d asked him to pick you up, and fed you a pack of lies. You need to believe that I never sent Jeff to you as a birthday gift. I had something else planned.”

A flicker of curiosity lit her eyes, and she opened her mouth to say something. But Jeff spoke first, “I’d been drinking. Sometimes I do really stupid things when I drink.”

Guy remembered that years ago when he’d first met Jeff he’d sometimes gotten into sticky situations at parties. It had stopped soon after. He’d thought Jeff had simply grown up. He’d never suspected that Jeff had a problem.

“But why lie to me?”

“I made a move on Avery, and I knew that if she told you, you would get rid of your share in Go Green. I never intended for that to happen.”

Guy gave a laugh of disbelief. His fingers itched to yank Jeff by the collar and shake him like a dog. Avery would not appreciate such violence. “That’s it?” he asked. “That’s all you can come up with?”

“I’m sorry.” Jeff seemed to shrink still further. “Give me another chance. You can’t end our partnership. I’ll resume the counseling I gave up a few years ago.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Jeff,” said Avery. “You need help.”

“Our business relationship is over,” said Guy.

Jeff looked utterly miserable. “You don’t need to dissolve the partnership—I’ll agree to it. I’ll sell out my share.”

“That’s certainly an option for us to discuss Monday afternoon. But I can’t talk now, I have some things I need to say to Avery first.”

“I don’t think I should come back into the ballroom—I’ve lost my appetite. I’ll find a hotel in town.”

“Just stay out of the resort bars,” Guy said.

“Here,” Jeff passed him an envelope. “It’s a contribution to the fundraiser.”

Guy nodded. The friendship he’d shared for years with Jeff would never recover from his deception but the man faced a tough road to rehabilitation. Guy had stared down enough of his own demons since his father’s death, to know he wouldn’t want to be in Jeff’s shoes. And, if he played his cards right, he’d get to keep Avery. He could afford to be generous. “Thank you. I’ll see you Monday, we’ll deal with Go Green then.”

Jeff shook the hand he’d offered. “I’ll understand if you don’t invite me to the wedding.”

“There isn’t going to be a wedding—so you won’t miss anything.” Avery said from beside him, then walked away.

A sense of helplessness filled Guy. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

There wouldn’t be a wedding—they both knew that. Avery had never expected it—hell, she’d even told him that.

Avery settled herself down in the seat that had been intended for Jeff, so that the chair she’d been sitting on before created a no-man’s-land between her seat and Guy’s. She needed that dividing space right now.

Pushing her untouched plate away, she turned to Nancy and started to chatter about the coming ski season.

Inside she was seething.

How dare Guy tell Jeff that he loved her? Pretending he’d never doubted her, and that he’d accepted her word? Then without missing a beat, shaking the man’s hand? She’d half expected him to slap Jeff jovially on the back.

Men. Avery had stifled the urge to yell at Guy like a fishwife. To be honest, she’d wanted him to floor Jeff.

“Avery, we need to talk.”

She’d been so engrossed in her murderous thoughts she hadn’t heard him come up behind her. To buy herself time before responding, she leaned sideways and reached for her half-full wine glass and took a long sip of the apple juice it contained to fortify her for the “talk” he wanted.

He slid into the vacant seat beside her, the seat she’d deliberately left open. Putting his arm around on the chair back behind her, he leaned forward.

“I wish I could’ve spared you that unpleasantness.”

Before she could respond Erica was beside them. “Sorry to interrupt … Guy you should be up on the stage. The bidding is about to begin. Have you forgotten you pledged to prepare a meal for two?”

He turned his head to his half sister. “Give me one minute.”

“There isn’t time,” Erica protested. “Not now.”

Guy raked his hand through his hair and gave an impatient sigh. “Okay.” The blowtorch force of his gaze landed on Avery. “And don’t even think of running out on me again. Do you understand?”

She nodded, still furious, but glad that she’d been spared a public confrontation.

Guy followed Erica onto the stage.

Avery still couldn’t believe Guy had shaken that jerk’s hand. She was glad he was gone.

The first item to be auctioned off was a case of French red that went for a staggering sum of money. A weekend in one of the private, fully staffed, Jarrod Ridge lodges with a balloon ride and other trimmings went next. Guy was up a few minutes later.

Back in New York Guy had promised to prepare her a feast in person. It had never come to pass. And now it never would. But a couple of complete strangers would enjoy his ministrations.

Gathering up her bag, Avery said goodbye to Nancy and her parents, and pushed her chair back. Skirting the edge of the ballroom she left the glamorous event.

She couldn’t bear to watch.

The Sky Lounge was deserted.

For the baby’s sake, Avery ordered a cup of hot chocolate rather than coffee or tea and retreated to a high-backed armchair in the corner by the floor-to-ceiling window. Kicking the ballet flats off, she tucked her feet beneath her, taking care not to put too much weight on her ankle, and stared out through the glass at the pinpricks of lights that twinkled in the darkness outside.

The day after tomorrow she would be gone.

She placed a hand on her stomach.

“Then it will be just you and me, baby,” she whispered.

A picture of Guy as he’d looked on stage, debonair in a his perfectly fitted tuxedo filled her mind. That was how she would forever remember him. The bartender set her chocolate down on the round table in front of the armchair and Avery smiled her thanks as she picked it up.

Fleetingly she wondered how much Guy’s donation had sold for. Cradling the mug in her hands, she pictured the lucky anonymous couple he would entertain and feed.

Avery grew still.

Was that it? Was it easier for Guy to cook for complete strangers than for a lover? Cooking for a lover implied caring. Guy didn’t do caring—it smacked too much of commitment. She’d fallen for a man who was as far removed from her family dream as it was possible to get.

Then she remembered his over-the-top concern for her at the hospital.

That hadn’t been the reaction of a carefree, commitment-fearing man.

Some men fuss when they’re worried.

She stared thoughtfully at the frothy cream on the top of the hot drink. Even the receptionist in the doctor’s rooms had noticed Guy’s concern about her. And his every action since had shown his concern and caring.

Why?

Thank God you’re safe.

That’s what he’d said to her after he’d climbed in behind her in the spa and held her like he never intended to let her go. Avery took a sip of the drink, barely tasting it. Was it possible that Guy really did love her? He’d told Jeff he did but she’d been too angry to take it in.

Yet he’d never told her.

Perhaps he was one of those men who couldn’t talk about love. Her head drooped. Then she rallied. It wouldn’t be the same as the love she felt for him … but it was a start. She could work on it.

Like the shifting of the brightly hued splinters of a kaleidoscope the fragments of a new vision were forming. Had Guy been irrationally afraid she might die? His mother had died …

In the same hospital? Could it be that he’d envisaged his worst childhood nightmare recurring?

He’d never had a chance to say goodbye to his mother….

And she’d walked away from him in New York without saying goodbye.

What had he said just before he’d gone up on stage with Erica? And don’t even think of running out on me again. Do you understand? And what had she done? She’d promptly walked out and retreated here to the Sky Lounge.

She’d left.

Again.

Horror filled her. Guy would believe she didn’t care. If Guy truly loved her that would hurt, maybe cause him to withdraw behind the lighthearted mask that she was starting to detest.

Hastily she slipped her shoes back on and rose to her feet, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of Guy coming toward her.

The expression of apprehension on Avery’s face caused Guy to rethink his plan of sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to his suite so they could have uninterrupted time for the talk he was determined to have with her.

Then he threw caution to the winds. He beckoned. “You’re coming with me.”

To his surprise, instead of arguing, Avery trotted over to him as quietly as a lamb.

“I shouldn’t have left.” The words bubbled from her. “I told you I was staying—then I didn’t.”

Guy shot her a puzzled look, but capitalized on her momentary meekness by grasping her hand in his. Her fingers tightened around his own.

“To hell with it.”

She squeaked as he lifted her high into his arms, and strode out of the Sky Lounge ignoring the stunned expression of the bar staff.

It didn’t take them long to reach the elevator to the private suites, and once inside the silence was electric. Guy gazed into her eyes. “We are going to talk.”

“Yes.”

“And you are going nowhere.” She nodded.

“You’re not leaving, understand?”

“Yes, Guy.”

“Good,” he purred hoping that this unaccustomed subservience would last a little longer.

When the car came to a stop, he exited with Avery held high against his chest. Once through the hallway, he turned left and marched past the arched windows that looked out onto the starlit sky.

When he halted outside his suite, he said, “The access card is in my pocket.” Then steeled himself as her fingers fumbled in his dinner jacket. Avery swiped it in the key slot, then he pushed the door open. Once inside the suite he closed the door, and let her slide down his body, before he leaned back against the heavy wooden door.

Avery narrowed the Barbie-blue eyes that had tied him up in knots. “Are you going to stand there all night long? Because it doesn’t look terribly comfortable.”

“I’m making sure you don’t run out on me. Tonight you’re staying with me all night long.”

He heard her breath catch.

Then she said gently, “You don’t need to worry. I have no intention of going anywhere.”

The stiffness in his clenched jaw eased a little, and he stepped away from the door.

“I only have one demand,” she said as she sank down on the sofa.

“What is that?”

“That you promise to trust me for as long as we are together.”

“I trust you,” Guy said with the solemnity of a vow. He knelt at her feet and picked up her left hand. “And I hate to admit it, but you were right when you taunted me about being jealous. I was jealous. But only because you are the only woman it hurt me to lose. I didn’t know what had hit me.”

“You didn’t react when I said that Louis should take me on the picnic,” she pointed out.

“Your mockery made me realize how much of an idiot I’d become. I didn’t know what was happening to me. You’re a terrifying little thing, you know.”

She gave a gurgle of laughter. “Little things can’t be terrifying.”

“You are. You scared me to death,” he confessed.

Avery leaned forward until the tip of her nose almost touched his. “You don’t need to be jealous—there is only you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damn right you’re not going anywhere,” he growled. “At least, not without me.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

“That will be forever. I want—”

“Guy—” she placed a finger against his lips “—you don’t need to promise me forever. We’ll take it one day at a time.”

“But I want forever.” He bent his head and placed a kiss on the ring finger. “Tomorrow we will go shopping for a ring.”

“Guy!” Avery started to laugh. “You can’t just tell me that. You need to ask me to marry you first. It’s called a proposal.”

He sat back on his heels and looked up at her, and shook his head. “I’m not taking any chance that you might say no.”

Stretching out a hand, Avery stroked the engaging lock that had fallen over his forehead back in to place. “I would never say no, trust me on that.”

He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I trust you with my life. Avery, I’m sorry for having been such a dumb idiot. I’ll never doubt you again. Please marry me.”

“Why?”

Here it was. She wanted blood. She deserved it. He shut his eyes. To his shock her lips touched his, and his eyes shot open. The butterfly kiss ended, and then she murmured, “I know I want to marry you because I love you.”

Guy blinked at her. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“I love you, too,” he said in a rush. Then he gave a shaky laugh. “That wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.”

“It will get easier—and that’s a promise too.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

Linking his fingers behind her neck, Guy gazed deep into her eyes, enthralled by the understanding, the love, the devotion he glimpsed there. “I love you, Avery Lancaster-soon-to-be-Jarrod. I’ve fought it, I’ve distrusted my feelings, I’ve done and said some incredibly stupid things. But you have to believe I want you to be my wife. I want our baby … and whatever other babies might be in the future for us. I want us to be a family.”

The smile she gave him was blinding.

“Sometimes dreams do come true,” she whispered and leaned forward.

Guy met her half way. The kiss was hungry. Passionate. Perfect.

“I think it’s time we went to bed,” said Avery with a delicious smile.

Pale gold light from the bedside lamp broke the pre-dawn darkness in the bedroom. Avery pressed a button on her cell phone ending the call and set the slim phone down on the bed stand.

“Wake up,” she urged the man sprawled on his stomach, his hand still resting on her thigh.

Guy groaned and cracked open an eye. “Good Lord, it’s still night.”

“Come, there’s something we’ve got to do.”

“At this hour? What?”

Avery gave him an impish grin as she clambered out of bed. “You’ll see.”

When they got down to the lobby fifteen minutes later, he stopped dead at the sight of the huddle of strangers in the lobby. “What is this?”

“We’re going ballooning.” “No.” Panic flared in his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong? I thought this was what you wanted. You’ve been telling me I need to take more risks.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” His voice was muffled.

“Guy,” Avery hooked her arms around his shoulders and drew his head down to look into his dark eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to lose you.” His lips barely moved. “You won’t lose me.”

“I have once—through my own stupidity when I didn’t come after you and allowed you to go back to California. In the past few days I nearly lost you again—” he shuddered “—the car accident. I don’t want you taking any risks.”

“Well, you can hardly wrap me in cotton wool for the rest of my life,” she said reasonably.

“I can damn well try.”

“Too late.” Avery wove her fingers through his and tugged. “It’s all organized. We’ve got our own balloon and our own pilot.”

“I must’ve been mad to suggest this,” he muttered.

“Insane,” she said cheerfully, “but you assured me it was safer than driving, remember? And you said it was a great way to see bears.”

Guy groaned.

Within half an hour they were ready to ascend. The gas burner roared and the yellow envelope of the balloon was swollen and round. The first rays of the sun caressed Avery’s uptilted face, giving it a radiance Guy had never seen.

She was exquisite.

And she was his.

“What about if I cook you a meal instead?” he asked with final desperation. “Whatever you want, you choose.”

She met his eyes. Hers were sparkling with excitement. “What did you say? I’m looking forward to this. A little while ago I was dreading it, now I simply can’t wait.”

Damn, she hadn’t even heard his final plea and he couldn’t deprive her of the pleasure of the experience of a lifetime. Guy stopped fighting and took her hand in his.

“Stand beside me,” she said, turning away to scan the valley below the resort, “I want you to feel exactly what I do.”

Hell. His stomach churned. He didn’t even want to think of her fear of heights. Instead he enfolded her in his arms from behind and crossed his hands over her belly. In his arms Avery—and his baby—would be safe.

The basket heaved and rose off the ground. Avery let out a whoop. The ascent went perfectly. Soon they were gliding over a grove of aspens.

Avery stuck her hand out and her fingers touched the topmost leaves.

“Come back here.” Guy hauled her against his chest.

She turned into his arms so that she was facing him and grinned at him. “I can’t believe how fantastic this is. It’s so smooth—despite the noise of the gas.”

Resisting the urge to say “I told you so,” he kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.” And he was.

“Well, I decided if you could overcome your fear of loving someone and admit you loved me, then it should be easy for me to overcome my fear of heights.”

Her admission tightened his throat. “Avery—”

“Before you say I didn’t have to do it, believe me I did. And it might’ve started off being for you. But now it’s all for me. I feel utterly free—and it’s not because I’m in the place I always considered to be the realm of angels.” She gestured to the sky above them.

“It’s been liberating for me, too,” admitted Guy.

The sense of freedom was exhilarating. The burdens that had been pressing on him for years, the fear of commitment, the need to prove himself, had all lifted. Everything that mattered in his world was contained in the circle of his arms.

“I love you, Avery.” This time the words came easily, as she’d promised. “And before I forget, I’ve got a date tonight.”

She arched an eyebrow. “With me I hope?”

“With the winner of my auction donation.”

“Oh.” For a moment her eyes clouded over then cleared, and the blue eclipsed the cobalt sky above them. “I’ll see you afterward.”

“Don’t you want to know who placed the winning bid?” “Who?”

“I did.”

Her eyes widened. “You did? But why pay for yourself?”

“We have unfinished business.” At her puzzlement, he added, “I have a birthday dinner to prepare for you. You missed out last time.”

“That’s what you were doing that night?”

He nodded. “I’d prepared you dinner at Baratin. But tonight will be better. Because as soon as we land we’re going to go shopping for a ring. And later I’ll place it here.” He stroked her ring finger.

“We’ll also need to tell your family about our engagement.”

“They’ll be delighted.” Guy grinned as he imagined what Erica would have to say. “And tomorrow I’ll fly to California with you to break the news to your family, too. Then we’ll come back home.”

Jarrod Ridge was home, would always be his home, Guy knew.

“There’s a meadow beyond Willow Lodge overlooking Roaring Fork that I want you to see. If you like it we can build a home there.”

“It sounds perfect.” She gave him a gentle smile. “I’d like to keep the news about the baby to ourselves for now. It’s so new, I want a bit of time for us to savor it alone. Is that selfish?”

“Not at all. The baby will be our secret,” Guy said and he stroked her stomach, which still showed no sign of the life, the part of him and Avery that was growing inside. “The announcement will make a wonderful Christmas present for both our families.”

“And in the meantime,” her voice dropped to a breathy drawl that had Guy lowering his head to hear what she was saying, “we’ll have plenty of nights to spend together.”

Together. To Guy that sounded like heaven.

* * * * *

Wedding His Takeover Target

Emilie Rose

Thanks to my friends in PA for making me feel

like family and to the staff at Nash General for

taking such good care of my mom.

One

“You said urgent. Here we are,” Gavin Jarrod said as he preceded his oldest brother Blake into Christian Hanford’s office Monday morning. Not a great way to start the week.

The attorney handling their late father’s estate indicated the chairs in front of his desk and waited until Gavin and Blake sat. “I appreciate your coming in. Unfortunately, the news is not good.”

Gavin shot a what now? look at his brother. “Not surprising since none of the news since our father’s death five months ago has been good, beginning with him requiring each of us to put our lives and careers on hold and spend a year at Jarrod Ridge or we all forfeit our inheritance.”

“This regards your project and the permits needed to build the new bungalow you’ve designed on the resort property.”

Gavin tried not to let his frustration and resentment show. Leave it to their father to try to control their lives from his grave with posthumous demands. “What’s the holdup? It’s November first. We need to get the foundations dug and poured before the ground freezes solid.”

“You can’t get the permits because the land isn’t part of your father’s estate.”

“What?” Gavin and his brother exclaimed simultaneously.

Blake leaned forward in his chair. “The site is in the middle of Jarrod property. How can the family not own it?”

Christian pulled an aerial map of Jarrod Ridge from the file in front of him and slid it across his desk. He indicated an X on a five-acre tract outlined in red.

“This is where you wanted to build. When we researched the deed we discovered your grandfather transferred ownership of this plot to Henry Caldwell fifty years ago.”

Gavin searched his brain for Caldwells and came up empty. He’d spent the first eighteen years of his life in Aspen, but he had no reason to know any of the locals anymore. He’d escaped the town and his domineering father when he’d left for college a decade ago—he only returned when he absolutely couldn’t avoid it. To say he and his father hadn’t gotten along would be a gross understatement. “Who in the hell is Caldwell?”

“He owns the Snowberry Inn, a bed-and-breakfast here in Aspen that’s been around as long as Jarrod Ridge.”

“Why would our grandfather sell him a defunct mine?” The old mine had been Gavin’s favorite hideout as a kid. He and his brothers had spent countless hours wandering through the tunnels, and in high school Gavin had taken girls there to make out.

“The real question is why would anyone want to buy it?” Blake countered. “There’s not enough silver on the site to make extraction cost-effective.”

“That’s the interesting part. In my digging, I discovered your grandfather didn’t sell the acreage. He wagered it in a poker game. And lost it.”

Surprise pushed the air from Gavin’s lungs. “We’ll buy it back.”

Christian eyed him across the map. “Good luck with that. There are numerous letters in our files indicating that your father tried and failed to repurchase the land more than a dozen times over the years. Caldwell refused to sell.”

Blake sat back in his chair looking more relaxed than he should given the revelation that had just blown their plans to hell and back. “The plans are already drawn for a high-security bungalow for the resort’s A-list guests. The construction crews have been contracted and the materials ordered because we had no reason to expect a glitch like this. We’ll have to choose another site.”

“No,” Gavin insisted. “If I’m condemned to waste another seven months here I’m not giving up on the only place on the estate that holds good memories for me. I’ll convince Caldwell to sell.”

One corner of Blake’s mouth lifted. “You just want to do what Dad couldn’t.”

A smile tugged Gavin’s lips. His brother knew him and his competitive streak too well. Gavin never had been good at passing up a challenge. “I wouldn’t mind besting the old man. He’ll probably roll over in his grave when I succeed.”

“If you succeed,” his brother cautioned.

“I will.” Having older twin brothers who’d often teamed up against him had given Gavin a persistent streak that some called stubborn, but that same trait had taken him to the top of his field.

Blake pulled his wallet from his pocket and flashed a Ben Franklin, then laid it on the desk. Gavin caught a gleam of gold on his brother’s finger. What in the hell was that? It couldn’t be what he thought it was. But first things first. The mine. He’d deal with the new jewelry after they left Christian’s.

“A hundred bucks says you won’t,” Blake challenged. “Dad might have been an uptight pain in the ass, but he was a shrewd businessman. If there was a way to get that land back, he would have found it.”

Gavin shook his head and withdrew a matching bill. “You’re on. If there’s one thing engineering has taught me, it’s that there’s a solution to every problem. It’s a matter of whether you’re willing to pay the price. All I have to do is find Caldwell’s price and that land will be ours.”

“Hey,” Gavin called out before Blake could climb into his car outside Christian’s office. “What in the hell is that thing on your finger?”

Blake smiled, looking as satisfied as if he’d just finished a five-course gourmet dinner. “Samantha and I got married in Vegas.”

Shock popped Gavin in the gut. “I thought you were there for work on your hotel.”

“Not this time. We were there for our wedding and honeymoon. We’re going to tell the family tonight.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

Blake looked him dead in the eye. “Yes. With happiness.”

“Samantha’s been around for years and you never noticed her in that way before. In fact, you always said never mix business with pleasure unless you want pleasure to bite you in the ass.”

Blake’s skin reddened. “What can I say? I was a little slow on the uptake.”

“You did this because you didn’t want to lose her as your assistant, right?”

“Our romance started that way, but it’s more than that now. I love her.”

Gavin laughed. And then he realized Blake wasn’t joking. His brother’s expression was serious and more than a little sappy. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Love is the only reason to take that step.”

Not in Gavin’s world. In his world love was something to avoid, like standing in front of moving trains or jumping off a bridge. “You’re saying you love Samantha—the ‘til death do you part kind of thing?”

“Yes, I am.”

Blake looked happy instead of miserable. How had that happened? It didn’t matter how, the euphoria wouldn’t last long. His brother was as much of a workaholic as Gavin. Women hated that. And when they’d had enough solitude they packed up and left. “Is she pregnant?”

“Not that I know of, but I wouldn’t mind if she were.”

“Did you get a prenup?”

“I’m not worried about a prenup.”

“Blake, I’ve never known you to be blind or stupid.”

“And I’m not now. In fact, I’m seeing clearly for the first time. Samantha is the only woman I want and I trust her implicitly.”

Poor deluded sucker.

“You’d risk it even knowing how crazy losing Mom made Dad?”

“I’d be just as crazy, maybe more so, if I were too much of a coward to try to make this work.”

“I can’t talk you into an annulment?”

“No.” Blake wore his stubborn, don’t-mess-with-me face. “And I’d suggest you back off. Remember, you like Samantha.”

“As your assistant, yes, she’s damned good at her job, probably the best assistant you’ve ever had. But marriage?” He faked a shudder.

“Yes, marriage. You should try it.”

No way. He and Trevor were the only ones who’d eluded pairing up in the past few months. Good thing he knew he wasn’t susceptible. Otherwise he’d be worried. “I guess all I can do is wish you luck and tell you I’ll be here when you need me.”

“To pick up the pieces? I won’t be needing those services.”

“You hope.”

“I know. Samantha is the one for me. The only one.”

Gavin opened his mouth to continue the argument then swallowed the words. Blake was infatuated and probably brain-dead from getting laid well and often. Gavin wasn’t going to be able to change his mind. The best he could do is hope like hell that when the marriage ended, Samantha wouldn’t take a chunk of Jarrod Ridge with her.

The Snowberry Inn looked as homey as Jarrod Ridge was opulent, Gavin decided as he ran an assessing eye over the large Victorian after circling the block to appraise his opponent’s property. Located in the heart of downtown, the B and B had a homey charm reminiscent of Aspen’s silver mining boom in the 1880s, whereas his family’s resort catered to affluent guests who demanded modern amenities and world-class service.

He pushed open the door of one of The Ridge’s fleet of luxurious black Cadillac SUVs, and the irregular beat of an unskilled carpenter’s hammer striking wood greeted him as he slid from behind the wheel. Glancing up and down the street, he surveyed the area, his breath fogging the chilly autumn air. The location couldn’t be faulted. Guests could easily stroll to the shopping district’s art galleries and designer boutiques or to the upscale restaurants overlooking the Roaring Fork River.

A prime piece of valuable real estate and a relatively large parcel if the barns beyond the main structure were included.

He followed the winding walk through bare Aspen trees and leafy snowberry shrubs with their white fruits glistening in the afternoon sunlight. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he and his brothers had used clusters of the small berries as ammunition for their homemade slingshots whenever they’d stolen a few moments away from their father’s eagle eye.

Though the B and B appeared structurally sound, the clapboards could use a fresh coat of forest-green paint. The butter-yellow railing wobbled slightly in his grip as he climbed the brick steps leading to the front porch. His offer would give Caldwell an influx of cash that would more than cover the cosmetic work.

Rather than ring the bell by the front door Gavin followed the banging sound around the wide covered porch spanning the front and side of the building, hoping to find Caldwell or someone who could direct him to the man. He found a red-coated, hammer-wielding female, kneeling with her back to him. A matching red toboggan capped long, dark curls winding down her back. Definitely not Henry Caldwell.

“Ow. Oh. Dammit,” a feminine voice cried out. The hammer clattered on the floorboards.

“You okay?”

The handywoman shot to her feet and spun around, clutching her left thumb in her right hand. Wide, bright blue eyes found his.

“Who are you?” Pain tightened her voice.

“Gavin Jarrod. Need some help?”

“Are you looking for a room?” She ignored his question.

“No. I’m here to see Henry Caldwell.”

He automatically catalogued her assets. Early- to mid-twenties. Smooth, clear skin. Above average height and probably slender beneath the parka if her long, jeans-clad legs were any indication. In short, beautiful and worth getting to know better.

Then he appraised the problem, a half hammered-in nail, toenailing the railing to the column. Not an easy angle for an amateur. “Let me get that for you.”

He bent and scooped up the hammer—one too heavy for her—and slammed in the nail with one swing. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” she offered grudgingly. Still holding her injured hand close to her body, she accepted the tool he offered with her other.

“Let me look at that.” He grabbed her wrist and inspected her reddened thumb. The unpainted nail plate remained intact with no blood pooling beneath it.

The warmth of her soft skin heated his and did something wacky to his pulse rate. Single? Her ring finger was bare. He dragged his thumb over her palm.

With a quick hiss of her breath, she jerked away.

Too bad. He hadn’t reacted that instantly to a woman’s touch in a long time. “You’ve probably just bruised it. Work gloves would have offered a little protection.”

Her eyes narrowed, drawing his attention to a thick fringe of black lashes that looked real. In fact, if she wore any makeup, it was the kind a straight guy couldn’t see. “I couldn’t hold the nail with gloves on. Is Henry expecting you? He didn’t mention an appointment.”

“I didn’t make one.” He’d wanted to catch the man off guard and perhaps get him to agree to sell on impulse.

“Are you selling something?”

“No. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it.” She gathered the box of galvanized nails, her discarded gloves and the hammer. “Follow me.”

She headed toward a back entrance and led him into a warm kitchen. The combined scents of pot roast and freshly baked bread made his mouth water and his stomach growl as he followed her down the center hall to the front parlor. “Wait here. May I tell him what this is about?”

“An old poker bet.”

Her dark eyebrows dipped. “He owes you money?”

“No.” And that was all she’d get out of him. No matter how attractive she might be he wasn’t sharing personal business with her—unless it was over dinner.

Her curious gaze slid over him, making him overheat under his ski jacket. “You don’t look like one of his poker buddies.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you are …?”

“Here on personal business.”

She stood straighter, her chin snapping up. “I’ll see if Po—Henry’s available.”

Gavin hadn’t dated since arriving in town, and watching her peel the knit cap off those thick, gleaming curls and then unzip her coat reminded his libido of the long dry spell. He visually tracked her until she turned a corner out of sight.

He’d definitely have to take this one to dinner. And then maybe to bed. His heart pumped faster in approval of the plan.

Unzipping his coat, he surveyed the room. Antiques. But not the kind a man would be afraid to sit on. Lace, velvet and flowery fabrics predominated. But not enough of the girly stuff to threaten his manhood. The inn wasn’t bad. But it definitely wasn’t competition for The Ridge.

“Are you related to the Jarrods of Jarrod Ridge?” she asked from behind him.

He hadn’t heard her return. She’d shed her outerwear, revealing a purple turtleneck sweater clinging to a long, lean torso with curves in all the right places. Nice. And definitely worth pursuing. “Yes.”

Her lips mashed together as if his reply displeased her—drawing attention to the fact that she’d added some gloss to her wide, red mouth. An encouraging sign. If she wasn’t interested she wouldn’t have bothered.

“My grandfather will be with you in a moment.”

His plans sputtered and stalled like a faulty airplane engine. “Your grandfather?”

“Yes.”

The revelation killed any chance he had of taking her on a date or to bed. With his relationship track record, he couldn’t risk souring the sale with another romance wreck. Business came first—especially family business. But perhaps after the deed had been transferred …

He couldn’t imagine going a year without sex, but he’d ended his last relationship two months before his father’s death, and thus far none of the women he’d met at the lodge had tempted him like this one did.

“You’re not from here, are you?” he asked. Not that many people were Aspenites these days between the celebrity invasion and the ski season’s tourist ebb and flow.

“No.” She folded her arms across her chest, looking protective, defiant and delicious. Down, boy.

“I’ve worked all around the globe, but I can’t place your accent.”

“Good.”

Man, she had it in for him for some reason. “Have I done something to offend you, Ms. Caldwell?”

“Taylor.”

He hiked a brow.

“My last name is Taylor.”

He noted she’d ignored his question. Again. Apparently, Ms. Taylor, like him, operated on a need-to-know basis. His gaze flicked briefly back to her bare ring finger. “Married?”

She glanced away, but not so quickly that he didn’t catch a glimpse of pain, and then she checked her watch. “Not anymore. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? We usually have high tea at four.”

That would give her an excuse to leave the room, and he wasn’t ready to let her go yet—not until he’d made sense of her cool demeanor. “No thanks. Are you visiting your grandfather?”

“I manage the B and B for him.”

“Been doing that long?”

“A while.”

He almost laughed at her quick, succinct response. He’d never met a woman who made him sift so hard for information, like a miner panning for precious metals. He was used to ones who chattered nonstop. He’d have to employ a different strategy if he wanted to get details out of her.

“I am a local—or I used to be. But I’m only back for … a while.” He mimicked her words.

“Yes, I heard.”

“Did you?”

“Don’t get excited. I wasn’t fishing for information about you Jarrods. In a city with a population of roughly six thousand residents, most of those not full-time, the gossip mill works overtime. Your father’s death and the stipulations of his will are a hot topic. My condolences on his passing.”

He digested the you Jarrods part of her reply. “Thanks, but if the grapevine is working efficiently, then you know there was no love lost between my father and me. I’ll only be here another seven months and then I’m gone.”

“Your loss. Aspen is beautiful.”

He let his gaze wander to her booted feet and then back to her eyes. “Exquisitely beautiful. But not as warm as I’d like.”

She stiffened, obviously receiving the message that he wasn’t discussing the city’s climate. A fresh rush of color flooded her cheeks and her lips parted.

“Yeah, well, you’re old enough to know you can’t always get what you want.”

A clearing throat preempted further discussion. An older gentleman, tall, thin, but bearing military-erect posture and a shock of snow-white hair stood in the entry. Blue eyes the same shade as his granddaughter’s met Gavin’s. “Jarrod, huh?”

“I’m Gavin Jarrod. I’d like to talk to you about—”

Caldwell held up a blue-veined hand. “Sabrina, be an angel and get me some coffee to wash away the cobwebs my nap always leaves behind.”

Not a good start. Gavin fought the urge to check out the brunette’s backside as she left. “I apologize if I woke you, sir.”

Caldwell waved his apology aside. “Fell asleep watching the news channel. Damned depressing babble. All gloom and doom even if it is delivered by hot blondes in short skirts and high heels. Time to get up anyway. Can’t sleep what’s left of my life away. What can I do for you, Gavin Jarrod?”

“I’d like to buy back the property my grandfather lost to you.”

“Should have known one of you would pick up where your father left off. Badgering me seems to be the Jarrod way. At least you had the gumption to pester me face-to-face instead through a damned lawyer. Can’t respect a man who won’t handle his own dirty work.”

Gavin digested the animosity. He’d have to work around it. “As you’ve no doubt discovered, the mine is worthless.”

“Depends on what you consider the valuable part. Ain’t necessarily the minerals.”

Cryptic old coot. “The acreage is in the middle of Jarrod Ridge.”

“And me owning it is like a burr in your butt, ain’t it, boy? Drove your daddy nuts, too.” Mischief fanned crinkles from the old, but sharp eyes.

“My oldest brother and I would like to build a bungalow on the property.”

“Don’t you folks have enough going on up there already? Lodges all over the damned place plus Jarrod Manor.”

“This would be a different caliber accommodation for guests needing more privacy and additional security than the hotel or existing lodges could provide.”

Henry snorted. “Married Hollywood types sneaking off with somebody they oughtn’t to be with.”

Another strike. “We were thinking more along the lines of heads of state.”

“Don’t care if you’re putting up the president. The land’s not for sale.”

Gavin struggled to keep his frustration in check. “What purpose does keeping it serve you, Mr. Caldwell? There’s no road access which means you can’t build on it. You can’t even get to it without obtaining written permission to cross Jarrod property.”

“Y’think so? Son, I’ve been visiting that mine for fifty years—often enough to know you’re one of the young’uns who used to camp down in the shaft.”

Interesting. Until his most recent return Gavin had never seen signs of anyone visiting other than him and his brothers. The entrance was pretty well hidden. “Yessir. All three of my brothers and I did, but I probably spent more time there than the rest of them combined.”

“Cleaned up after yourself, too.”

“Our father forbade us to go there. We didn’t want to leave any tracks.”

“He forbade you because he didn’t own it.”

“A fact he didn’t share with us, and one we’d like to rectify. I’m prepared to offer you—”

“Don’t matter how much you offer. I’m still not selling. Which one are you? The architect, the engineer, the marketing man or the restaurateur?”

Caldwell knew quite a bit about the Jarrods, but considering the family had been a fixture in Aspen for generations, the interest in their lives wasn’t surprising. “I’m a construction engineer. My brother Blake is a developer who commissioned the design for the bungalow we’d like to build. Our offer is more than generous.”

“Don’t care about your money.”

“Your inn could use a little work.”

Caldwell snorted. “I’ll get to it.”

“Opening day for the ski slopes is only a few weeks away.”

“That’s not news.”

Gavin didn’t like bringing personal issues into a business problem because it gave his opponent leverage, but he had no choice. “Mr. Caldwell, as you’ve noted, that mine has sentimental value to me. I spent a lot of my youth there. The site holds some good memories.”

Those intensely blue eyes held his. “For someone who never comes home, you’re sure tied to the place. Could be the mountain’s dug her claws into you. Some folks claim once she gets hold of you, she never lets go.”

The old man’s folktales didn’t change the fact that Gavin intended to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as he’d fulfilled his part of the will. “Our plans will preserve the mine and its historical value. The bungalow will blend into the setting.”

“I’m still not interested in selling.”

“What can I do to change your mind? Would you like to see the blueprints?”

“I don’t care about any blueprints.”

Gavin clenched his teeth so hard he was lucky he didn’t crack a molar. He had to find a way to get through to the man, and at the moment his mind was blank. He pulled the written offer from his pocket and offered it to Caldwell. “Take a look at our price.”

When the man made no move to take the envelope, Gavin laid the package on the coffee table. “Think it over. Thank you for your time.”

He strode toward the entry.

“What’d you think of my Sabrina?” Caldwell called after him.

Gavin stopped and pivoted. “Excuse me?”

“Liked her, didn’t you?”

What was the old man up to? “Your granddaughter is quite attractive.”

Caldwell nodded. “She’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Like her grandma, my Colleen. Shut that door.”

Unsure of where the conversation was headed, Gavin complied. The envelope remained unopened on the table where he’d left it.

“How badly do you want that land?”

That sounded like a loaded question. “I want to see the Jarrod property intact.”

Caldwell scratched his chin. “A deed will earn you the deed.”

What in the hell did that mean? The man seemed lucid, but Gavin wondered if he’d misjudged him. Gavin slowly crossed the rug. “I’m not following.”

“Marry Sabrina and I’ll sell you the land.”

Shock knocked Gavin like a wrecking ball to the chest. Was everybody marriage-crazy today? First Blake, now this. “Marry her?”

“It could work.”

Gavin shook his head. Caldwell had to be senile. But Gavin couldn’t afford to offend him. “I just met Sabrina, sir, and you weren’t in here long enough to notice she’s not exactly impressed with me.”

Caldwell smiled, smirked, really. “She’s interested.”

Gavin’s pulse spiked. “She told you that?”

“Nope. I just know.”

This conversation seemed surreal. What could be so wrong with the woman that her grandfather had to bribe someone to marry her? “Mr. Caldwell, you don’t know me well enough to wish me on your granddaughter.”

“My Colleen was one of those mail-order brides. Didn’t set eyes on her until the week of our wedding. But we had chemistry from the minute we met at the train station. Same as you and Sabrina.”

Gavin didn’t bother to deny the attraction. “I’m glad that worked for you, but frankly, I’m not interested in marriage. My career keeps me on the road. I move from site to site, usually only staying in one place for six months to a year. No woman wants to live like that.”

He’d learned that the hard way.

“The mountains still call you home. Court Sabrina. Marry her. And I’ll sell you that parcel for whatever you’ve written on that paper.”

“You haven’t even looked at the offer.”

“I told you. Money ain’t the issue, son.”

Hell. Ask anything else of him and he’d be all over the deal. But marriage? “I’m sorry, Mr. Caldwell. I’m not your man.”

“Sabrina’s all I have left. And you might have noticed, I’m not a spring chicken. I’m seventy-five, and my health ain’t what it used to be. But that’s between my doctor and me and now you. Sabrina doesn’t need to know. Once I’m gone there won’t be anyone around to look after her since my head-in-the-clouds son and his wife can’t be bothered. I want to see to Sabrina before I’m gone.”

The genuine concern in the tired blue eyes yanked at something in Gavin’s chest. Sap. He’s playing you like a fiddle.

“I’m not the man for the job,” he repeated.

“I think you are. The fact that you turned me down despite the fact that Sabrina could inherit everything I have only reinforces my opinion. I ain’t talked to you more than ten minutes, Gavin Jarrod, but I can already tell you’re twice the man your daddy was. He used the land, stripping away whatever got in his way, without thought for anything more than the profit he could make. You, with the way you took care of one good-for-nothing hole in the ground, proved you’re smarter. You respect the land and nature.”

True. “That’s a broad assumption, Mr. Caldwell.”

“But a valid one. You’ll treat my girl with the same respect.”

Gavin backed toward the door. “The answer’s still no.”

“If you’re thinking you can wait ‘til I drop dead and buy the property from Sabrina, think again. If I die before she marries I’ve willed that plot to the National Parks Service.”

Damn. The park system would condemn land to get road access to the mine. Jarrod Ridge would end up losing even more property and have to deal with tourists wandering off the path. Their secluded retreat atmosphere would be shattered.

“If you agree I have one more stipulation. I don’t want our girl knowing anything about our little agreement. Ya hear? You’ll court her like a woman deserves to be courted. She won’t marry ya without loving ya. That much I know.”

In Gavin’s opinion, making a woman fall for him under false pretenses was about as low as a man could get. How could he respect himself if he pulled that kind of crap? Refusal hovered on his tongue.

“Son, if you want that five acres, this is the only way you’re gonna get it. That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.”

Man, this was insane.

A tap on the door preceded Sabrina returning with a laden tray. Gavin’s pulse thudded harder and faster.

Marry her?

There are worse things than being married to a beautiful woman.

This had to be flat-out the craziest scheme he’d ever heard in his life. So why was he still standing here?

If marriage was the only way to get the land back, to succeed where his father had failed and to keep his family from losing even more acreage, what choice did he have? For the good of his family and Jarrod Ridge, he had to accept the deal.

But the marriage would be temporary. Once he returned to his regular job nature would take its course and, aided by his long absences, the relationship would die a natural death—as had all his previous liaisons.

Hell of a way to start a relationship—planning its demise.

But he was attracted to Sabrina and the idea of sharing her bed appealed tremendously.

He’d need an ironclad prenup.

“Can I get you anything else?” Sabrina asked, her suspicious gaze drilling his. The familiar clench of desire fisted in his gut and pounded through his veins.

“This’ll do, love,” Caldwell answered.

She left the room, her protectiveness of her grandfather clear in her reluctant steps.

Gavin took a deep breath, willing sanity to return and offer him a better option. It didn’t. “I’ll do it.”

Two

Her grandfather had closed the door.

Sabrina couldn’t remember any other time in her life when Pops had shut her out of a conversation. She blamed their unexpected visitor—one who couldn’t be bothered to make an appointment—for the exclusion.

Gavin Jarrod epitomized everything Sabrina disliked about the soon-to-be-arriving ski season guests. Rich guys like him, with their perfectly tousled hair, flawless faces and gym-buffed bodies swaggered into town like they owned the place. They threw around their money and entitled attitudes, expecting the world to revolve around their wants and acting like the local businesses should kiss their expensively-shod feet and be grateful for whatever crumbs the rich guests threw their way.

Well, not her. She’d had enough of that holier-than-thou behavior throughout school from the wealthy snobs who’d attended the elite private college where her parents had taught. Those snotty students had made sure Sabrina knew she was not one of them. As if being a professor’s daughter made her somehow genetically inferior to someone born to money.

She swished the cleaning cloth over the countertop and tried to ignore the anger and worry making her stomach churn. She knew her grandfather’s health wasn’t as good as it had been when she’d arrived three years ago. He slept more, ate less and had trouble keeping up with the inn’s routine maintenance—a job he used to tackle with enthusiasm. But he wouldn’t let her hire anyone to help him. He always claimed he’d get to the tasks, but the to-do list kept growing and the clock ticked down on the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday when the ski slopes would officially open and the guests would arrive—whether the inn was ready or not. Unless a miracle happened, this year the inn wasn’t going to be ready.

Was Gavin Jarrod here to try and buy the inn? She couldn’t imagine her grandfather handing over the reins, but that day was coming, she realized with a heavy cloak of sadness. She’d hoped—prayed, really—he’d let her take over, but a few months ago while cleaning his office she’d come across a pamphlet on his desk on donating property to the historic trust. When she’d asked him about it he’d told her not to worry, he had everything under control. But how could she not lose sleep? If he donated or sold the inn she’d have to find a new home and job.

In the meantime, the only thing she could do was try to help more. She glanced at her sore thumb. Carpentry wasn’t her strong suit, but she’d get better with practice.

The sitting room door opened, and footsteps—too sure and firm to be her grandfather’s—approached.

“Thanks for the coffee and snack.”

Who was Gavin Jarrod and what business did he have with Pops? Reluctant to face the brown, gold-flecked eyes that seemed to see straight through her, she turned slowly. “You’re welcome.”

“Your coconut cake is probably the best I’ve ever tasted.”

Pleasure sent another blast of heat through her already warm body. She struggled to suppress the reaction. No doubt his charm and flattery combined with his money and looks made it easy for him to coast through life. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

“Henry said you don’t have any guests tonight.”

Why would Pops volunteer that? “No. Early November is like the lull before the storm.”

“It’s been the same back at The Ridge ever since the Food & Wine Gala ended. I’m exploring the area restaurants before the tourists hit town. Show me your favorite tonight.”

She fought a grimace. He wasn’t the first of his kind to assume she could be had as easily as booking a room. “I don’t have a favorite, and I’ve already prepared dinner for myself and my grandfather.”

His eyes narrowed. “Henry can serve himself. Let someone cook for you for a change.”

Eating someone else’s cooking was tempting, but not with Gavin Jarrod or his ilk. She’d been led on by too many rich boys and then dumped when she wouldn’t get naked for them or get her parents to give them better grades.

“No. But, thank you.” She tacked on the last hastily because she could almost feel the ghost of her grandmother rapping her knuckles for being ungracious and impolite.

His steady gaze continued to drill her. She felt like a butterfly fighting to get free of a collector’s pin. “Henry is worried that you don’t get out often enough.”

Embarrassment bubbled inside her. Thanks, Pops. “That’s because I don’t date.”

“Ever?”

“No.”

His square jaw dipped. “Are you gay?”

Typical. “Do you assume every woman who turns you down is gay?”

A slow smile curved Gavin’s full lips. “Only the ones who ignore the obvious chemistry between us.”

So he’d caught that, had he? She hadn’t experienced that rush of response since before her husband had died and it had caught her off guard. She had no interest in pursuing it. “There is no chemistry.”

The fire in Gavin’s eyes told her she shouldn’t have challenged him. Two long strides brought him within touching distance. Within smelling distance. An outdoorsy, woodsy and clean scent mixed with a hint of something spicy and exotic clung to him.

She stared into his handsome face, alarm prickling the hairs on her nape and arms. He wasn’t particularly tall—six feet, maybe a little more—but he seemed bigger in an intimidating, turf-conquering way despite the snowboarder-disheveled hair that should have made him appear easygoing and approachable.

“No chemistry?” He lifted a hand.

Sabrina backed out of reach. “Don’t.”

“Don’t prove you’re lying?”

“Calling a woman a liar is a unique way to win points. Does that approach usually work for you, Mr. Jarrod?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “You seem like the type who’d appreciate honesty.”

“Good deduction. Let’s start with what business do you have with my grandfather?”

“I’d be happy to tell you.” Gavin’s smile broadened, revealing an orthodontist’s dream of straight white teeth. “Over dinner.”

Sabrina ground her molars in aggravation. How could she protect her grandfather and the inn without information? “Nice try. The answer’s still no.”

“Not even if I tell you your grandfather has something I want?”

Warning sirens blared in her head. “What?”

“Join me and I’ll tell you.”

She really hated being backed into a corner, but she wasn’t going to let Gavin have the upper hand.

“Make it lunch.” It wouldn’t be a date. It would merely be a fact-finding mission.

Those gold-flecked eyes probed hers. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven. Dress warmly. Wear walking shoes.”

Without waiting for an answer he brushed past her and exited via the back door.

Dress warmly? Wear walking shoes? What had she gotten herself into? At the sound of the lock catching, the tension deflated from her muscles like air escaping from a balloon.

The creak of a floorboard brought her around. Pops made his way down the center hall, his steps lacking the vigor that had once radiated from him. She tucked her concern away for later and parked her hands on her hips. “What was that about?”

“Jarrod’s just being neighborly.”

The fact that he didn’t look at her when he spoke sent tingles of worry down her spine. “Baloney. What does he want?”

“Can’t a body converse with a neighbor?”

“He told me you had something he wanted.”

He shrugged. “The Jarrods own half the damn valley. What more could they want?”

When Pops wore that stubborn expression trying to get him to talk was a waste of time, but she didn’t believe the just-being-friendly story for one second.

“Pops, why did you tell him I don’t go out?”

“You don’t.”

She shook her head. “You know I’m not interested in—” “You should be. Your husband died. You didn’t.” She flinched at the quick stab of pain. “I’m not ready.” She’d never be ready. She’d given up everything for love, and when Russell had died she’d had nothing left—nothing except Pops and the Snowberry Inn. And now she could lose those.

His shoulders drooped. “When I’m gone—” “Stop. You know I hate it when you talk that way.” “Hating it doesn’t change the facts, girl. You can’t run this place by yourself. It’s too much. You need someone to help you. Someone who doesn’t punch a time clock or resent the long hours.”

“I don’t have to be married to be a good businesswoman. I can take care of the inn the way you and Grandma taught me.”

He shook his head. “You’re missing the point, Sabrina. Life is meant to be shared and enjoyed, not endured. If you try to run this place on your own you won’t have time for a life. Russell would be the last one to want you to sit on the bench for the remainder of your days.”

Sabrina swallowed to ease the grief tightening her throat at the mention of her husband. “I haven’t noticed you dating since Grandma passed.”

“That’s because I already had forty-six years with the best woman God ever created. No one else can measure up. I don’t want to lead a lady on only to disappoint her, ‘cuz I ain’t settling for second-best, and I ain’t getting hitched again. I’m too old to change my ways to suit another. You’re only twenty-five. Too young to quit living. Tarnation, I have more of a social life than you do.”

“I could always join your weekly poker club.” Her tongue-in-cheek comment deepened the concern shadowing his eyes.

“Don’t sass me, Sabrina. You once talked about traveling the world and filling your home with a passel of young’uns. You still have time for both. But not if you keep hiding here.”

The cold ashes of dead dreams stirred inside her. “I’m not hiding. I’m working. And I don’t need children to have a full life. As far as seeing the world, I have everything I want right here, Pops. The world’s travelers come to us.”

“The world might come to Aspen, but hearing about somebody else’s adventures secondhand and watching from the sidelines ain’t the same as playing in the game.”

“I certainly don’t have a future with some rich guy who’s only counting days until he can leave town.”

“He ain’t your father. Jarrod might have left town, but he came back the minute his daddy died. Don’t try to tell me you’re not interested in him. I saw you putting on lip gloss in the hall.”

Guilt burned Sabrina’s cheeks. “I was working outside trying to fix the loose railings when he interrupted me. My lips were dry.”

“Yep, I’m sure that explains why you couldn’t take your eyes off each other when you were in the same room.”

She didn’t bother to deny it. “You don’t know him. How can you or I trust him? I’ve heard you refer to the Jarrods as land-hungry thugs too many times to count.”

“That was their daddy. Donald Jarrod turned into a heartless, selfish bastard after his wife died. He gobbled up everything around him, and he rode his kids so hard it’s no wonder they all skedaddled as soon as they could. But I know more about the Jarrod boys than you think. I watched ‘em grow up. The whole town did. And while those boys might have gotten up to some high jinks like reg’lar kids, they were hard workers and always respectful.”

Hard workers? She couldn’t imagine anyone with the Jarrods’ wealth doing anything that required them to break a sweat except maybe watching the stock market play with their investment portfolios. Jarrod Ridge catered to the wealthiest clients who wanted pampering and spoiling. Their guest list read like a global who’s who of famous names, and a day at the resort’s spa cost more than she made in a month’s salary. She knew that much from the grapevine and the local paper.

But that didn’t tell her why Gavin had come here and secluded himself in a room with her grandfather. Was Pops going to donate the inn to the historic preservation society or was he thinking of selling to the Jarrods? “He’s not here to buy the inn, is he?”

“He’s not interested in the inn.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” But again, his gaze drifted away from hers.

She had to find out what was going on. The only way she’d get her answers was to get as wily as Pops. She wouldn’t tell him she’d already been coerced into lunch.

“I’ll go out with Gavin if you’ll agree to let me hire a handyman to get this place in shape. We’re booked solid beginning the Monday before Thanksgiving all the way through mid-March.”

His pride obviously ruffled, Pops puffed up his narrow shoulders. “I can handle the chores.”

“I’m sure you can. There’s not that much to do. But this way you can focus on the important items and let someone else sweat the small stuff.”

His eyes narrowed and his thumb jabbed his chest. “You got yourself a deal but only if I get to pick the handyman. And you’ll give Jarrod a fair shot. Y’hear?”

“I’ll go out with him once. It’s up to him to make me want more.” And she could safely guarantee that would never happen. She was through with love and all the heartaches that went with it. And she specifically wanted nothing to do with Gavin Jarrod.

The knock on the front door filled Sabrina with dread. She’d rather slam her thumb with the hammer again than go on this outing.

Determined to get this over with, she shrugged on her coat and zipped it to her chin, then marched across the foyer and opened the door. Gavin, wearing a black ski jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders, filled the entry. Her insides did an inexplicable gelatin jiggle thing, and the frosty air sweeping inside did nothing to cool her suddenly warm cheeks.

Okay, so he was attractive. But nothing was going to happen between them no matter what Pops hoped.

Gavin’s dark gaze skimmed Sabrina from her barely behaving curls to her scuffed boots. “Bring gloves and a toboggan.”

She glanced past him and spotted a Jeep with monstrously large tires in the inn’s parking lot. No luxurious Cadillac today. “Where are we going?”

“On a picnic.”

Was the man stupid or just into torturing her? “It’s forty degrees outside.”

“I won’t let you get hypothermia.”

“And how exactly do you plan to keep me warm? If this is some rich-boy ruse to get physically close you’re going to be disappointed.”

“It’s not. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Trust him? Not on her life. She snagged her gloves and hat from the hallstand. “Let’s go.”

The gold flecks in his eyes glittered with amusement. “Said with the enthusiasm of a woman on her way to have cavities filled at the dentist’s office without Novocain.”

“Does your ego require me to pretend I’m eager to go out with you? You know I only agreed because you’re withholding information.”

His grin broadened—like a shark’s—at her sarcasm. “You won’t regret spending the day with me.”

“That remains to be seen. And it’s not the day. Just lunch. Two hours, at the most. I have chores to do this afternoon.”

His confidence—or was it arrogance?—came through loud and clear in the cocky way he indicated the four-wheel drive vehicle with a sweeping arm and a slight bow. Sabrina traversed the walk, conscious of him looming behind her. He reached past her to open the door. Avoiding contact, she climbed inside the Jeep.

She caught a glimpse of her grandfather’s face at one of the inn’s windows. Why did he look so serious? He was getting his way. She hoped he appreciated her sacrificing an afternoon of repairs for this. But he’d agreed to hire help, and that would make suffering through the next couple of hours worth it. Resigned to her fate, she buckled her seat belt.

Gavin slid into his seat and started the engine. He turned the car toward Jarrod Ridge. Sabrina sat back and took in the scenery of Aspen’s grid of streets. Art galleries, designer clothing and jewelry boutiques and famous chefs’ restaurants lined the sidewalks, alternating old-world charm with more modern architecture. For such a small city, Aspen’s downtown and the surrounding ski areas brought in a lot of tourists and generated a lot of jobs and revenue. She was lucky to be a part of it. And she didn’t want to lose it, but there was no way she could afford to live here without the inn.

All too soon Gavin turned through the resort’s arched entrance. She’d never had a reason to come down this road, and her curiosity got the better of her, but before she could catch more than a glimpse of the reportedly ultra-luxurious lodges, Gavin veered off the driveway and onto a dirt track.

“Where does this go?”

“My favorite spot.” He shot a short, stabbing, breath-stealing glance her way. She shut down her response. Charming or not, she wasn’t interested in him or a bored, rich guy’s flirtation.

The track grew rougher and steeper. She gripped the seat and stared out the window rather than at Gavin. The Jeep bounced along until he took a sharp turn around a boulder and stopped on the edge of a small clearing. “We’re here.”

She swept her eyes across the snow-dappled scene. No picnic tables. Nothing, in fact, except nature. Dirt. Rocks. Trees. “This is it? We’re in the middle of nowhere. How far are we from the lodge?”

“Not far as the crow flies, but I wouldn’t recommend trying to hike it unless you’re a seasoned climber. The terrain is pretty rough.”

She wasn’t an outdoorsman. She shoved open the car door and cold air gusted inside making her shiver. “Maybe we should eat in the car.”

“Coward.” He delivered the insult as a challenge, then climbed from the vehicle and walked to the back to retrieve a bulging backpack which he shrugged on. After tugging on her hat and gloves she followed.

When she reached his side he tossed a thick blue blanket at her. “Think you can carry that?”

“Sure.” She’d probably need to wrap up in it.

After locking the Jeep he headed down an almost indecipherable trail scratched through the low-growing junipers. Sabrina trudged after him, inhaling the crisp, clean air. This is what Gavin smelled like, she realized. Evergreens and earth and sunlight. An odd combination for a city guy.

“Watch your step,” he cautioned over his shoulder as the ascent steepened. “Do you need a hand?”

“I can manage.” She hadn’t been hiking in ages—not since the summer before she’d run away to get married. Back then her grandfather had had the energy to take her exploring in the mountains around Aspen, sometimes on horseback, but usually on foot. When the inn hadn’t been busy her grandmother had joined them. Those carefree days had been some of the happiest in Sabrina’s life.

Brushing off the sadness and worry, she studied the green firs, pines and bare aspen trees around her rather than the taut leg and butt muscles flexing in front of her. Gavin probably paid a trainer an obscene amount of money to keep him in shape.

For the next ten minutes she concentrated on her footing and her breathing. Just when she thought her lungs would burst from the unaccustomed exercise he stopped. “This is it.”

She scanned the clearing at the base of a rock face, noting the carefully laid fire pit stacked with split logs and surrounded by stones. He’d obviously been up here earlier to prepare for this outing. “There’s nothing here.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He shrugged off his knapsack, removed his gloves and then lit the fire. The dry wood caught quickly. “How much do you know about Aspen’s history?”

Sabrina moved closer to the crackling flames even though the climb had warmed her. She shed her gloves to enjoy the heat on her palms. “I know Aspen began as a silver mining town called Ute City in 1879, but I’m sorry to say that’s the extent of my knowledge even though I spent most of my summers here while my parents went away on research trips. I only learned enough of the city’s history to point the inn’s guests in the right direction.”

“What kind of research do your folks do?”

She considered dodging the question, but what did it matter if he knew? “They’re university professors back in Pennsylvania specializing in animal science. They’re always jetting off somewhere around the globe to study behavior patterns of some critter or another.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

“They claimed it was safer for me to stay with my grandparents.” Personally, she didn’t think her parents wanted to be distracted by looking after her when they had much more interesting things like polar bears or penguins in their sights.

He spread out the blanket on an area that had been raked clean of snow then proceeded to lay out an assortment of covered containers, a pair of thermoses, and finally a loaf of crusty bread wrapped in a cloth napkin.

Her instinct was to offer to help, but he’d forced this outing on her, so she let him do the work. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she wandered a few yards from the fire, trying to see what lay beyond the next turn in the path. Even though Gavin appeared occupied with the preparations, she could feel his attention focused on her like an alpha wolf’s would be aware of his pack—or his next meal.

He glanced up, finding her instantly and proving her point. “We’ll explore after we eat. Lunch is ready. Have a seat.”

Skeptical of how she’d enjoy a meal when she was so cold, she returned and eased down onto the blanket, trying to stay close to the fire and in reach of the food but not too close to her unwanted companion.

Gavin Jarrod unsettled her. Being near him made her feel as if she were perched at the top of the highest double black diamond ski trail and teetering on the verge of plunging downhill at breakneck speed. She wasn’t an expert skier by any means, and Gavin, like the most advanced slopes, was far out of her league.

“The mining heyday didn’t last long, did it?” she asked to change the subject to something less agitating.

His gaze hit hers like a falling tree, knocking the wind from her. “Most of the mines closed down after the Panic of 1893 and by the 1930s Aspen had less than a thousand inhabitants after maxing out at close to fifteen thousand. The region didn’t recover until the mid-1940s when it became a designated ski area. Jarrod Ridge weathered it all.”

The pride in his voice spurred her own. “So did Snowberry Inn. My ancestors have been here just as long as yours.”

“So they have.” He indicated the thermoses, giving her an excuse to break the connection his eyes seemed to have forged with hers. “You have your choice of hot coffee, hot chocolate or bottled water. We’re having chili for lunch. There’s freshly shredded cheddar in that tub, sour cream in this one and raw vegetables and dip in there.”

“This is a pretty decent spread,” she admitted grudgingly.

“For a guy?” He unscrewed the cap on one of the containers and steam mushroomed into the air. The aroma of the spicy chili filled her nose and her mouth watered.

She shrugged. “For a rich guy.”

He hiked a brow. “What did you expect?”

She shrugged. “An unimaginative, candlelit meal in some fancy place that doesn’t put prices on the menu, has obsequious waiters and a wine list the size of a telephone book.”

He studied her, and she couldn’t tell from his neutral expression if she’d annoyed him. “If I did that you might think I was trying to impress you.”

Was that deadpan humor or was he serious? “You’re not?”

He poured the thick chili into a bowl and passed it to her along with a spoon and a mug. “If I were, you’d know it. Eat before it gets cold.”

She frowned as she tried to make sense of the conversation and took a bite of the chili. The rich beefy flavor exploded on her tongue. “Mmm. This is good.”

“It’s one of my older brother’s recipes. Before Guy got too big for his britches he used to be a good cook. Now he owns a restaurant and lets others man the stove.”

“My compliments to the chef.”

He lifted his mug in a toast. “Glad you like it.”

“You cooked?” Surely he had a staff at his beck and call at the resort.

“Even rich guys have been known to stir a pot now and then.”

Chastened, she broke off a piece of bread, dipped it into her bowl and then ate while she tried to figure out what Gavin wanted from her. There were certainly far more attractive available women in town. Why her? Boredom? Slumming? The inn?

“What brought you back to Aspen?” His question chiseled into her thoughts.

Sabrina chose her words carefully. The full truth tended to elicit either pity or an anti-war tirade, and she wasn’t in the mood for either, so she edited. “My grandmother died and Pops needed my help with the inn.”

“Planning to stay?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do before moving here?”

“Work and school.” Wife. But enough about her. She shifted on the blanket. “What about you?”

“Work. Travel.”

She guessed she deserved the brief response. “Travel to where?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere the job or the mood took me.”

That sounded like heaven. She and Russell had intended to work their way around the country when he’d gotten out of the service, but his death on his last mission had derailed their plans.

The remainder of the meal passed with nothing but the sound of some small animal foraging for food in the background interrupted by an occasional jet overhead. After he’d packed away the dishes he extracted graham crackers, chocolate bars and marshmallows from his backpack along with a couple of skewers.

The ingredients looked familiar. “You’re making s’mores?”

“It’s a tradition. My brothers and I used to make them whenever we camped here.”

An image of him as a gangly kid chipped away at her dislike. “I haven’t had s’mores in a long time.”

She focused on his hands as he skewered the marshmallows then roasted them over the fire. His weren’t the pampered hands of a pencil-pushing millionaire. Small scars marred the tanned flesh and his palms had calluses. The imperfections didn’t fit with the Cadillac-driving, Tag Heuer watch-wearing, swaggering image she had of him from yesterday. “What do you do when you’re not killing time in Aspen, Gavin?”

“I’m a construction engineer.”

She’d been wrong. He wasn’t a man of leisure, and an engineer had to be smart despite the evidence to the contrary of his bringing her here to freeze her fanny off. But now that she considered it, she wasn’t all that cold with the warmth of the fire in front of her and the outcropping of rocks behind her to block the wind.

But his occupation told her nothing about why he’d be interested in her grandfather or the Snowberry Inn. “Working on what?”

“Bridges, dams, mines, buildings. I go wherever the project sounds the most interesting.”

“You love your job.” The enthusiasm in his tone gave it away.

“I never wanted to do anything else.”

“Then I can see why being grounded here for a year must be hard.” He had the world waiting for him.

“I’ll survive it.” He sandwiched a gooey semi-melted marshmallow and a piece of chocolate between two crackers and offered it to her.

She took it, bit into the crisp crackers and chewed, savoring the rush of memories the sweet treat brought back. She and her grandmother had made s’mores often. “Okay, I have to admit, I was skeptical about your picnic, but this was a good idea. It’s beautiful up here.”

“It’s better at night when you can see the stars.” He took a bite of his dessert.

“It’s a little late in the season for that with the night temperatures in the single digits.” She licked a sticky bit from her lip. “You still haven’t told me what my grandfather has that you want.”

“This.” His gesture encompassed the area around them.

A tiny dot of chocolate clung to the corner of his mouth. She had a weird urge to reach out and wipe it away with a fingertip. Or her tongue. Shocked by the errant thought, she averted her gaze and rescanned the setting rather than focus on that strangely tempting spot. “And what is ‘this’ exactly?”

“Five acres surrounded by Jarrod territory and a defunct silver mine started by one of my ancestors before Aspen was founded.”

When she looked back, the tempting daub of chocolate was gone, thank goodness. “Pops owns this land? But you said something about a poker bet.”

“Henry won the plot and the mineral rights from my grandfather fifty years ago. I want both back.”

“That’s all? Just this land? If he sells it to you, you’ll leave him alone?”

He picked up a stick and poked the fire, avoiding her gaze—exactly the way her grandfather had. “Yes.”

She didn’t believe him. Cradling the now-empty mug of coffee in her hands she searched his tense face. “And what do you want from me? Do you expect me to convince Pops to sell it to you?”

“We’ve already agreed on the terms.”

Something didn’t add up. “If Pops has already promised to give you what you want, then why am I here, Gavin?”

Silent seconds stretched between them. “Because I want you, Sabrina Taylor. And you want me, too.”

Her stomach swooped and burned in a way that had nothing to do with the spicy chili or the gooey, yummy dessert. Denial galloped in, making her heart pound like stampeding horses. “You’re mistaken.”

His teeth flashed in a brief, but predatory smile. “One of these days you’ll learn I rarely refuse a challenge. Looks like I’m going to have to prove you wrong.”

He hooked a hand behind her nape and pulled her forward, covering her mouth with his.

Three

Gavin took advantage of Sabrina’s surprise-parted lips to sweep his tongue across the slick surface of hers. Her squeak of protest filled his mouth, but before he could force himself to let her go, her shocked stiffness eased and the hands she’d planted on his chest flexed into his coat, anchoring him. His heart pounded approval.

He hadn’t expected a deal with the devil to taste this good, but the combination of sweet dessert, spicy chili and hot woman hit him like a prizefighter’s right hook, making his head spin.

God help him, he wanted Sabrina in a way he shouldn’t want a woman being forced down his throat as part of a business deal, but they had something between them, and while the chemistry might be temporary, it was damned impressive and worth exploring.

She returned his kiss, tentatively at first, with soft flutters of her lips against his, then with increasing pressure and hunger. Her hand slid upward until her short nails teased the underside of his jaw. Her fingertips were cool against his overheated skin, but her kisses burned hot. He snaked an arm around her waist and tugged her forward onto her knees. She leaned against him, her weight supported on his chest, her hands braced on his shoulders, digging into his muscles.

Cursing the insulating layers between them as their tongues tangled and their breaths mingled, he deepened the kiss, tunneling his fingers into her curls, surprised to find the coils soft instead of wiry. He couldn’t get enough. Air or her. His body steamed inside his coat. Skin against skin would be good right about now. He reached for the zipper tab under her chin.

She gasped, pushed his hand away and jerked back, falling onto her butt. Eyes wide with horror, her breath panting as rapidly as his made clouds in the air between them. She scooted away on the blanket and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. “What was that?”

“Proof,” was all he could force out. Her taste lingered on his damp lips, making him ache to tug her down on the blanket and cover her body with his.

Her dazed expression morphed into disbelief. “Proof of what?”

His blood slowly drifted north, reviving brain cells her kiss had decimated. “That you want me. And trust me, Sabrina, the feeling is mutual.”

Shaking her head, she shot to her feet. “No. You’re wrong. I’m not interested in getting involved with you. Or anyone. Take me home, Gavin.”

He could argue that her actions contradicted her words, that even now the flush on her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts gave away her arousal. But he didn’t want to scare her off. Instead, he rose slowly, being careful not to jar the lingering ridge behind his zipper. “Not yet.”

“Then I’ll walk.”

He couldn’t let her go. Not with the bargain he’d made. If he did she’d never agree to see him again let alone marry him. And at the moment, marriage wasn’t looking like the death sentence it once had.

He caught her elbow. “I don’t recommend walking out. It’s a long way and it’s cold. I brought you up here to show you the mine. Take a look, then I’ll drive you back.”

She scanned the area as if searching for the mine portal. Or the path to freedom.

Cupping her shoulders, he steered her to the left and pointed. She stiffened in his hold. “The entrance is behind that line of firs. I planted them when I was a teenager to conceal my hideaway.”

She shrugged off his hands. “I’ve seen old mines before. The area is littered with them. I don’t need to see another one.”

“Even though your grandparents spent time spelunking in this one?”

She bit her lip, curiosity invading her blue eyes, then stomped her feet and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Did Pops tell you that? I mean, I know you said he owned it, but how do you know he or my grandmother were ever here?”

“After I discovered Henry owned the mine I realized the initials I’d found carved into one of the beams were his, and when he told me your grandmother’s name was Colleen I guessed the set beside his might be hers.”

“Maybe he carved both.”

“Come and see. Judge for yourself.”

“I could just call him and ask.” She pulled out her cell phone.

“You get poor, if any, reception up here.”

She checked the phone, frowned, then shoved it back into her pocket. Her eyes clouded with suspicion. “Is this your version of showing me your etchings?”

Her accusation surprised a bark of laughter out of him. Sabrina was a tough case, and she really didn’t like him. He had his work cut out for him to win her over. “I confess I used that trick when I was a dumb kid, but I don’t need a cold, dark tunnel and a repertoire of ghost stories to get women these days.”

She folded her arms. “And yet here we are. I had given you points for originality with your hearty picnic, but now you tell me this is your old tried-and-true seduction routine?”

Guilty. “This is my favorite place. I wanted to share it with you. Put on your gloves and let me show you a bit of history—your history. Our history.”

Shifting on her feet, she looked back down the trail, blew out a frosty breath, then snatched up her gloves. “Make it quick.”

If she was half as curious as he hoped she’d be, “quick” wouldn’t be an option. He still had a lot to learn about his wife-to-be, and the only way to figure out if the old man had hoodwinked him into agreeing to marry a nut-job was to spend time with Sabrina. “Follow me.”

He stepped into the adit running horizontally into the side of the mountain and lit the kerosene lantern he kept inside the portal. “Once in a while we get a few bats, but they shouldn’t bother you.”

She flashed a startled glance at him. “That better not be a cheap trick to get your hands on me again.”

Give her points for intelligence. He hid a grin by ducking under a crossbeam. “Guess you’ll have to figure that out yourself. Stick close and watch your head. It’s a small mine, but I don’t want you to get lost.”

“Gee, thanks. Should I drop bread crumbs?”

“Not unless you want wildlife to come looking for you.”

She gasped and hung back.

“I’ll take care of you, Sabrina. Come on.”

He was used to the deep shadows cast by the lantern, but she wasn’t. Every now and then she jumped and hustled closer to him.

She paused at the first ventilation shaft, looked up into the dark hole and then down and stomped her foot. “I didn’t expect a wooden floor.”

“A solid surface makes rolling the ore cart out easier. The boards have held up well because it’s dry and cool in here. If you’ve toured larger mines then you know most have tracks, but this was a one-man operation for the most part, although my great-great-grandfather must have had help setting the supports.”

She eyed the square-set timbers warily. “How safe are the supports?”

He heard the apprehension in her voice and stopped, making her jerk to a halt just short of colliding with him. The small circle of light forced an intimacy between them. She stared up at him with dilated pupils and parted lips, and the need to kiss her again seized him. With the taste of her still fresh on his mind and mouth, it was difficult to remember to take it slow rather than act on his desires and risk scaring her.

He suppressed the hunger. “I spent countless hours in here as a kid and more as an experienced engineer. The mine is as safe as any mine can be. There are always risks when you’re underground.”

“There you go trying to scare me again.”

“Relax. Short of an earthquake—which is unlikely—you’re safe. I’ve been in here several times since returning home and checked to make sure there aren’t any unwelcome visitors hibernating.” He hadn’t intended that to be a cheap shot, but she startled and shuffled closer.

She scowled. “Cut it out. But I’m warning you, Gavin Jarrod, if there are any bears or fanged creatures, I’m pushing you into them and running for it while they feast on you.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” Her feisty attitude would definitely make their relationship interesting. He led her toward the mine’s newest section. “Some mines have steep drops or winzes that go straight down. Our ancestors kept the tunnels relatively level, but there are plenty of drifts to explore.”

“Drifts?”

“Dead-end tunnels. The one where your grandfather left his mark is ahead on your right.” He lifted the lantern, illuminating a broad beam as they approached the turn. “The depth and shape of the second set of initials is different from the first. It doesn’t look like the same person carved the letters.”

She stepped closer, brushing against him in the narrow space. He caught a trace of her flowery scent over the earthy smell of the tunnel and his pulse quickened. She peeled off a glove and lifted her hand to trace the letters of the second trio. “CDC. Colleen Douglas Caldwell. You’re right. These are my grandmother’s initials. She always used to put a little heart like this one after her name.”

He had a crazy urge to coil a curl around his finger, but focused instead on why he’d brought her here. “The carvings and this section weren’t here when I left for college, and I don’t remember seeing them when I came home on school breaks. Your grandparents must have dug this sometime in the last six years.”

“My grandmother died five years ago.”

The pain in her voice sounded fresh. “You were close?”

Her fingers lingered, then her arm slowly lowered, as if she hated breaking the connection. “She was more of a mother to me during those summer months than mine was for the rest of the year—not that my mother was or is a bad parent. She’s just totally absorbed with her Arctic mammals.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He reached into his pocket and dug out his pocketknife then flicked open the blade. Sabrina stumbled back, fear flashing in her eyes. He’d never had a woman be afraid of him before, and he didn’t like it.

He offered her the butt of the knife. “Keep the family tradition alive and carve your initials into the beam.”

The wariness faded from her face, replaced by a vulnerability that jump-started his pulse and made him want to take her in his arms, but if he did that he was going to kiss her again—and reinforce her suspicions that he was using old tricks on her.

“Thank you. I’d like that.” She took the knife from him.

She tucked her tongue into the corner of her mouth as she worked. The gesture was damned adorable. And sexy. Then in the lantern light he caught the glistening of tears brimming in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, and it hit him low and hard that Sabrina could be hurt by the marriage scheme.

But what choice did he have except to carry on? His family was counting on him.

She had to get rid of Gavin Jarrod, Sabrina decided as he shadowed her to the inn’s front door as the sun set. But more immediately, she had to avoid kissing him again.

Guilt and fear intertwined inside her. For a moment up on the mountain she’d weakened and let herself be swept away by the strength of Gavin’s arms as he held her and the passion in his kiss as his lips plied hers. She’d taken pleasure in the leashed power of his muscle-packed form against her, the smell of him, the taste of him—all that manly stuff her life had been lacking lately—and her body had awakened with a rush of desire.

In that moment, she’d forgotten Russell.

She’d forgotten how much loving him had cost her, how much losing him had hurt and the vow she’d made while standing at his graveside to never open herself up to that kind of pain again.

Determined to keep her distance from Gavin, she stopped at the door, pivoted and offered her hand. “Thank you for lunch and for showing me the mine.”

Eyes narrowed, he studied her extended arm, then searched her face. “You’re welcome.”

His long, warm fingers closed around hers, but instead of shaking her hand and releasing her, he anchored her in place and bent his head. Her heart sputtered in panic. She ducked at the last second to dodge his kiss, and his lips settled on her temple. She tried to pull away, but he kept her tethered with his strong grip, then he feathered a string of soft branding caresses along her cheekbone. A shudder of awareness shimmied over her. She struggled to clear her head with gulps of chilly autumn air.

“Stop, Gavin,” she croaked and pushed against him with her free hand. How could she tell a man that he’d made her feel and she preferred being numb?

Without loosening his grip Gavin slowly straightened. “I’d like to take you out again—maybe to one of those restaurants you described—the ones with no prices on the menu and a long wine list.”

She blinked up at him. Was he teasing or serious? His direct gaze held no humor. It held something much more frightening—hunger. Alarm prickled through her followed by a chaser of heat that started at her core and radiated outward, making her skin hypersensitive.

“I really—today was—I’m sorry. No, thank you.” She couldn’t string sentences together when he looked at her like he wanted to devour her mouth … and then the rest of her.

“I don’t give up that easily, Sabrina. We have something worth exploring.”

Even though she’d failed in her mission to discover what Gavin really wanted from her grandfather she couldn’t risk another outing. Pops was a safer target. She’d work on prying the details out of him. “We don’t share anything more than a history of ancestors settling in the same town about the same time.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a sexy half smile. “You love issuing challenges, don’t you?”

She wriggled her hand free and hugged her arms around her middle. “That wasn’t a challenge. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I just don’t have time for a social life right now. There’s too much to do before the season starts. Go play with one of your lodge bunnies.”

“I’m not interested in lodge guests. I’m interested in you.”

Her stomach flip-flopped at the intensity of his gaze and his low, gravelly tone. She shook her head. “Good-bye, Gavin.”

She fumbled behind her for the doorknob, but the door swung open before she could locate the brass orb.

“Don’t keep the man out in the cold, Sabrina. Invite him in,” her grandfather said.

Denial screamed through her. “Pops, Gavin has to g—”

“Thanks, Henry, I appreciate it.” Gavin overrode her objection and moved forward, forcing Sabrina to scramble out of his path. Now what?

The three of them stood in the foyer with an odd, expectant tension she didn’t understand stretching between them. Sabrina could feel Gavin’s and her grandfather’s gazes on her. She didn’t know what they were looking for and she couldn’t come up with an acceptable excuse to escape.

Gavin shifted his attention to Pops. “I’m trying to convince Sabrina to join me for dinner.”

Her grandfather nodded. “Good idea. I have a hankering for leftover pot roast, so there’s no need for her to cook tonight.”

“Pops,” Sabrina squeaked in protest. “I’ve explained to Gavin that I have too much to do getting ready for our guests.”

“Not if I hire that handyman you insisted on to help with your to-do list.” Pops looked at Gavin. “Know anybody who’s skilled with power tools and has a few hours to spare each day over the next three weeks?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Me.”

“No,” Sabrina all but shouted on a wave of panic. “We’re going to hire someone local. Someone who needs the work.” She shot her grandfather a warning look—to which he seemed oblivious.

Gavin shrugged, splaying his big hands, palms up. “I need the work. Not financially, but because I’m going stir-crazy up at The Ridge with nothing to do. We already have a full staff. They don’t need me. I’ll donate whatever salary you intended to pay to the charity of your choice.”

“Well, ain’t that nice.” Pops sounded far too smug for Sabrina’s liking.

“I’d rather hire a local, Pops.”

Gavin smiled. “I am a local, Aspen born and bred.”

She gritted her teeth. “You know what I mean. There are unemployed people in town who actually need the income.”

Pops clapped Gavin on the shoulder. “Glad to have your help. And if you two aren’t going out tonight you can stay for dinner. By the time I finish going over Sabrina’s list with you, she should have something ready. She’s a pretty good cook. My Colleen taught her.”

Sabrina wanted to scream. The only thing she wanted to cook up for Gavin Jarrod was food poisoning. “I’m sure Gavin has better things to do.”

“My evening’s free,” the pig-headed rat replied with an innocent expression she didn’t buy for one second. “Henry, show me that list, and we’ll see what tools and supplies we’ll need. I can be at the builder’s supply store tomorrow morning as soon as they unlock their doors.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” her grandfather said before turning and heading for his study with a spring in his step Sabrina hadn’t seen in a while.

Having Gavin underfoot for three weeks sounded like a disaster to her, and the glint in his eyes as he smiled at her made it clear he knew he was irritating the daylights out of her—and was loving every second of it. He followed her grandfather. If she’d had her grandmother’s cast-iron skillet in hand, Sabrina would have hurled it at his head.

For her grandfather’s sake and to get the work done that the inn desperately needed, she would endure Gavin’s company. But that was it. There would be no more dates.

And there definitely wouldn’t be any more kisses.

“I took Sabrina to the mine,” Gavin told Henry as the old man rifled through the slips of paper piled on his desk.

Henry’s chin popped up. He examined Gavin over the top of his gold-rimmed bifocals. “Why in tarnation would you do that?”

“She wouldn’t go out with me until I bribed her. Is she always that stubborn?”

“If she’s strong-willed it’s because life’s made her that way. Ain’t necessarily a bad thing. Reminds me of my Colleen. In my day we called it ‘grit,’ and we wanted our women to have it. The ones who lacked it didn’t last long.”

The declaration raised red flags. Gavin had kept Sabrina at the mine for an extra hour, showing her through the tunnels, explaining the mining process and subtly grilling her, but getting information out of her was damn near impossible.

“What made Sabrina tough?”

“You’ll have to figure that out yourself. I’m not making it easy for you. Hiring you to help with the inn’s as far as I’ll go. If you want her you’ll have to work to woo her, and I won’t lie and tell you it’ll be easy. But we agreed to keep the whys and wherefores of this deal between us. You breaking your word already, Jarrod?”

“No, sir. I intend to be as honest with Sabrina as possible and still keep to our agreement. I told her you’d agreed to sell me the land, but not the conditions of the sale.”

Caldwell drilled him with a hard stare. “Guess that’s fair enough. Once you sign the marriage license, I’ll sign the deed.”

Henry extracted a piece of paper and passed it to Gavin. Neat, loopy, girly script covered the page. Sabrina’s. Gavin scanned down the list. Nothing major. “This won’t take three weeks.”

“Then you’d better work slow on the chores and fast on Sabrina.”

What choice did he have with the winter freeze approaching and the old man’s obstinacy? Gavin knew if he didn’t seal this deal soon, he’d have to wait until next spring to break ground. Postponing meant staying longer in Aspen, and that wasn’t going to happen. For his siblings’ sakes he’d stay his year, but not a day more.

The old man chuckled. “Gotta admit, this is gonna be fun to watch.”

Four

It was hard to remember a day Sabrina had dreaded as much as she did this one. She shuffled toward the kitchen Wednesday morning, intent on preparing breakfast, leaving it on the buffet and getting out of the way before Gavin arrived.

Last night she’d taken the coward’s way out by claiming the necessity of paying bills. She’d put dinner on the table for the men and then retired to her office to pick at her meal at her desk. Avoiding Gavin wouldn’t be as easy today.

At the sound of male voices, she stopped abruptly in the back hall. She identified Pops’s then Gavin’s and her stomach sank. He was already here. She checked her watch. Six-thirty. Pulse accelerating, she backed out. A floorboard squeaked beneath her foot, betraying her presence. She cringed.

“Coffee’s ready, girlie. C’mon in,” her grandfather called.

Ugh. Trapped. She debated ignoring the summons, but she’d be darned if she’d let Gavin Jarrod think her a coward. Squaring her shoulders, she fluffed her damp hair, took a deep breath and marched forward.

The men sat at the table, her grandfather with his paper, Gavin with a mug cradled between his big hands. He looked good in a white turtleneck that showed off his tan. His light brown hair looked like a snowboarder’s after a lightning-fast run down the mountain. The mussed strands seemed somehow sexy.

No. Not sexy. Messy.

His gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth and her stomach did a swan dive. Knowing how he kissed and how he tasted changed everything.

No, it didn’t. She still wasn’t interested.

She gulped. “Good morning.”

He nodded. “Morning.”

She forced her attention to her grandfather. “You’re up earlier than usual for a day when we have no guests.”

He shrugged. “No point in lying abed when there’s so much to do. You’ll want to go over the repairs with Gavin before the two of you head to the builder’s supply center.”

Aghast, she stared at Pops. “I thought you were going with him.”

“Storm must be brewing. M’bones are aching this morning. I’ll take it easy today.”

She worried more than a little that his aches and pains had worsened in the past year, making it impossible to ignore his physical slowdown. Was he also losing his mental acuity?

All the more reason for her to make sure Gavin Jarrod wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on her grandfather and cheat him out of the mine and/or the inn. Hadn’t Pops groused on more than one occasion about Gavin’s dad, Donald, being a greedy, land-hungry bastard? Were all the Jarrods a bunch of swindlers?

She could feel Gavin studying her and headed for the coffeepot to avoid letting him see he’d unsettled her. She wanted to escape this excursion, but if she did then Pops would go. A no-win situation. She didn’t want to go, but she didn’t want Pops and his checkbook alone with Gavin either.

She focused intently on the dark brew streaming into her favorite mug and tried to pretend she couldn’t feel Gavin’s gaze boring into her back like twin laser beams. The way he always watched her—as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out—made her nape prickle. She turned toward the sink, reaching for the faucet.

“You won’t need to water down your coffee,” Pops said. “Gavin made it instead of me.”

The territorial invasion made her hackles rise. The man had been messing with her coffeepot.

The perfect excuse to avoid Gavin came to her as she stirred sugar into the liquid. “Your joints are a pretty accurate weather gauge, Pops. Maybe we should postpone repairs until after the front passes.”

“No, ma’am,” Pops snapped. “You’re the one all fired up to get through this list. Best to start now and have spare time at the end than to be pushed to work ‘round the clock before our guests arrive.”

True, but that didn’t make it any easier to work with her new handyman.

“I can go with you,” Pops offered grudgingly, “if you’re afraid the job’s too big for you.”

Her spine snapped with indignation. She was practically running the inn single-handedly now. “Do you really believe I can’t handle the shopping?”

“I don’t know, girlie. The maintenance on this place is a daunting job.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “It’s a job I love and do willingly. I lack a few skills, but I’m learning every day.”

Gavin rose and crossed the kitchen, invading her space and making her move out of the way. He casually refilled his mug as if he weren’t a guest. Pushy bastard. “I borrowed a pickup truck from The Ridge, but it’s a single cab. The bench seat will hold the three of us, but it’ll be a tight squeeze.”

And she’d be sandwiched between the man she loved the most in the world and the one she wanted to avoid at all costs. One who’d stirred up all kinds of dormant feelings she’d prefer to leave sleeping. No more passion for her. No passion meant no pain. She liked it that way.

She tipped her head back to glare at Gavin. “I can do the shopping. In fact, I don’t need your help.”

“Your van isn’t going to carry twelve-foot timber, and I can’t loan you the truck because of liability issues.”

She clenched her teeth in frustration. Did he have to be logical? “I’ll have the order delivered.”

“You’d lose several days’ work time waiting for the materials.”

He had an answer for everything, she fumed silently, and it didn’t help that he was right. “Fine. I’ll ride with you. Pops can stay here.”

Instead of returning to the table, Gavin leaned a hip on the counter right beside her. She scalded her tongue on her first, hasty sip of coffee.

“Did you know our grandfathers were friends?” Gavin asked.

“Best friends,” Pops added. “‘Til your grandpappy stiffed me with a bum mine. He claimed he’d found silver chunks the size of a goat’s head in there, but that was bull.”

“I’ve never found anything that large,” Gavin confirmed, “but I still do a little digging and look for a vein each time I come home.”

The comment instantly carried her back to the seclusion and intimacy she’d discovered in the mine—not a mental journey she wanted to revisit. She pivoted away. “What would you like for breakfast today, Pops?”

“Y’might want to ask our guest that since you’re gonna put him to work.”

She bit the inside of her lip. Gavin wasn’t a guest. He was a temporary employee and a pain in her backside. “Gavin?”

“Henry’s been bragging about your blueberry pancakes. Might as well see if he’s all talk.”

“And bacon,” Pops added without a trace of guilt. “Crisp.”

She glanced from man to man. They’d been discussing her? Why? Surely her grandfather wasn’t matchmaking? He knew better. And he knew what kind of man she preferred—one like Russell. Generous, smart, loyal and fearless, as an army medic her husband had been willing to put his life on the line and even die for any member of his unit—a point he’d proven by throwing himself on a grenade to save his team.

Egotistical jerks who swaggered around being excessively bossy and sneaky did nothing for her.

She narrowed her eyes on Gavin. He gave her a half smile. “If you don’t have the ingredients, I could always take you to breakfast at Jarrod Ridge.”

No way. She’d walk barefoot over broken glass to get what she required before she’d have breakfast with him on his turf. It was bad enough he’d forced his presence on her for the shopping trip and chores, but if she wanted to keep her life flowing in the comfortable groove she’d carved for herself since moving to Aspen, avoiding additional one-on-one time with Gavin was a necessity.

“I have everything I need. If you’ll excuse me …?” She made a shooing motion with her hand and waited for him to return to his seat at the table before she pivoted back to the pantry.

She’d made the recipe a hundred times, and she assembled the ingredients by rote. But this time felt different. Her hands were clumsy, her movements awkward as she furiously whisked the egg whites. She realized her frenzied actions were probably giving away more than she intended and deliberately slowed her strokes. She folded the froth to the flour mixture, egg yolks and milk, then ladled the thick liquid onto the hot griddle. The sizzle of butter and batter didn’t drown out the sounds of the men’s voices as they discussed politics, cars and sports. No matter how hard she tried to block them out, she couldn’t escape Gavin’s deep, velvety tone.

Escaping gained appeal by the second, and it seemed to take forever to fry the final piece of bacon and pile the last golden disk on the platter. She carried the plates to the table and turned to leave.

“Whoa, girlie. Sit down and eat.”

“I need to wash the dishes.” She’d done most of the work while cooking, but still—

“I’ll do them while you’re at the store. You’re not hiding in the office like you did last night. These chores were your idea. You need to contribute to the planning.”

Her cheeks burned at being called out in front of Gavin, but again, Pops spoke the truth. Refusing to join them would be both ungracious and cowardly. She retrieved her coffee, a carafe of orange juice and three glasses, stalling, she admitted, before returning to the table.

She had no appetite. How could she when awareness of Gavin made her jittery? Russell had never made her uncomfortable. He’d been dynamic and exciting, but he’d never made her feel crowded, breathless or restless.

She forced down a pancake without tasting a bite. She’d almost finished when Pops pulled his checkbook from his back pocket. She smiled at his old-fashioned gesture. Almost everyone she knew used debit or credit cards these days. No one wrote paper checks anymore—except Pops.

“Pops, I can charge our purchase to the inn’s card.”

“Don’t trust that electronic junk. Too many accounts get hacked.” He made the check out to the store and signed it, leaving the amount spaces blank, then tore it out of the book. She put down her fork to take it, but he passed the check to Gavin.

Tension snarled in Sabrina’s stomach, turning her fluffy pancake into a lead brick. How could Pops be so trusting to a virtual stranger? He’d literally handed Gavin a blank check.

It was up to her to make sure Pops’s trust was not abused. She wasn’t letting Gavin Jarrod out of her sight until this job was done and he crawled back under the rock from which he’d come.

Sabrina surreptitiously checked her watch, willing time to pass quickly.

“Relax and drink your coffee. The cashier said our order would be ready in an hour,” Gavin said from across the table.

She pleated her paper napkin. “I’ve never known them to take so long to pull an order.”

“They only have one guy licensed to drive a forklift working today. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? You barely touched your breakfast.”

“I’m fine.” With her nerves already stretched to the breaking point, the last thing she needed was more caffeine. As for eating … no way. Her stomach churned like the cement mixer rattling the diner’s windows as it thundered down the street.

Gavin’s calmness only agitated her more. But then he was getting his way. “Dragging me to a restaurant has been your goal all along. Congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”

“And the enthralled expression on your face will make every woman on the sidewalk want my phone number.”

His dry sarcasm made her lips twitch. She wasn’t going to like him. No way. Not after the past hour.

In a store as large as the one they’d just left, how could there have been such a shortage of space that she and her unwanted shopping partner had repeatedly made contact? But they had. Their hands had bumped over banisters and their hips by the hedge trimmers. Every time she’d turned around he’d been in her personal space, crowding her and not giving an inch.

Her pulse hadn’t been in the normal range since she’d climbed into his cramped truck cab, and she’d gasped so many times while shopping that anyone who didn’t know her would think she had a chronic lung condition.

How could she get rid of him and still protect Pops? She traced the lip of her mug, then glanced at Gavin. His attention seemed riveted to the movement of her finger, and then abruptly shifted to her face. The impact of his dark gaze swept her into an out-of-control, lighter-than-air feeling that made no sense considering she was sitting in a diner in the middle of downtown Aspen. But she felt as if her parasail had suddenly been caught by a strong gust and she’d been lifted off her snowboard, off solid ground and carried up the mountain.

She snatched her hands from the table and gripped the booth’s bench waiting for her breathlessness to ease. She scrambled to find a rational thought. “Did you have to order top-of-the-line everything?”

“The more expensive products have better warranties. If you have problems the replacements are free.”

That much was true. But still … the total of the supply bill had been about twenty percent higher than she’d anticipated. Luckily, she’d balanced the checkbook last night and knew the account had enough to cover the amount. The inn wasn’t hurting financially yet despite some zero occupancy days, but it was the principle of Gavin being so free with someone else’s money that bothered her.

She sipped her unwanted coffee, grudgingly admitting the brew he’d made this morning was better than the trendy diner’s—maybe even better than hers, and she prided herself on making great coffee for the inn’s guests.

So the man made decent coffee. Big deal. That wasn’t a reason to keep him around.

“What do you want from my grandfather?”

“I told you. The mine and the acreage surrounding it.” He sounded sincere, but the way his eyes turned guarded and he tensed ever so slightly contradicted his words.

With almost fifty years between him and Pops, the men’s sudden friendship seemed unnatural and calculated. Gavin had to be up to something. That blank check he’d managed to get from Pops spoke volumes. There had to be more. She just didn’t know what yet, and the only way to figure out his agenda was to get to know him better. Not a project she relished.

What made Gavin Jarrod tick? “Where do you live when you’re not here?”

“I divide most of my time between Vegas and Atlanta.”

“Why two such different places?”

“Because Vegas is where my brother’s hotel is located and Atlanta is close enough to the Appalachian Mountains for hiking and river rafting and has a major airport hub.”

“You’re an outdoorsman?” The breadth of his shoulders implied as much.

“Yes.”

“A hunter?”

“I shoot nature with a camera these days, although I have nothing against putting food on the table through hunting.”

Good answer. She’d have to find something else to dislike about him—other than that he was rich, he’d forced his company on her and she didn’t trust him. As if that weren’t enough.

“What makes you think you’re qualified to be our handyman? Aren’t construction engineers pencil pushers?”

“I’m a hands-on manager. I work with my team, and I worked part-time construction jobs during college.”

He worked construction? That might explain the faded scars on the backs of his hands. So much for proving him unqualified for the job. “Didn’t your father pay your bills?”

“He paid tuition, and for that I had to come back and work at The Ridge every summer. But during the academic year I earned my own wages rather than answer to him on how I spent my money.”

So maybe Gavin hadn’t lacked responsibilities the way so many of her parents’ wealthy students had. “Why engineering?”

“I like figuring out how things work and finding ways around obstacles that others consider impossible. What about you?”

She startled. “What about me?”

“Did you always want to manage the inn?”

She bit her tongue on the automatic no. In high school all she’d cared about was getting as far away from her parents and their stilted, judgmental university community as she could. She’d had no grand goals beyond escaping. Initially, she’d been drawn to Russell because he’d been everything academics were not—big, brawny, into action more than higher learning. He also wanted out of their small college town, and he’d had a plan to achieve his getaway.

She’d fallen head over heels in love with him and ended up pregnant. Her parents’ ultimatum—terminate the pregnancy or get out of their house—had left her with no choice. She and Russell had eloped on her eighteenth birthday—just days after her high school graduation. She’d planned to be a good military wife and raise Russell’s babies. But that hadn’t happened.

She pressed a hand to the empty ache in her belly, then blinked to chase away the past. “Does it matter? I’m where I’m needed right now, and I’ll never let my grandfather down. Nor will I let anyone take advantage of him.”

“What would you do if your grandfather sold the business?”

Alarm raced over her. She’d come to love making a warm, welcoming home away from home for their visitors, the way her grandmother had always done for her. She couldn’t imagine doing anything else now, nor did she have the qualifications for anything else. “He wouldn’t do that. He knows I love Snowberry Inn.”

Pops knew the inn was her refuge, the one place she’d always felt wanted and loved regardless of her choices. But she’d seen that blasted pamphlet and she had her doubts. However, she wasn’t giving Gavin Jarrod that information.

His brown eyes searched her face. “What if you marry someone who lives elsewhere?”

“I won’t.”

“You sound certain.”

“I am.” She’d done that before, and during her four-year marriage she hadn’t seen Snowberry Inn or her grandparents. Russell had been stationed in North Carolina, too far from Aspen to drive the distance in their old car, and she’d been too proud to tell her grandparents she couldn’t afford the airfare for a visit. During that time her grandmother had died, and Sabrina hadn’t been able to say good-bye. She’d had to borrow money from Russell’s friends to come to the funeral because her own parents wouldn’t loan it to her.

Time to change the subject. “Why did you leave Aspen?”

His face hardened. “My father was determined to turn us into clones of himself.”

“And that was a bad thing?”

“Yes. He was excessively controlling. But I escaped. We all did. Until now.” Anger flattened his lips into a thin line.

Demanding parents and a desire to escape were two things they had in common. Her perfectionist parents had never forgiven her for failing to meet their standards. They’d considered her an embarrassment and she hadn’t spoken to them in years.

But this wasn’t about her. “What about your mother?”

He focused on the mug cradled in his big hands. “She died from cancer when I was four. I barely remember her.”

Her mother may not have been the milk-and-cookies type, but she’d always been there at least physically … until Sabrina had needed her the most. “I’m sorry.”

“It happens. If we finish the repairs on time you’ll have a few days to relax before your guests arrive. What will you do with the time?”

Relax? What was that? She’d been so busy doing her job and picking up Pops’s slack that she couldn’t remember the last day off she’d had. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I used to ride horses on the trails, but—”

She bit off the thought. She didn’t want to imply the inn wasn’t financially secure to a shark like Gavin. Besides, her hobbies were none of his business.

“I didn’t see any horses.”

Busted. “Pops sold them after my grandmother died because they were too much work for him to manage alone and they reminded him of her.”

“We have horses at The Ridge.”

They had everything at the resort. “Goody for you.”

“That was an invitation, not a boast. If you want to ride I’ll take you.”

Tempting—except for the part about having to endure his company. The man irritated her like a blister forming on her heel halfway through a long hike. She just knew he wasn’t going to get better as time passed. “Thanks, but no.”

She had to get out of there and away from him even if all she did was freeze her fanny off with an hour of window shopping. The waitress provided an opportunity when she strolled by with the coffeepot. Sabrina caught her attention with a wave. “Excuse me, could I get the check, please?”

“Sure.” The woman peeled off the ticket and laid it on the table.

Sabrina reached for the bill, but Gavin moved a split-second faster. Her hand landed on the back of his. The contact uncorked something in the pit of her stomach, releasing a flood of fizzy heat that gushed through her like froth from an ineptly opened bottle of champagne.

She snatched back her hand, severing the connection, but her palm continued tingling, and her body bubbled with excitement she never expected or wanted to experience again. “Hey, I was going to pay that.”

He shook his head. “I’ll get the coffee. It’s the least I can do considering you’re going to be feeding me three meals a day for the next three weeks.”

Horrified, she stared into his dark eyes in dismay. “Says who?”

“Henry. He actually offered me room and board, but I already have a place to stay.”

Thank God for small favors. “I’m sure the food will be more to your liking at Jarrod Ridge.”

“I’ve been eating gourmet food for months. It’s time for a change. I’m looking forward to your good home cooking.”

At that moment she didn’t like her grandfather very much. What had he gotten her into?

Five

Caldwell’s old bones had been right, Gavin concluded as a cold gust of wind cut through his turtleneck, chilling the sweat he’d worked up while unloading the building supplies from the truck bed.

He monitored Sabrina’s progress as she carefully picked her way down the brick sidewalk through the snow that had begun feathering down five minutes ago. The stubborn woman had insisted on helping him empty the truck despite the worsening weather. And while he admired her grit, as Henry called it, Gavin didn’t want her doing any heavy lifting or slipping and cutting herself on the pane of glass she carried toward the porch. If that made him a male chauvinist too bad.

After he stacked the last two gallons of paint inside the storage closet he grabbed his coat from the railing where he’d tossed it then let himself into the warmth of the cozy, good-smelling kitchen. The kitchen at Jarrod Manor had never had this welcoming atmosphere.

The glass pane lay on the table, still in its brown paper wrapper, but there was no sign of Sabrina. He caught the tap of her boots down the hall as he hung his coat on a peg by the back door, shed his gloves and mentally shuffled the chore list. Having weather change a timeline on a job was nothing unusual for him, but usually there were tens of thousands of dollars in penalties at stake. This time the delay was a reward rather than a punishment because it worked in his favor.

Sabrina returned. “Pops is napping.”

Her discarded knit cap had ruffled her curls, giving her a sultry, just-out-of-bed look that contrasted with her reserved expression. She’d shed her outerwear giving him another chance to appreciate her lean curves in a body-skimming sweater, this one a pale blue that accentuated her eyes. Her gaze met his and he experienced a now-familiar punch to the solar plexus.

“Go home, Gavin. We can’t work in the snow.”

She wasn’t getting rid of him that easily. If the only thing they had going for them was chemistry, then he intended to exploit it shamelessly to get what he wanted. “We can’t paint when it’s snowing. I’ll start with replacing the window.”

Her breath hitched. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she briefly glanced away. “That can wait.”

“It’s the quickest job on the list, and with the temperature dropping it makes sense to fix the broken glass rather than lose heat. Show me which room.”

She pinched her bottom lip between her teeth and shifted on her feet. “Pops can do it. Or you can tell me how and I will. It’s something I need to know anyway.”

“It’s easier to show you. Sabrina, I’m here to work. I can either get on with it, or I can spend the afternoon sitting in the kitchen watching you cook and waiting for the weather to clear enough for me to tackle another job.”

Wide-eyed horror morphed into resignation in her features. “This way.”

He’d never encountered anyone so determined not to like him, and he had to admit the novel experience wasn’t an enjoyable one. He picked up the glass, points and glazing compound and shadowed her down the hall instead of upstairs as he’d expected. He took the opportunity to enjoy the angry sway of her hips. She had a nice butt—slender, but with just enough meat on it for a man to grip.

She paused, puffed out a breath and then pushed open a door and motioned him to go ahead. He stepped through the doorway. A subtle, but unmistakably familiar scent filled his nose and stopped him in his tracks. Sabrina’s cinnamon, vanilla and flowers scent. This wasn’t a guest room.

“This is your room,” he stated.

“Yes.”

His attention shot to the bed—a bed they would share in the near future because, damn it, he would not fail. He couldn’t wait to see her hair spread across those pristine white pillows and feel her naked body against his beneath the old-fashioned quilt. He might even shove one of those prissy lace pillows under her shapely behind to improve the angle when he drove into her. The pressure in his groin increased and his pulse pounded in his temple.

He exhaled and examined the rest of the space, searching for clues about his mysterious bride-to-be. The furnishings were traditional and uncluttered, but feminine nonetheless with white painted furniture and a mostly white décor dotted with pastel shades. The only thing that didn’t fit the pale color scheme was the U.S. flag in its triangular glass and dark cherry wooden case sitting on a desk in the corner.

He wouldn’t have pegged her as the patriotic type.

A picture frame rested on each bedside table. Henry and a woman, presumably Colleen, smiled in the photo Gavin could see from his position by the door. The angle of the other concealed the subject. Intent on seeing who else Sabrina kept by her bed when she slept, he stepped deeper into the room.

Sabrina moved between him and his goal. “The broken window is in my bathroom. That way.”

Rather than reveal his curiosity, he headed in the direction she indicated. She followed him. Her bathroom seemed to shrink in size with the pair of them in it. They stood within touching distance, and he was tempted to reach out and stroke the smooth, flushed skin of her cheek. But she seemed on edge. There was a time to make a push for the finish line and a time to maintain the current pace. This was the latter.

Rather than moving in for kiss number two prematurely and risking spooking her, he scanned the work space. A white claw-foot tub with brass feet sat in one end of the room. His mind instantly filled with images of Sabrina naked and wet with her damp dark curls streaming over the rounded tub edge as she waited for him there. His heart pumped faster.

Hoping to derail the train of heat steaming south, he averted his gaze to the vanity which, like her bedroom, lacked the clutter of makeup, perfumes, toiletries and junk the women he’d known in the past deemed necessary for life.

She pointed to the window. “I’m not sure what broke the glass. A bird, maybe. I didn’t find one outside.”

A diagonal line, patched with wide clear tape, split the pane. But her rushed speech interested him more than the cracked glass. Why was she so uneasy around him if not for the sexual chemistry? She might deny it, but she felt it.

“Should be a simple repair. I’ll talk you through it.”

She backed a quick step. “No. Go ahead. I’ll leave you to it.”

He caught her hand and she gasped. “I thought you wanted to learn how?”

Her gaze flicked to his, then away. A line formed between her brows. She tugged at her hand and he let her smooth fingers slide through his. The rose of her cheeks darkened. “I—I need to start lunch.”

“This will only take a few minutes. We can remove the sash and work inside rather than tackle the job from outside. It will take a couple of extra steps, but you can handle them.”

“I’ll learn another time, and I’ll close the door to keep the cold air from sweeping into more than this room.” She left hurriedly, the door snapping close behind her.

More curious now than ever, Gavin let her go. There was no doubt his touch affected her as strongly as hers did him, but she was resisting. The question was why?

He quickly finished the simple job, then gathered the broken glass and tools and returned to her bedroom, determined to see whose face she looked at when she laid in bed.

The photo frame was gone. Sabrina must have moved it.

What did she have to hide? It was imperative that he uncover her secrets and get on with his plan.

Sabrina tried to be as quiet as possible while washing the lunch dishes, but no matter how hard she strained, the men’s voices didn’t carry clearly enough from the living room for her to make out their words.

Eavesdropping! How low was she going to have to go to get rid of Gavin Jarrod?

She shouldn’t leave Pops alone with him, but until she made sense of her jumbled thoughts, she had no choice, and washing up was her first break away from Gavin’s intense scrutiny since he’d returned from fixing her window.

Having him in her bedroom had felt like an invasion—but in an agitating way, not a repulsive one. Her skin had flushed and her pulse and respiratory rates had increased.

Only because you haven’t had any man other than Pops in your bedroom since Russell.

Right. She’d been uncomfortable, not anything else. She definitely had not been turned on.

When Gavin’s gaze had looked toward the flag, then moved on to Russell’s picture, shock quickly followed by panic had seized and chilled her. She used to end each day looking at the flag and remembering her husband had been willing to die for a cause he’d passionately believed in. Every night before she’d closed her eyes she’d told the image of Russell’s beloved face good-night.

When had she stopped? She couldn’t remember.

Guilt poured over her. Shaken and weak, she’d hidden the photograph because she couldn’t bear Gavin asking about Russell. And he would, the nosy bastard. She hated that she’d been so rattled she hadn’t even been able to stay and learn basic window repair. How could she take care of the inn if she didn’t tough it out?

And then Gavin had watched her throughout lunch with that wolf-like predator’s awareness of his. Her nerves had stretched to almost the breaking point as she’d waited for him to voice the questions in his eyes and rip the scabs off barely healed wounds. But he hadn’t. Instead he and Pops had discussed the dam Gavin had built in Namibia. If she’d been less tense she would have been fascinated by the stories Gavin told of his adventures. He’d worked in places she’d only dreamed of seeing and done things she couldn’t even begin to fathom. It must be amazing to look up at a massive dam or bridge and know you’d had a part in its creation.

Pops shuffled into the kitchen, followed by Gavin. The men headed for the coatrack.

She quickly dried her hands. “Where are you going?”

“Henry wants me to take him to the mine,” Gavin answered.

No. “But it’s snowing.”

“It stopped an hour ago and we checked weather radar. The next band of snow won’t move through for a couple of hours.” Gavin helped Pops with his coat.

She scrambled for excuses. “The ground will be slick.”

“I’ll drive him as close to the mine entrance as possible,” Gavin replied in a deep, patient tone that made her want to scream. “With the forecast we have we won’t be able to make the trip later in the week.”

If she couldn’t make the lug head see reason, she’d work on Pops. She turned to her grandfather. “What about your aches?”

“They’ve eased a might since my nap. The exercise will do me good. Might even loosen me up.”

She couldn’t let them go alone. Gavin had already gotten a promise to sell land and a blank check. No telling what else he would wheedle out of Pops. “I’ll go with you.”

“We’re taking the pickup,” Gavin warned.

She smothered a grimace. That would put her in the sandwiched-between-two-men position she’d fought so hard to avoid this morning. “Fine.”

Gavin held out her coat, leaving her no choice but to turn her back and let him assist her. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and before she could step away he scooped his hands under her hair to pull it free of her collar. His fingertips grazed her nape. A shiver of awareness trickled down her spine.

Startled, she jumped out of reach. She was not attracted to him. Absolutely not. She wouldn’t let herself be. She had too many good reasons to dislike and distrust him.

“Pops, wouldn’t you prefer your beaver hat?”

“B’lieve I would.” He shuffled toward his bedroom.

Sabrina waited until he was out of earshot, then scowled at Gavin. “The climb will be too much for him.”

“He can handle it if I take it slow and stop to show him points of interest along the trail.” He kept his voice at the same low volume as hers.

“Gavin—”

“He needs to do this and you need to let him.” His firm I’m-the-boss tone warned her not to argue. But that wasn’t going to stop her from trying to protect Pops.

“He doesn’t have to do it today. He can wait until it’s warmer.”

“Today is the anniversary of the day he and your grandmother carved their initials into the beam. He claims it’s the last time they were happy together before her pancreatic cancer was diagnosed. He wanted to go alone, but I insisted on tagging along.”

Sabrina’s heart clenched and her anger deflated. Could Gavin be a complete ass if he were this considerate of Pops?

“I didn’t know about the anniversary. He’s never said anything before. In fact, they never told us about the diagnosis until close to the end. I guess I should thank you for insisting on going.”

He snagged her knit cap from the peg and tugged it over her head. The intimate gesture startled her and made her chest tight, but she couldn’t move away since he still gripped her cap.

“Sabrina, I like your grandfather. You have nothing to fear from me as far as he’s concerned.”

Gavin looked and sounded sincere—and she wanted to believe him—but there was too much at stake to risk being wrong. “You’d better not be lying.”

“I don’t lie.” He slowly trailed his knuckles down her neck and then his palms over her shoulders, her arms. His fingertips raked along the back of hers, making her jump at the jolt. Static electricity. That’s all it is. He ended the contact seconds before Pops entered the kitchen.

With her pulse banging wildly in her ears, she trailed the men to the truck and reluctantly climbed into the middle of the bench seat. Gavin slid in beside her. His big body pressed hers from knee to shoulder and not even several layers of clothing could block the heat radiating from him. Her skin tingled. Her heart skipped. Awareness pooled in the pit of her stomach, heavy and hot. She wanted out of this vehicle, and yet she couldn’t avoid this excursion and still protect Pop.

Time seemed to crawl as they crossed the valley and ascended the ridge with each bump in the road making her burn from the friction of Gavin’s hard male body chafing against hers. Relief surged through her when Gavin finally parked the truck. She jumped out of the cramped cab as soon as Pops was out of her way and took a deep, sobering breath. But a nagging part of her noticed and missed the warmth Gavin had provided.

Gavin took a different path than the one he’d hiked with her last time. They hadn’t gone a hundred yards before she noticed her grandfather’s raspy, rapid breathing. Before she could say anything Gavin stopped. “This is the best view of the valley. If I ever decided to return to Aspen for good, I’d build a house here.”

Pops leaned against a rock. “You could be right. I can see the inn and Colleen’s favorite spot by the river.”

The sadness in Pops’s voice tugged at Sabrina’s heart. She hooked her hands through Pops’s elbow, offering support. She ached over losing Russell, but she’d only had him for a fraction of the time her grandparents had been together. How would it feel to lose someone who’d shared almost a lifetime with you? She didn’t want to know because she didn’t think she could survive it. Would she always ache for Russell the way her grandfather did for her grandmother?

The old anger stirred. She only half-listened as the men made small talk about the city’s history as if they’d known each other for years. She’d wanted the rest of her life with Russell and she’d been robbed of it. He’d sacrificed his life so others could return to their wives. He’d chosen his men over her.

When Pops caught his breath, Gavin continued up the path only to stop again at the first sign of Pops struggling and point out some odd rock formation. She was both impressed and appalled at the smooth way Gavin manipulated her grandfather. This consideration was the last thing she’d expected of him, and if he hadn’t warned her what he’d planned she never would have guessed each pause in their trek was deliberate and not incidental. But that he did so without giving a clue to his motive worried her. How else could he fool her—and Pops?

When they finally reached the clearing her grandfather tramped ahead of them toward the mine entrance.

She held back with Gavin. “That wasn’t the way you brought me the other day.”

“You could handle a more strenuous ascent.”

The rat bastard. “You had me huffing and puffing and sweating just for fun?”

“The tougher trail is more picturesque, but I doubt Henry could handle it.”

He was right on both counts. Her anger died quickly. She turned to follow her grandfather. Gavin’s big hand curled around hers holding her back and making her wish she’d taken time to put on her gloves.

“Give him a few minutes alone.”

He had to stop touching her. Each time he did, something inside her fanned an ember she didn’t want rekindled. She tried to pull free, but he held fast and stuffed his hand, along with hers, in his coat pocket. His body emitted heat like a roaring fire. “You left your gloves in the truck. Your hands are cold.”

So she had. “I can get them.”

“No need. We won’t be here that long.” His fingers laced through hers, pressing her knuckles against his abdomen and narrowing her focus to his flesh against hers, his calluses against her palm, his height looming over her. “Who hurt you, Sabrina? Who made you so wary?”

Her breath caught. “No one. No one hurt me. I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are fine, quite beautiful, in fact.” The words should have sounded like a cheesy pick up line, but the sincerity in his eyes held her transfixed. He lifted his free hand and stroked her cheek. Despite the cold, she felt flushed and too hot in her down coat. His proximity messed with her head, making her slightly dizzy. Tension stretched between them.

Back away.

But then his gaze dropped to her mouth and it was as if her feet had grown roots anchoring them in the hard ground. Her stomach fluttered. He bent and she gasped in surprise, then his lips settled over hers with a brush, a nudge, a sip. The heat of his tongue swept her bottom lip and a shower of sparks rained over her. He cradled her head in his palm, holding her captive as he ravaged her mouth with hot, hungry kisses.

She needed to push him away, but he tasted so good, like the mint chocolate chip cookies she’d served for dessert and like … Gavin. She didn’t mean to kiss him back. But somehow, her tongue twined with his. Somehow she moved closer until his hard chest supported her. He released the hand he held captive in his pocket to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her even closer.

Excitement coursed through her, making her feel alive and womanly and desirable—a trio she hadn’t experienced in far too long. A combination that had brought her nothing but pain. A sobering chill rushed over her.

She jerked free, backing up one step, two. Her heavy breaths fogged the air between them. “I don’t want you to do that again.”

“When was your divorce final?”

The question blindsided her. “I’m not divorced.”

His eyes narrowed. He lifted her hand. “But you’re not still married. You don’t wear a ring.”

She yanked her hand free and debated telling him to mind his own business. But maybe a dose of the truth would scare him away. “My husband was an army medic. A hero who died saving his team in combat.”

Gavin’s jaw shifted. “That was his funeral flag on your desk and his picture on the nightstand.”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

“Three years.”

“And you’re not over him.”

“I’ll never be over him, Gavin. You never forget a love like that.”

“You can’t move forward when you’re living in the past, Sabrina.”

“Maybe I don’t want to move forward.” Because forgetting the past meant opening her heart to that crushing pain again.

He was competing against a damned saint, Gavin realized. No wonder Caldwell had to bribe someone to woo his granddaughter. The old geezer had deliberately set an unattainable goal. Had Henry known all along that Gavin didn’t stand a chance of winning?

The hell you don’t.

Gavin wanted Sabrina more than ever—not just for the mine or because he liked her protective lioness attitude toward Henry, but because the passion she ignited inside him promised to be stronger than any he’d experienced before. Convincing her to test that passion would be a challenge, but he liked nothing better than tackling obstacles. He’d built his professional reputation on making a success out of projects others deemed impossible.

Peeling off his gloves, he stomped the light dusting of snow off his boots and knocked on the kitchen door Thursday morning. Caldwell opened the door and glanced past him. “Bringing out the big guns, ain’t you?”

“Yessir.”

“C’mon in and pour yourself a cup of coffee. Sabrina will be in momentarily.”

“Thanks, but I have a thermos of coffee in the carriage along with breakfast. I hope you don’t mind if I kidnap her for an hour or two.”

Henry raised his mug and smirked. “Good luck with that.”

“You could have warned me about her husband.”

“And have you quit before you started? Now that would spoil the fun, wouldn’t it?” The old man’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Glad I can entertain you.”

Sabrina’s soft tread carried down the hall. Gavin saw her before she spotted him. The softness of her face before her expression turned guarded had his heart slamming hard against his rib cage. Sabrina Taylor was definitely worth the battle.

She glanced from him to her grandfather and back, her wariness palpable. “Good morning.”

“Gavin here has a surprise for you.”

“What?” Suspicion laced the word and narrowed her eyes.

“A carriage ride,” Gavin told her.

Her lips parted. Interest flickered across her face before she shut it down. “It’s snowing.”

“It’s barely coming down. I have blankets, coffee and breakfast waiting in the rig.”

She brushed past him, heading for the window. The gentle bump of their shoulders aroused him like a damned schoolboy getting his first peep at a girl’s panties. If he ever— When he got her into bed, they were going to generate enough heat to melt the snowcaps surrounding the valley.

She looked over her shoulder at him. Excitement pinked her cheeks and sparkled in her baby blues. “I shouldn’t. Pops—”

“Go on, girlie. I’ll be fine for a few hours. We both know how much you miss the horses.”

Biting her lip, she hesitated. Outside the horses shifted and the tinkle of sleigh bells carried inside. He could feel her excitement, sense her indecision, and decided to give her a nudge. “If you want to see the sun rise over the mountains we need to leave now.”

“Go, Sabrina, before the road gets slick. He’s got wheels on the thing, not runners. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Gavin observed her changing expressions, and it was a toss-up whether he’d win or lose this round. He’d never met a woman more difficult to decipher.

She huffed out a breath. “Just a quick ride.”

Victory pumped through his veins. One step closer to his goal.

Six

She needed to end this Christmas card moment now, Sabrina decided as the carriage turned the corner and the inn came into view. But telling herself to snap out of the romantic fantasy Gavin had created with his horse-drawn tour of the city at sunrise and doing it were two different things. She adored horses and buggy rides—thanks to her grandmother.

Warm and toasty despite the frosty temperatures, she snuggled deeper into the fur blankets. Gavin had plied her with hot coffee, fresh beignets and stories about growing up in Aspen, and sometime during the past hour the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the quiet tinkling of the bells on their harnesses had combined with the light drifting snow and the crisp start of a new day to blur the line between reality and fantasy.

“You have good hands,” she offered grudgingly.

He shot her a look filled with sexual intent and the fire in his dark eyes nearly roasted her.

She gulped. “I meant you’re good at this carriage-driving thing. Your grip is steady but firm on the reins. My grandmother always said good hands were the mark of a good horseman.”

“My father made us work a variety of jobs. I drove the carriages when I had the chance.”

“What other jobs did you have?”

“We did whatever needed doing. Dad wanted us to learn the resort business from the bottom up.”

Once again, Gavin blew her preconceptions out of the water. Could he truly be that different from the spoiled men who’d attended the college where her parents taught? “You were good with Pops yesterday. How did you know how to handle the situation? Every time I try to talk to him about Grandma he gets ornery.”

“I’ve learned from experience with friends and co-workers who’ve lost loved ones to listen if they want to talk and give them space and privacy to grieve when they need it. Men don’t like to share their tears.”

When he said insightful things like that it was difficult to believe he was scheming to steal the inn from Pops. In fact, at the moment she actually liked Gavin. And that wasn’t good. Her guard was down, and she needed to keep a clear head around him. Being with him threatened the inner peace she’d fought so hard to find. But as long as they stayed out in the open nothing could happen.

He guided the horses into the inn’s driveway and then steered the carriage toward the barn. She straightened, letting the fur blanket slip. “Where are you going?”

“Henry’s letting me keep the horses in your barn while I’m working here. This pair is good for riding as well as pulling the carriage. You miss riding. So do I. We’ll ride together.”

No. No. No. “I don’t have time to ride.”

“You have to make time for the things that matter. Besides, Henry likes watching you. He says you and your grandmother rode together.”

Making it a request from Pops made it impossible to refuse. “She’s the one who taught me to ride. Her horses were her babies.”

He climbed from the carriage and opened the barn’s double doors then returned. The coach rocked as he resettled himself in the seat, his body nudging hers and bumping her heart rate right off the charts, then he clucked to the mares, driving them inside.

The barn smelled different. Instead of dust and disuse, Sabrina smelled fresh hay, shavings and oats. She scanned the stalls as she descended. Two of the four had been prepared. “When did you do this?”

Gavin made closing the heavy sliding doors look easy when she knew it was anything but. She grunted and groaned and had to put her entire body weight into it when she opened them. “Henry and I cleaned up after we returned from the mine.”

She’d wondered where the men had gone. “Usually Pops naps in the afternoon.”

“He naps because he has no sense of purpose. He needs to feel useful,” he said as he began unhitching the harness from the horses.

Without the pale sunlight the shadowy interior created an intimacy she didn’t want—not while she battled this push-pull thing between them. “But the inn’s chore list—”

“Is beyond his capabilities at the moment. He’s not ready to admit it yet.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile that made her stomach flutter.

“Mucking stalls is too much for him.”

“I had him clean the tack room while I did the heavy work.”

His consideration surprised her yet again. How could he be a swindler? She automatically helped him remove the tack from the horses. Her fingers fumbled with the once familiar task of slipping pliable leather through buckles. Gavin, she noted, did not fumble. After they finished and the gear had been hung on the wall, he handed her a brush. She caught herself watching him, specifically his hands, and unconsciously matching his rhythm as she stroked the bristles over the mare’s glossy hide.

Would his hands be as gentle on a woman?

She pushed the disturbing thought aside. Gavin was as good with the horses as he was with her grandfather. But was it an act? A means to an end? Or was he the real deal? Evidence said he was no stranger to hard work, but her years of experience with men of his ilk said otherwise.

She needed to focus on something besides his positive attributes. “So your twin brothers, Blake and Guy, are a year older than you, and Trevor is a year younger?”

“Yes.” He bent over to clean his horse’s hooves and her attention zeroed in on his backside. Tight, firm, with enough muscle development to keep it from being flat.

Gavin straightened. She pried her gaze away and kept it focused on the dust motes dancing in the murky light while he tended her horse’s hooves. Then he led the bay mare he’d been grooming into the first stall. She led the sorrel into the second and latched the door. The slurp of the horses at the water buckets broke the silence.

Sabrina cleared her throat. “Are you and your brothers close?”

He shrugged. “Close enough.”

“Then there’s Melissa and … Erica Prentice? But she’s not a Jarrod, right?”

“We share the same father, but he never acknowledged Erica when he was alive.”

The bitterness in his voice caught her attention. “Don’t you like her?”

“Erica’s nice enough.”

“But?”

He pitched the brushes into a caddy. “My father had an affair immediately after my mother died.”

“You think he forgot her, and you’re angry that he moved on.”

“I don’t care.”

But he did. It showed in every stiff line of his body as he carried the caddy and blankets to the tack room.

She followed him inside. The smell of Lexol brought back memories of spending hours in here cleaning and oiling saddles and bridles. A small window filled the room with diffused light.

“Gavin, maybe he simply needed someone to prove he hadn’t died with her.”

He dropped the blankets on the sofa. “Is that what you need? Someone to prove you didn’t die with your husband?”

The unexpected attack and resultant stab of pain made her flinch. “This isn’t about me.”

He closed the distance between them in two long strides. His dark gaze burned into hers. “I think it is. It’s about you being afraid to let go of the past.”

She shook her head as denial raced through her, quickly chased by a thrill of something exciting and energizing. She tried to squash the latter, but failed. Her heart raced and her palms tingled. “No. You’re wrong.”

“Not this time. Come out of hiding, Sabrina.” He cupped her shoulders, and before she could convince her feet to carry her out of trouble’s way, he bent and settled his mouth over hers.

His lips were warm, firm, sure. Persuasive. A response she couldn’t prevent streamed through her like a waterfall pouring over the mountains and crashing into her stomach, but instead of filling her veins with icy mountain water, a warm thermal spring bubbled in her veins.

Her brain and body worked against each other. One demanded she push him away. The other stubbornly held on tight. If her internal battle wasn’t enough, Gavin’s passionate embrace evoked so many long-suppressed memories. She’d forgotten the experience of having a man’s strong arms hold her tight, forgotten the heat of a muscle-packed body pressed against hers, and she’d forgotten how deliciously feminine the combination made her feel. But mostly she’d forgotten how it felt to crave more.

More deep kisses. More firm, but gentle hands buffing her body. More of this heady, dizzy, free-falling sensation that made her cling even tighter to him for fear of losing her balance.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with him. Apparently she didn’t have to trust the man to desire him. He was attractive and she hadn’t had sex in a long time, so her reaction to him was probably just deprived hormones at work. But he and Pops were wrong. She wasn’t hiding. She wasn’t afraid.

She wanted Gavin Jarrod, she admitted as their tongues dueled. And what was wrong with that? What was wrong with wanting to experience hot, sweaty mind-numbing passion one more time? It didn’t have to mean anything. In fact, she wouldn’t let it mean anything. She’d already had a man who’d loved as ardently as he’d lived, and like her grandfather, she’d never settle for second-best.

Gavin’s hands skimmed her waist, her breasts, and her heart banged wildly. He lowered her coat’s zipper tooth by tooth. The rasp shattered the silence of the small room, then welcome cool air soothed her overheated skin. He parted her coat and spanned her rib cage, palms burning hot through her sweater as he stroked his thumbs back and forth beneath her breasts with breath-stealing effectiveness. The urge to press herself into his palms surged through her. It had been so long she almost didn’t recognize the bite of lust gnawing her middle.

And then his hands slipped under the hem of her sweater and his skin found hers. She jumped. The chilly air contrasting with the heat of his touch set her core on fire. Breaking the kiss, she threw her head back and gasped for breath, for sanity, for control. Her head spun. Her knees wobbled. His lips scorched a path from her cheek to her temple then down the side of her neck. Desire thundered over her like a storm coming over the mountains, rumbling with a strength she couldn’t remember experiencing before. But she must have. With Russell.

Was she making a mistake? Playing with fire? Taking on more than she could handle?

The heady rush caused by Gavin’s warm breath on her skin combined with the slick heat of his tongue teasing the sensitive spot behind her ear and his teeth grazing the cord of her neck provided her answer. She had to taste the passion, had to sample the need of a hungry man. She’d missed that feeling so much. Too much. She’d allow Gavin into her life long enough to take the edge off. But that was it. Nothing more. No promises. No long-term. Just this. Today.

She shoved Gavin’s coat off his shoulders. He whipped hers down her arms. Breathing heavily, he cupped her face, traced her jaw as if he were trying to slow down. Then he pressed his lips together, and with a rueful grimace shook his head and yanked her close.

The impact of his ravenous kiss robbed her breath, her balance, her reason. He kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her and a similar sensation swelled inside her. She clung to him. The hard length of his erection burned against her hips. Cool air swept her midsection, then he eased his upper torso away only far enough to whisk her sweater over her head. She had a moment to feel uncomfortable and exposed in her plain white bra before he ripped off his own shirt, and then her doubts vanished and her appreciation focused on him.

His chest was all male—wide shoulders, brawny pectorals, dark swirls of hair, tiny, puckered nipples, and hot, so, so hot to the touch. She dragged her fingertips down his sternum. Satisfaction rose in her when she left a crop of goose bumps in her wake. She pressed her cheek to his chest and inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with his masculine scent, then she licked his golden skin and tasted a slight tang of salt.

His breath hissed and his grip tightened on her waist as she licked across the tiny hard tip. A groan rumbled from his chest. “I like your mouth, your hands on me, Sabrina.”

Hot palms buffed her back, her waist and then he covered her breasts. He captured her gasp with his mouth, swallowed the Mmm of pleasure she couldn’t contain. She wanted, needed skin on skin. Her bra was in the way. She reached for the hooks in the middle of her back, but he beat her to them and dispensed with the garment. He cradled her aching breasts in his palms. His thumbs teased the tips, sending bolts of need straight to her center. Intense. Too intense.

She eased back to map the supple skin covering the ropy muscles of his shoulders, his thick biceps, his hard pectorals. She flicked her short nails over his beaded flesh then raked downward over his six-pack abs to his waistband.

He shuddered an inhalation, then swept her into his arms and carried her to the sofa where he laid her on top of the fur blankets before following her. His weight pinned her down and being trapped beneath him felt good. So good. She lightly raked his back and then his mouth found her breast. Hot. Wet. Slick. Pleasure bathed her as his tongue laved her, and she moaned. He sucked, nipped, rasped her with his chin stubble, and all she could do was struggle to control her growing urgency. Her legs shifted restlessly, trying to soothe the knot of nerves between them.

She ached to tear off the remainder of their clothing and fill the emptiness expanding in her belly. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. He worked his way down her midline until he reached the button of her jeans. He released it. The fabric gave way and the zipper parted letting in a kiss of cool air. He skimmed her pants and panties down her legs, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses in the fabric’s wake. Then her pants, boots and socks were gone.

She lay naked before him and she should have had second thoughts, but she didn’t, not with the way he devoured her with his eyes. She attributed the depth of her hunger to the length of time it had been since she’d allowed herself even a teensy sexual urge. Why else would this feel so right, so necessary? She reached for the fly of his jeans.

He covered her hands, pressing them to the ridge beneath his denim, groaned and then shook his head. “Not this time. I can’t handle it.”

She took comfort in knowing she wasn’t alone in her over-the-top response. He brushed her hands aside and quickly stripped. His body was long and lean, but corded with thick muscles. She wanted to stare, to map his contours with her fingertips, but she also wanted him on her, surrounding her, inside her. She lifted a hand to him, beckoning him. He rejoined her, pressing her into the soft blankets with his weight.

While his mouth consumed hers she palmed the muscles of his back, his buttocks, his strong thighs. He kissed and laved his way to her breasts, sucking, licking, nipping until she squirmed beneath him, impatient for more. Then he blazed a trail down her middle. Her muscles clenched in anticipation, and then he was there—his hot breath a prelude to the scalding sweep of his tongue. He found exactly the right spot instantly. How did he do that? Pleasure quivered through her, making her whimper, causing her to bow off the sofa and toward the mouth working magic on her body.

Tension built, adding more and more pressure until she cracked like a dam and an orgasm erupted though her in wave after wave of breathtaking release. It wasn’t enough. She’d waited so long for this. She needed more. Digging her fingers into his arms, she tugged him upward. He resisted, forcing one more breath-robbing climax on her before he rose above her, spread her legs and positioned himself. He paused.

Confused and gasping for air, she looked into his lust-darkened eyes. His passion was too intense. She lowered her lids. “Please, Gavin. Now.”

“Open your eyes,” he rumbled almost inaudibly.

Reluctantly, she did as he ordered. Once their gazes locked he eased into her, inch by inch, filling her, stretching her.

“You’re so wet.”

Having a lover talk was a new experience, and surprisingly it increased her arousal. He felt good. So good. And then he withdrew. She pulled him back again and again, chasing another climax with each thrust and withdrawal, feeling the heaviness build low in her belly and waiting, waiting for the explosion. When it hit, it hit hard, racking her body with spasms. “That’s it, baby. Squeeze me.”

She bit his shoulder to muffle her cry, and then before the aftershocks faded he groaned as he found his own release.

Gavin rested atop her, the majority of his weight braced on his forearms as she struggled to catch her breath and to still the quaking of her legs. His long, hot thighs burned against hers and his chest pressed hers with each rapid breath.

Reality slowly nudged fantasy aside. How had she and he come together so naturally when she and Russell had worked long and hard to achieve such satisfaction? Guilt settled heavily on her at the traitorous thought.

It’s only because you and Russell were inexperienced kids when you first made love. You and Gavin are experienced adults.

As she mentally withdrew from him she became aware of the soft furs tickling her back, the unheated air cooling her skin, the hot, damp man still buried deep inside her and the stickiness joining them.

Stickiness?

They hadn’t used a condom. Shock raced over her, quickly chased by panic. What had she done? She hadn’t simply answered a biological call as planned.

She’d made a mistake of potentially disastrous proportions—one that could have lifelong repercussions. She’d risked a pregnancy—something she’d sworn she’d never, ever do again.

Satiation and satisfaction blended in Gavin’s blood like a top-shelf cocktail. His heart pumped faster and yet his limbs felt weighted. His brain raced, searching for the next step in his plan to seduce Sabrina Taylor into marriage. But for some crazy-ass reason he was having trouble thinking about anything except the warm, soft woman beneath him, the hot, wet grip of her body and the smell of sex hanging in the air.

He ought to feel ashamed for enjoying the act as much as he had considering he was using her as a means to an end. But he didn’t because she’d enjoyed it as much as he had.

She stiffened beneath him, jarring him out of Shangri-la.

“That shouldn’t have happened.”

Not what a guy wanted to hear when he was still buried deep inside a woman. “With chemistry like ours it was inevitable.”

She squirmed as if trying to get free, and the slick slide of her body on his signaled his erection for an encore. “No. It wasn’t. I don’t do … this with men I barely know.”

“Good to know.” Marriage and more of this appealed more with each of her wiggles.

“Gavin, we didn’t use a condom.”

The statement rocked him, instantly dousing the smoldering embers of desire. He never neglected to practice safe sex. “My company requires physicals on a regular basis. I’m clean. You?”

Face flushing, she pushed against his chest, her fingers digging into his pectorals until he eased off her and sat beside her on the sofa. “Of course.”

“Good.” Without the warmth of her body pressed against his, the chill of the unheated tack room—and the woman beside him—penetrated his consciousness.

She sprang to her feet, frantically scooping up clothing and clutching the wad of fabric to her spectacular chest. Her breasts might not be large, but they were perfectly formed. A handful. A mouthful. The pink tips lured him ba—

“You’re ignoring the big picture. I’m not on the pill.”

Arousal once more derailed, he processed the bad news. Their union was supposed to be temporary. A baby was a long-term commitment—definitely not in the works for a rolling stone like him who didn’t know how to be a good father. “The odds of you conceiving from one encounter are slim. We’ll take precautions next time.”

“There won’t be a next time, and any chance is too big of a chance.” She tugged on her bra, concealing the breasts he hadn’t had enough of yet, then her shirt. Without the delicious distraction, he had to focus on her eyes—eyes filled with regret.

“We’ll deal with that situation if it arises.”

She bent to look for her panties and he shamelessly enjoyed the view of her long legs and tight, round butt. He couldn’t help reaching out and skimming his hand down her flank and savoring the satiny smoothness of her pale skin.

She jumped out of reach and spun around, shielding the dark triangle of curls between her legs with her jeans. “Stop that. And there is no ‘we.’ We have no future. You’re leaving Aspen. I’m not.”

Why did her words hit him like a punch in the gut? They were true. But admitting the truth could cost him everything.

She stabbed her legs into her jeans—sans panties, zipped and buttoned them. “And if any situation requires a decision it will be my decision. Not yours. I don’t want anything from you.”

It would be partly his decision if he married her. “Don’t expect me to walk away from a connection like ours without a fight.”

Panic widened her eyes even more. “There is no connection. It was just sex.”

“Great sex.”

She bowed her head and took a deep breath, then lifted her chin. Her eyes were hard, determined. “Look, Gavin, this was a mistake that won’t be repeated.”

Yes it would. Often, if he had his way. But not in an unheated barn. As much as he liked the way her nipples tightened from the cold and pushed against her shirt, he wanted her naked and spread across his Egyptian cotton sheets, warm and willing.

He rose and stepped closer to her, enjoying her quiet gasp of surprise. “Not repeating what we just shared would be the mistake.”

Her pupils dilated, her lips parted and her cheeks flushed. He could see the hunger in her eyes and waited for her to admit he was right, but instead she shook her head and backed away. “No. Pretending this never happened would be the wisest course of action. That’s what I intend to do. What we both should do.”

He couldn’t allow that to happen. He caught her face in his palm. Her body stilled and her expression turned wary. “There’s no way you can forget how good we are together. I guarantee it.”

She jerked her head out of his grasp and set her jaw at a stubborn angle. “Watch me.”

Seven

She might have been a little overconfident in her ability to ignore Gavin, Sabrina admitted Friday afternoon.

In the eight hours since they’d made lov—had sex, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head. Thoughts of him lurked around corners of her mind, leaping out to startle her at inopportune moments. It didn’t help that he was rarely out of sight, and even when he was she could hear the low baritone of his voice as he talked to Pops.

Worse, she still smelled of him—of them—because she couldn’t sneak off to wash his scent away without making Pops question why she’d taken a second shower in the same day. And the seam of her jeans rubbed sensitive places—places that should be covered by panties, but weren’t since she hadn’t found hers and hadn’t wanted to linger in the barn to search.

How could she have become intimate with someone she’d only known four days? Shame burned her cheeks. That wasn’t like her. Russell had been her only lover, and it had taken three months and falling head over heels in love with him for him to talk her out of her clothes. Luckily, she’d figured out the guys before him had only wanted one thing from her—copies of her parents’ course exams—before she’d done more than heavy kissing and a little uncomfortable groping.

Footsteps approached—her grandfather’s soft shuffle followed by Gavin’s purposeful tread. Her spine snapped straight and her pulse went wacky. She wanted to run, but she wouldn’t give Gavin Jarrod the satisfaction of knowing she was uncomfortable around him.

Pops preceded Gavin into the kitchen. “I’m off, girlie.”

Alarm raced through her. “Off where? What about dinner?”

“I’m eating with my poker buddies.”

“But this isn’t your usual night, and I was about to grill steaks.” She couldn’t care less about the steaks. She didn’t want to be left alone with Gavin.

“Save mine for tomorrow. Horace is making his famous venison stew.”

“Why don’t you take Gavin with you? He might enjoy meeting your poker pals.”

“I’m not about to bring a card shark to the table. He’d steal the pot, and the boys would never forgive me. Good night. Don’t wait up.” Pops grabbed his coat and hat and let himself out the back door, leaving Sabrina staring after him in dismay.

Now what?

Get rid of Gavin, that’s what.

She delayed facing him until she absolutely couldn’t anymore, then turned. He leaned against the doorjamb, ankles and arms crossed, watching her. The wolf-like watchfulness and hunger in his eyes as his dark gaze rolled over her thickened her tongue and made the spot between her legs tingle.

She gulped. “You’re a card shark?”

He lifted one muscled shoulder. “When we’re stuck on a job and the weather’s not cooperating we sometimes kill the time with cards. I do okay.”

She shifted on her feet, searching for a way to rid herself of his company. “You have an evening off. Go home.”

“Not without my date.”

Her stomach swooped. Good. She was glad he had a date. She wanted him to bother some other woman and leave her alone. But that burn in her belly felt a lot like anger. How dare he romance her and then hours later turn to another woman while her scent still clung to his skin. But what had she expected? Hadn’t those spoiled college boys tried the same tricks? They’d flirted with her, plied her with beer neither she nor they had been legally old enough to drink, then they’d gone back to their girlfriends when she hadn’t given them what they wanted.

“I hope you have a nice time,” she forced through clenched, smiling teeth.

He moved closer, making her retreat until the counter bumped her spine. The look of intent on his face caused her legs to quiver. “We will. Grab whatever you need. Let’s go.”

She blinked in confusion, then when his meaning sank in panic prickled her skin. “We? Go where?”

He parked a hand on the counter on either side of her, effectively boxing her in. “We’re having dinner at my place.”

“Your place,” she parroted back and then could have kicked herself for sounding like an idiot.

“The lodge I’m using at Jarrod Ridge.”

No way. She folded her arms, intent on avoiding that trap and forcing a few inches between them. “I am not going to your place.”

“Would you rather your grandfather come back unexpectedly and catch us in bed?”

Her chest hurt. She realized it was because she’d forgotten to breathe. She inhaled shakily, hoping the oxygen would clear up her light-headedness and slow the rush of blood through her veins. It didn’t. “That’s not going to happen.”

He checked his watch, giving her just enough space to dodge out of reach. “The lobster, buttered asparagus, maple-glazed carrots and German chocolate cake will be delivered in an hour.”

Her favorites. Her mouth watered like one of Pavlov’s dogs’. “Pops has been talking.”

“You’re his favorite subject.”

She cringed. “I’m sorry you have to endure his ramblings.”

“I’m hanging on every word because pleasing you, pleases me.”

Oh, boy. The man personified testosterone in a turtleneck, and when he spoke in that low sexy growl she wanted to lap up everything he said like a dog in heat. Good thing she wasn’t that gullible.

“Come for dinner, Sabrina. If you can resist the pull between us I’ll bring you home—untouched—afterward. But if you can’t …” He dragged a knuckle down the side of her neck, making her shiver. “I’ll spend the rest of the night exploring every inch of you. First with my hands. Then with my mouth.”

Her knees melted. She clutched the counter for support. Shattered by the image he painted with his words, she shook her head, trying to clear it. “I’d rather have a quiet night. Alone.”

A smile of pure devilment curved his lips, and her heart flipped like a pancake on a hot griddle. “No, you wouldn’t. I can’t erase the taste of you or the feel of your skin from my mind. This morning was only an appetizer. I want more, and I’d bet my truck you’re fighting the same battle. You’ve watched me all day with the same hunger in your eyes that’s chewing up my insides.”

Could her skin possibly get any hotter? Her heart beat any faster? Had she ever been more tempted to throw caution to the winds and seize what he offered? No, no and no.

And then her panic subsided as quickly as it had risen and a sense of calm settled over her. Well, a sort of calm if you discounted the tremor racking her limbs and making a cold sweat bead on her upper lip.

Why couldn’t she accept his proposition? Why shouldn’t she enjoy a brief, temporary affair with Gavin? He was the perfect candidate to help her work the logjam of hormones from her system. He was rich, entitled, and even arrogant—qualities she would never find attractive. He’d be leaving Aspen as soon as he fulfilled the terms of his father’s will. It wasn’t as if she’d fall for someone who was counting the days until he could break free. Not when she understood how all-consuming that yearning to escape could be. It overrode everything, including reason.

An affair. Seven months of sex.

Excitement rippled through her, then waned. Her last affair—with Russell—had cost her so much. Her home. Her family. Her friends. And then when she’d lost her baby and hit rock-bottom she’d had no one to turn to because Russell had been deployed overseas. But that had been years ago. She wasn’t a naïve eighteen-year-old anymore. And her family, other than Pops, already acted as if she’d died.

What did she have to lose? Certainly not her heart. Not to a man like Gavin “His Family Owned Half the Valley” Jarrod.

It didn’t matter that he was handsome and hellaciously good at finding her pleasure points. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—love him. Not in this lifetime.

You have no idea how to have a no-strings affair.

But she could learn. She could learn anything if it meant finding a way to hold onto the inn and easing the discomfort Gavin had created.

But her grandfather could never find out. He wouldn’t approve.

“I’ll get my coat.”

The flash of victory in his eyes gave her pause, but she pushed it aside. She would not let this be a mistake.

Sabrina wiped her damp palms on her jeans and swallowed the lump of nerves rising to block her throat. “Black Spruce Lodge,” she read on the tastefully carved wooden sign outside the building. “Are all Jarrod Ridge’s lodges named after trees?”

“Yes,” Gavin said as he pulled the key card from his pocket.

From the outside the structure looked extremely rustic—like a miner’s cabin with its rough cedar siding and steep shingled roof—unless you paid attention to the details. Every element of the building’s design and landscaping had been intricately planned and cared for in a way that only those with a surplus of money could achieve. The windows gleamed like diamonds in the setting sun, and not even a trace of the snow that had fallen on and off during the day remained on the walk or front steps.

Gavin opened the door. “Come in.”

Said the spider to the fly. Her legs trembled as she climbed the steps.

The only way to conquer your fears is to face them.

Russell’s voice echoed in her head, startling her. She didn’t want to think about him now, didn’t want to remember his overlapped-tooth smile, his bravery or anything else about him when she had another man’s seed still deep in her womb and she was about to embark on something as sordid as a cheap, temporary, meaningless affair.

The urge to turn and run barreled into her chest like a runaway horse, but she gathered her flagging courage and crossed the threshold. Strangely, excitement intermingled with shame.

Gavin flicked a switch and a chandelier made from antlers and candelabra bulbs cast a cozy light over the large open space with its steep vaulted ceiling. “I’ll take your coat.”

Before she could protest he stood behind her, waiting to help her remove the garment. She reluctantly shrugged it off and hugged herself, not because she was cold, but because she was totally out of her element. How did one go about a tempestuous affair anyway?

After hanging their coats in the closet he crossed the room to light the logs stacked and waiting in the massive stone fireplace, giving her an opportunity to scan her surroundings. The lodge looked more like someone’s home than a temporary accommodation. Hardwood floors gleamed in every direction. One side of the rectangular room housed the kitchen and dining area, and on the other a pair of black leather sofas jutted perpendicular to the hearth. The walls on either side of the fireplace were made of glass, offering a breathtaking view of the mountains fading to a dusky pink as the sun set.

Black dominated the decor. Charcoal sketches graced the walls. She strolled closer to a rendition of an ice-covered lake and noted the artist’s signature—one she recognized from her trips to the many art galleries in downtown Aspen. An original. Translation: very expensive and not even remotely within her budget.

She turned a slow circle. The black marble vases flanking the mantel and the onyx-framed mirror hanging between them screamed money in an understated, elegant way. Ditto the knickknacks sparingly dotted along the flat surfaces. She’d seen enough of this type of art through exclusive shops’ windows to know the value.

She lifted an exquisitely carved wooden bear. Nope, it wasn’t nailed down, and yes, the artist’s initials had been burned into the bottom. No mass-produced decor here. She set the bear back on the polished surface. What hotel could afford to risk a guest tucking even one of these objects into his bag?

The fire popped, startling her and drawing her gaze back to the man watching her in silence. Gavin’s sensual expression made her shiver. Rubbing the goose bumps popping up on her arms, she glanced away and spotted a staircase. “What’s in the loft?”

“An office.”

“Are you working while you’re here?”

“I’m doing some consulting and preliminary work for future jobs. It’s not enough to keep me busy, but it staves off insanity.”

Another surprise. She’d expected him to enjoy his year of leisure. Oh, sure, he’d claimed he needed the handyman job because he was bored without work, but she hadn’t really believed him.

He crossed to a black slate-topped wet bar, pulled a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator, opened it and poured two glasses and brought one to her. “To our mutual pleasure.”

She gasped and nearly choked on her own saliva. Having him verbalize the purpose of this visit sent a jolt of adrenaline though her. He’d said he’d brought her here for dinner, but she knew better. One look at his eyes told her getting naked was on the agenda.

The chime of his rim tapping hers sounded light compared to her dark and dangerous thoughts. She tried to focus on something besides making lo—having sex on the white fur rug in front of the fire. But she couldn’t seem to shove that idea from her head now that it had burrowed into her brain.

Tonight was all about sex. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just physical pleasure with a man she didn’t particularly like but one who knew how to ring her bell.

She gulped her wine and tried to work up the courage to jump him and get it over with. Not happening. She licked her lips. “You said during the carriage ride that most of your siblings were staying in lodges or hotel rooms. How can the resort afford for so many of your family members to take up guest quarters?”

The twitch of his mouth told her he’d noted her change of subject. “Our budget can handle it, but I’ll move to the main house when the tourists arrive and we reach maximum occupancy. For now, I’m enjoying roughing it here.”

“Roughing it?” She snorted, touched a pewter horse statue and rolled her eyes. Three of her and Russell’s old military base apartments could fit into this great room alone, and there would be even more space in what she suspected were massive bedrooms through the archway on her right. One of which she’d probably see tonight. Her abdominal muscles contracted. She took another hearty swallow of wine. “You call living in the lap of luxury roughing it?”

“It is compared to living in the hotel where the concierge hovers, the maid comes by two or three times a day and you can have your own personal chef and wine steward serve a meal in your suite whenever you desire it. At Jarrod Manor every want is anticipated and provided for before I even make the request. Even my underwear gets ironed.”

Don’t think about his underwear.

That anyone could see having their needs taken care of as a nuisance astounded her. “I can’t imagine living that way.”

“Our guests demand it. Jarrod Ridge is known for pampering its clientele.”

“Moving away and leaving all this … assistance behind must have been difficult for you.”

“Not at all. It’s impossible to figure out who you are and what you want out of life when someone else is forcing you down his path, telling you who he expects you to be and making all your decisions for you.”

Again, she heard the bitterness and she understood it. She didn’t like having this in common with him. “Your father.”

He inclined his head.

“My parents did the same. They pressured me to follow in their footsteps and get multiple degrees. They couldn’t understand that college just wasn’t for me even though I scored high on all the entrance exams.”

“Why wasn’t college for you?”

She sipped her wine, trying to figure out why she’d just volunteered something she’d not shared with anyone before. Must be the liquor loosening her tongue. She wasn’t much of a drinker. “I don’t like taking classes. There’s too much reading and talking about stuff and not enough doing it.”

“You’re a hands-on learner. Nothing wrong with that.”

Something in her softened. She’d never had anybody understand her like that before. And how could he? He barely knew her. Even though her grandparents had emotionally supported her, they had assumed she was delaying college, not skipping it altogether. She’d eventually caved and taken several business classes to keep herself occupied during Russell’s deployments, but she’d hated being confined to a classroom. However, she was grateful for those classes now. They helped her manage the inn’s budget.

Gavin moved closer—close enough to touch. But she didn’t reach out. She wasn’t ready to take that step—the one that would end up with the two of them bare-skinned and against each other. But her belly clenched in anticipation of having him deep inside her.

“Let’s soak in the hot tub while we wait for dinner,” he said in that low rumbling jets-coming-over-the-mountain voice of his.

Her skin flushed hot and her gaze shot to the glass doors leading to a deck. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

“You don’t need one. The tub is completely private.”

“But … what about the staff serving dinner?”

“They’ve been instructed to leave it in the kitchen.”

“I—I—” Planning to be bold and actually doing it were apparently two different things. And then she noted something out of place in Gavin’s perfect world. “There’s still snow on the deck. I’m surprised the grounds crew didn’t sweep it away like they did on the front walk.”

“I asked the staff to leave it. There’s nothing like sitting in a bubbling hot tub, surrounded by snow and staring up at a clear blue star-filled sky through the steam rising from the water.”

The man had a way with words.

“The stars aren’t out yet,” she replied hastily.

“True.”

“And more snow is predicted. Won’t it be too cloudy to see them?”

“So it will. You’re quite practical, aren’t you?”

She’d had to be. She’d run away from home on a romantic fantasy of love and collided with cold, harsh reality. While Russell had been off doing his job and supporting his country, she’d been home alone, trying to learn how to manage on a meager budget and hold onto what was left of their life together after she’d miscarried. Luckily, she’d had the guidance and support of a few experienced and big-hearted military wives to point her in the right direction.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a wet blanket.”

Gavin set his glass on the table. “Sabrina, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Like she believed that. The moisture between her legs already proved she had plenty to fear. He had decimated her scruples this morning. And where were those scruples now? She was very tempted to take him up on his offer. To see those broad shoulders glistening wet in the moonlight. To feel those big callused hands rasping over her skin, on her breasts, between her legs. She’d barely been able to think of anything else all day.

She exhaled shakily, turned her back on him and took another sip of wine. C’mon. You can do this. “All right. Let’s get in the hot tub.”

She started shaking even before she finished the sentence. Golden liquid sloshed around the bowl of her glass.

Gavin moved up behind her. She felt the heat radiating from him even though he didn’t touch her. One long arm reached around her and removed the glass from her hand. “Why don’t we take a walk before dinner and save the hot tub for later?”

Suspicious, she spun to face him. “Why?”

“You said you’d never toured Jarrod Ridge. We’ll burn off a little excess energy and then relax afterward.”

That sounded suspiciously like him being considerate, and she hadn’t expected that from him. But she’d take the reprieve. Maybe by the time they returned she’d have found her courage to plunge into the affair. “I’d like to see the grounds.”

He retrieved their coats and then pulled a couple of his thick scarves from the closet. He draped a white one over her head, covering her ears, and then he wound it around her neck. His scent clung to the soft cashmere caressing her cheeks.

He wrapped the black one around his neck, but left his head bare. Within moments they were back outside, their breath fogging the air. Snow had begun falling while they were inside. Big, fat flakes floated down, piling up on the grassy surfaces. With the temperature dropping it wouldn’t be long before it stuck to the sidewalks despite the diligent landscaping crew’s efforts to remove it.

She hadn’t brought gloves. Bad habit. She tended to forget. Before she could shove her hands into her pockets Gavin caught one and folded his long fingers around her palm. She jumped and tried to pull free.

“Easy. I just want to hold your hand.”

Holding hands. Something so basic and innocent. Something she’d once taken for granted and hadn’t bothered to do often enough with her husband. And now she was palm-to-palm with a virtual stranger, and the simple contact rocked her entire body. Gavin’s heat seeped into her, traveling up her arm and down her torso to pool in an area that had been dormant for a long time.

He led her along the sidewalks winding through the resort. Snowflakes sparkled in his brown hair like gold dust. Lights glimmered through the trees from the windows of the occupied lodges they passed, then streetlamps flickered on as the sun slipped behind the mountains in the distance.

“Why me, Gavin? You could have your pick of women.” She blurted the question that had been haunting her.

He briefly squeezed her hand, sending a pulse of energy through her. “Why not you? You’re beautiful, intelligent and your touch ignites me.”

His quick, decisive answer blew her away. She stumbled. He caught her elbow, keeping her upright. His eyes searched hers then his expression changed from concerned to challenging. “Are you up for a little fun?”

Adrenaline pulsed through her veins. “Maybe. What did you have in mind?”

“Come with me.” He walked a little farther down the sidewalk then ducked between a pair of tall cedars, tugging her along in the near-darkness to a better lit area. He broke into a jog. She hustled to keep up as he zigged and zagged through the trees. A few hundred yards later, he slowed to a halt in a well-lit clearing behind a shed that looked as if it might house landscaping equipment. Her quickened breaths fogged the air. He wasn’t breathing any faster, she noted. He released her, then knelt to open a door hidden in the foundation and pulled out a flat-bottomed wooden snow sled with a curled end.

He straightened with a huge, devilish, big-kid grin on his face that was so contagious she couldn’t help smiling back. “It’s still here. I wasn’t sure it would be after so many years.” He knocked on it in several places with his fist, the sound echoing off the buildings around them in the near-silence of the evening. “The wood is still solid.”

Flakes drifted down around them, heavier now than before. “You’re taking me sledding?”

He swept the dust off the surface. “Sure. Why not?”

It was a far cry from flipping her on her back and having his way with her, but as he said … why not? “I’ve never been sledding.”

His eyes narrowed. “It snows in Pennsylvania.”

“My parents weren’t the sledding type. And snow wasn’t common in the eastern part of North Carolina where Russell was stationed.”

“Russell? Your husband?”

Speaking his name in front of Gavin seemed … strange, but it had just slipped out. And it felt … okay. “Yes.”

“And you never sledded with your grandparents?”

“I was usually only here in the summers except for quick trips some Christmases with my parents. My father didn’t get along with Pop—his father—and he couldn’t wait to get out of here, so we didn’t stay long.”

“Then it’s time to make up for what you’ve missed.” He tucked the sled under one arm, draped the other across her shoulders and guided her through the darkness away from the lights of the resort and across the snow-covered slope. Their torsos and thighs bumped and nudged with each step, overloading her senses so much she barely noticed the cold.

“Watch your step. The ground is slick.”

“Where are we going?”

“Up the mountain a bit. This same path leads to the mine.” At the top of a slope he turned. “Climb on. Put your feet against the front.”

Nervous, she shifted in her boots. “How do you steer this thing?”

“By shifting your weight or dragging a hand. But let me worry about that.”

She reluctantly eased onto the flat surface. Gavin settled behind her with his strong legs flanking hers, his hips snug against her bottom, and his chest flush with her back, warming her in the rapidly dropping temperature. His arms encircled her and her breath hitched. He held the rope in his fists. “Ready?”

“Ummm.” Excitement and anxiety shimmied over her. “I guess so.”

His cheek pressed hers. He nudged her scarf aside until his lips brushed her ear. “You’re going to have to trust me, Sabrina. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Trust seemed a lot to ask from someone he barely knew, but it was too late to back out now. “Let’s go.”

Eight

Sabrina had never looked more attractive than she did now, flat on her back with her cold-reddened nose and cheeks, excitement sparkling in her eyes and a huge smile on her face.

For about two seconds Gavin considered making love to her out here in the open in the powdery snow. But while instant gratification might be exciting and physically satisfying, it wouldn’t be comfortable for either of them. First, it was too damned cold, and second, security was bound to spot them out here in the milky moonlight.

So he offered her a hand and tugged her to her feet instead of giving in to his body’s demands. Her fingers felt like ice in his and white clumps of snow caked the ends of her long hair as she turned to admire the snow angel she’d made in the deepening snow. Her third. But she’d been having such a good time he’d hated to interrupt.

“Your hands are frozen and your clothes are wet. Let’s get you back to the lodge to warm up.”

“Do we have to?”

Her enthusiasm acted as one hell of a payoff for his patience. “There’s no need to risk frostbite.”

“That was fun.” She grinned up at him. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Teaching me to play in the snow.”

Her sincerity tightened his chest. As much as he’d hated his childhood, hers must have been worse. At least he and his brothers had had those stolen moments when they’d escaped their father. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could share a few firsts with you.”

And he meant it. Her enthusiasm and excitement these past two hours had been contagious. From her squeals as they raced down the slope to her learning to make snowballs and snow angels, he’d found more enjoyment watching her have fun than he’d had in a long time. Meeting Sabrina almost made his year of exile worth it.

And then because he couldn’t resist, he bent to taste her smile. She met him halfway, going on tiptoe, leaning into his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. Her lips and nose were cold, but her kiss was hot—hot enough to make his head steam and his groin heavy.

Their tongues sparred, their breaths blended. How could he possibly want a woman this badly when he’d already had sex once today? The hunger gripped him so tightly he reconsidered risking an embarrassing encounter with The Ridge’s security staff. His brothers would never let him live that down. But once he got Sabrina back to the lodge he could linger over her soft skin, her long legs, her—

Scratch that. He’d linger the second time. The first time was going to be fast. And hot. And hard. He pried his mouth from hers to suck air into his lungs. Chest bellowing, he grabbed her hand, snatched up the sled and towed her toward a warm bed.

“In a hurry?” she panted a few minutes later.

He slowed his steps. “I want you naked.”

She gasped and tripped. He caught her and kissed the O of her mouth, adding fuel to the fire in his gut. Her earlier reservations apparently forgotten, she clutched his jacket and held him close. But not close enough. The layers of down and assorted shirts and sweaters and wet denim blocked him from what he wanted.

He broke the kiss. “Let’s go.”

He avoided the paths that would take him past his siblings’ accommodations because he didn’t want to be waylaid. Sabrina hurried alongside him. His plan to get her to relax by taking a walk had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Now she seemed as eager to get back to the lodge as he was. And he was the one wound up. Embarrassingly so.

He said a silent thanks when his temporary home came into view. After propping the sled against the porch wall he wasted no time swiping the key card and shoving open the door. Warm air, carrying the scent of dinner, rushed through the portal to greet them. His stomach grumbled, but he had a more urgent appetite to satisfy before he could eat. He craved the taste of Sabrina. Her mouth. Her breasts. The sweetness hidden within her dark curls.

“It feels good in here,” she said as she reached for her coat’s zipper.

“Over here.” Grasping her shoulders, he steered her to the fireplace. He pitched another log onto the flames then turned to face her. “We’ll leave our clothes by the fire to dry out.”

A moment of doubt flickered over her face, but he wasn’t going to lose ground now. He reached for her scarf, unwound it from her head, then dispensed with her coat. He draped each over a chair which he angled toward the flames, then shed his own gear. Her shirt, like his, was dry because of the outerwear but her jeans were wet from the melted snow.

“Sit.” He pointed to the raised hearth.

With a hiked eyebrow, Sabrina sank onto the stones. He removed her boots and socks, then massaged warmth back into her cold feet. “I kept you out too long. You’re cold.”

Her smile nearly blinded him. “No. Not too long. Tonight was perfect. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss a minute of it.” Then as his thumbs dug into her instep, she purred, “That feels good.”

He’d make her feel even better before the night was through. “Stand.”

“You like giving orders.” But she rose.

“Hazard of the job. Comes with being the one in charge.” He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, then peeled the soggy fabric over her hips. It bunched around her thighs. She wasn’t wearing panties—the reminder punched him hard in the solar plexus. She wasn’t wearing them because he’d spotted them on the tack room floor earlier and stuffed them into his coat pocket. “You’re missing something.”

He retrieved the plain white cotton bikinis from his coat and dropped them on the floor.

“You had them in your pocket all day?”

Her scandalized tone made him chuckle. “Yes.” And the knowledge had driven him wild. He hadn’t forgotten until the sight of her playing in the snow had overridden the idea.

He eased the wet, clingy jeans down her legs. “Sit.”

“Are you always this bossy?”

“Only when there’s something I want very badly. And I want you so badly my jaw aches from gritting my teeth against the need to be inside you.”

Her lashes fluttered and her pupils widened. “Are you always so … verbal?”

“Yes. Does it bother you?”

“No. I—I think I like it.” She sat. He stripped the garment from her and tossed it onto the hearth where it could dry without catching fire, then he chafed her cold, reddened thighs with his hands.

But as her skin warmed beneath his palms, he discovered touching her legs wasn’t nearly enough. The hem of her shirt played peekaboo with the dark triangle between her thighs, mesmerizing him, tantalizing him, beckoning him. He whisked her shirt over her head, then released and removed her bra and tossed both aside.

He considered planting his face in her lap and bringing her to a climax, but he wanted more. “I want to caress you, to taste you—your skin, your breasts. But I specifically crave this spot.” He dragged a fingertip beneath each soft curve, making her gasp. “You smell so damned good there.”

He rose, his legs unusually unsteady as he took in her almost naked form in front of the fire. His erection pulsed behind his zipper, demanding release.

She arched her back to the heat, thrusting her puckered nipples in his direction with mouthwatering effectiveness. The fact that she was probably trying to dry her wet hair and seemed unconscious of the eroticism of the move made it all the more irresistible. He stripped off his boots and clothing, pulled her to her feet and yanked her close.

She gasped and stiffened. “You’re cold.”

“No, baby, I’m burning up. For you. Feel what you do to me.” He pressed his erection into her belly and her soft skin teased him.

He lost control of the kiss even before his lips met hers. He wanted to absorb her, better yet, to burrow under her skin. Instead, he wound his arms around her as tightly as he could and devoured her mouth with hungry bites and greedy swipes of his tongue—all of which she returned.

How had she done this to him? He usually had more control.

He tried to tame the need, tried to slow his caresses. But she felt too good in his arms and the fire in his belly burned as hot as molten steel. He couldn’t get enough of her. He cupped and massaged her breasts, tweaking her nipples until she whimpered into his mouth. He thrust his leg between hers, and gripping her hips, encouraged her to ride him. She eased back and forth, hesitantly at first and then found her rhythm.

“You are so wet,” he groaned against her cheek, then gasped for air. The knowledge sent a sharp stab of hunger straight to his penis. Her moisture eased the glide of her flesh over his thigh. She trembled ever so slightly, but enough to let him know she was as turned on and close to the edge as he. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He eased his fingers between them and found her slickness. The scent of her arousal rose up to greet him, and his heart slammed against his chest.

He stroked her center, circling her tender flesh again and again until her back bowed over his arm, granting him access to the sweet taste of her nipple. He rolled the tight bud with his tongue, grazed it with his teeth, then sucked it deep into his mouth. He sampled the other, licking, biting, sucking. “Do you like me touching you, Sabrina?”

“Yes. Yes. I do.” Her cries of release echoed off the high ceiling. Then, near the breaking point, he bent his knees, determined to take her on the rug in front of the fire and pulling her down with him.

“Wait.” She remained standing as he kissed his way down her tummy. “Do you have a condom?”

Her question yanked him back to reality. “In the bedroom.”

The bedroom seemed a mile away. But they couldn’t take any more unnecessary risks. He swept her into his arms and carried her to his room. Despite her height, she weighed practically nothing in his arms.

The maid had already been in and turned on the bedside lamp, folded down the covers and left chocolate truffles on the pillows. He laid Sabrina on the sheets and pushed the confections away. The only thing he wanted to feast on was her.

On second thought …

He snatched up one chocolate and unwrapped it, watching curiosity fill her eyes. He licked her nipple, dampening it, then pressed the chocolate to the tight tip.

She gasped and flinched. “It’s cold.”

“It won’t be for long.” He circled her puckered flesh, leaving a melting chocolate trail on first one hard, dusky pink areola, then the other. Desire flushed her face and chest. Her eyelids fell to half-mast, and she bit her bottom lip which was already swollen, red and damp from his passionate kisses. Beautiful.

She shifted restlessly beneath him, her breaths stuttering in, then out again. “That feels … g-good.”

He lapped up the chocolate, being sure to do a thorough job before he reapplied the confection once, twice, a third time until the only thing left was the smudge on his fingertips. When every trace of the chocolate was gone from her breasts, he offered her his hand. “Lick me.”

Without hesitation, she grasped his wrist and sucked a chocolate-covered finger deep into her mouth. The sight of his flesh disappearing between her lips combined with the swirl of her tongue over his skin pushed him perilously close to the edge.

“You’re driving me crazy, baby. I like your mouth on me.” He shook with hunger, and could barely wait until she cleaned the last of the chocolate from him before he kissed her, their mouths mingling the tastes of candy and desire.

Gasping, she pushed him away. “Condom.”

He groaned, then yanked open the nightstand drawer and grabbed protection. Where was his head? He didn’t make stupid mistakes like forgetting precautions. Certainly not twice.

After he’d taken care of business, she extended her arms, beckoning him. He stroked her thighs apart and savored the sight of her glistening sex, then moved into position. Her lids drifted shut, her head turned away.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Her lashes fluttered upward and their gazes locked. Gritting his teeth against the urge to drive deep and hard, he eased in, one arm-quaking inch at a time. His pulse hammered in his ears. Need burned his gut, licking like the flames of a wildfire at the base of his spine and snaking out in hot streaks. Watching pleasure expand her pupils and part her lips magnified every sensation. “Tell me what you want.”

Sabrina grasped his hips. “Please, now. Hurry. I’m so close.”

The dam of his control broke. He thrust deep, hard and fast, riding the crest of desire. He tortured himself with restraint, teetering on the edge as he stroked her to climax with his thumb. Her inner contractions put another crack in his control but he fought off his release. He wasn’t ready for this to end. Not yet.

She arched off the bed, banding her arms around his neck, and then her breath fanned his ear a split second before her tongue outlined the rim, then her teeth closed on his lobe. The love bite sent him reeling and he lost it. Wave after wave of hot, molten pleasure erupted through him until spent, he collapsed to his elbows above her with her cries echoing in his ears.

Her body spasmed around his with aftershocks, and the gentle clutching and releasing was almost too exquisite to bear. He eventually found the strength to separate from her and ease onto his back beside her. Shaken by the intensity of the experience, he stared at the ceiling.

Why her? Why did this woman who’d been forced upon him have the power to rock his world and decimate his control like no other?

He’d be damned if he knew. But he would find out.

Because if he didn’t, losing her could destroy him the way losing his mother had destroyed his father.

She had to get out of here, Sabrina decided once her lassitude eased and her brain resumed functioning.

She turned her head to study Gavin through the steam rising from the hot tub and visually traced the strong line of his jaw and throat and his broad, wet shoulders—the same line her hands and mouth already had taken three times today. She tried to work up a little shame for her day of debauchery … and failed.

With his arms and head resting on the rim of the hot tub and his breathing deep and even, he appeared totally relaxed. Was he asleep? He hadn’t moved since he’d dragged her out onto the deck to sink into the steaming water after their impromptu fireside dinner followed by round two of lov—sex. Her body quivered at the memory of his devilishly talented tongue making her climax again and again on the rug by the fire.

She blew out a silent, shaky breath and prayed she wasn’t courting disaster. She couldn’t afford to care for him. No matter how much fun she’d had with him tonight. Or how good the sex—all three times—had been. He’d done something to her, cast some spell over her to keep her from thinking straight. If she wasn’t careful she’d forget this temporary relationship was all about physical fulfillment.

An urgent need to run surged through her. She started to rise. “I have to go.”

Without cracking an eyelid, Gavin snagged her wrist and pulled her back down into the water. It was as if he had some sixth sense or mental GPS or something that told him where she was without looking. “Stay with me tonight.”

Her heart slammed against her chest like a racing horse against the gate, then it pounded like thundering hooves. “I can’t. Pops will be waiting for me.”

Without releasing her Gavin turned his head and their gazes met. “Henry will understand.”

She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge she was tempted. Tempted to give in to the passionate demand in Gavin’s dark eyes, tempted to lie in his arms, tempted to hold and be held throughout the dark night. And that was exactly why she had to go. She broke free of his grip, the lubricant of the water enabling her escape, and bolted to her feet.

The biting cold temperature slammed against her hot, wet skin like an iceberg. “There’s nothing to understand. We were both answering a biological need and we had sex. That’s it.”

He rose and stood beside her, water streaming over his corded muscles, flat belly, groin and thighs. Involuntarily, her eyes tracked the cascade. He caught an escaped curl and tucked it back into the knot she’d made at her nape, then lifted her chin with a knuckle. “It’s more than that. You know it. I enjoy your company, Sabrina. I had more fun tonight than I have had in a long time.”

The hint of surprise in his eyes and voice undermined her resistance. Was he as shaken by this sudden attraction as she was? She struggled to rally her defenses because she needed room and privacy to think and reevaluate her plan. “I enjoyed tonight as well, Gavin. But I nee—I want to go home. If you can’t take me, then please call me a cab.”

She couldn’t—wouldn’t—call Pops. She knew he’d come get her instantly, but even if he didn’t have trouble driving after dark, she didn’t want him to know about tonight—today—any of it. As much as he’d been nagging about her lack of a social life lately, he was incredibly old-fashioned. He wouldn’t approve of an affair with no future.

Telling him about the affair would be a great way to drive a wedge between him and Gavin.

She debated the option, but decided she couldn’t handle Pops being as disappointed in her as her parents had been when they’d found out about Russell. Especially since, like that first time with Russell, she’d forgotten to use birth control. Surely she wouldn’t be as unlucky as to have the same consequence. Worry churned in her stomach. She fisted her hands rather than give in to the aching need to cover her belly. And what if she was wrong about Gavin? What if he was being honest and wanted nothing more than the mine? But her doubts niggled.

“I want to go home.”

Without moving, Gavin’s body seemed to coil with tension. “I’ll drive you.”

She suddenly felt uncomfortable and exposed being outside and naked, and she wanted to duck back into the water to cover up. Instead, she forced herself to climb from the tub, knowing Gavin had an unobstructed view of her butt—which she’d never been fond of. Dripping, she stood on the wooden deck, hugging herself and getting colder by the second. The snow chilled her feet. Now what? She couldn’t track water all over the floors. The heck with the polished wood. Better a wet floor than hypothermia. “We should have brought out towels.”

“No need.” Gavin climbed from the water, mesmerizing her with his ropy arm muscles, defined chest and wet, long legs. He opened a cabinet built into the wall of the lodge and withdrew a large bath sheet which he unfolded and draped around her shoulders.

She gasped in surprise. “It’s warm.”

“The cabinet is heated.” He gripped the ends of the fabric, trapping her arms by her sides. His attention dropped to her mouth, and before she could move, he dipped his head and kissed her. Her senses overloaded with the cold air, the warmth of the towel and touch of his mouth.

The easy brush of his lips across hers might be considered innocent compared to their earlier, more carnal exchanges, but nonetheless it slammed her with the full force of desire, weakening her knees and making her want him all over again. How did he do that?

She dug up the strength to push away. Grabbing the towel and hugging it close, she put a yard between them.

Your hormones are making up for lost time. It’s nothing special. He’s nothing special.

Gavin extracted a second towel and dried himself as casually as if he were in the privacy of his bathroom instead of outside on his back porch in freezing temperatures. Not that anyone was likely to see them with the way every Jarrod Ridge lodge was secluded, and with the hot tub tucked into a little nook, but still …

She caught herself admiring the ripple and flex of his muscles beneath his taut skin and the tightening of his nipples due to the cold. The temptation to drag her tongue across the tiny brown bumps drove her to bolt through the French door and race for her clothes.

The sound of the door closing and the quiet, confident pad of footsteps told her Gavin had followed. When she risked peeking at him and noted he’d wound a towel around his hips she exhaled in relief. He threw another log on the fire. The pop and hiss drew her like a flame does a moth. But getting closer to the fire meant getting closer to him and standing in the exact spot where he’d pleasured her so many times earlier.

Turning her back to him, she hastily dragged on her bra and shirt, and then reached for her jeans. The denim had dried in front of the fire, and if it was stiff and rough against her skin, then the discomfort was no more than what she deserved.

Consider it penance for using the man to scratch your sexual itch.

She yanked on her socks and boots, then prowled the room rather than watch Gavin dress, but she couldn’t block out the swish of his jeans sliding over his hair-dusted legs, the rrrp of his zipper or the thump of him stomping his feet into his boots. Her brain filled in the gaps with graphic images collected over the past three hours, and her body hummed like a beehive.

She couldn’t recall ever being this aware of anyone before—not even Russell, and she’d thought she’d memorized her husband’s every gesture. Being so attuned to a near-stranger concerned her.

She had to get out of here. Now. She hastily donned her coat, then turned and found Gavin immediately behind her. She staggered back at his close proximity.

“You planning to love me and leave me, snow angel?” he asked with a teasing half smile that didn’t carry to his searching eyes, and it was his eyes she focused on rather than the way his “snow angel” rumbled through her like an avalanche. Why was he so solemn?

“Pops will wonder where I am.”

“He knows you’re with me and that I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“It’s late.” And her will to escape was weakening. “Ready to go?”

Bracing a hand on her waist, he reached past her for his coat, pressing the length of his body against hers. Her hormones clamored to attention despite the workout they’d already been given. She was more physically sated tonight than she’d ever been in her life. How could she still want him? She gulped.

He shrugged on the garment, staying in her personal space as if laying claim to it. “Let’s go.”

Then he moved out of scent range and opened the front door, giving her an opportunity to fill her tight lungs with fresh, cold, sobering air. She stepped outside into a world of white and stopped to admire the scene. Inches of fresh snow blanketed the ground and low shrubs.

She glanced up at him. “The weather forecast wasn’t calling for this much snow, was it?”

“No. And it’s still coming down heavily. It would be safer for you to stay until morning when the roads have been plowed.”

Alarm raced over her. She wasn’t ready to play house or sleep with him all night. He’d already shaken her defenses. “I can’t. I have to make sure Pops takes his medicines.”

“Then I’ll get you home.” Gavin led her to the Jeep he’d driven that first day and helped her into the passenger seat. He took her hand, uncurled her fingers and pressed the keys into her palm. “Start the engine. Warm up the car.”

After closing her door he scraped the windows, then joined her in the cab. The Jeep slipped a bit as he backed out of the parking space, making her pulse skip. Maybe staying would be safer. No. Too big of a risk.

Gavin drove slowly through the resort’s winding roads. The short drive into downtown seemed to take forever. He reached across the seat and briefly covered her cool hands with the heat of his. “I’ll get you there in one piece. Relax. I’ve driven in worse.”

She winced when she realized he’d caught her fisting her fingers so tightly that her nails had dug into her palms. “Sorry. I just haven’t mastered driving on slick roads yet.”

The inn finally came into view. She heaved a sigh of relief. Gavin pulled as close to the back door as he could get and killed the engine.

“Who plows your parking lot?”

“Pops has always done it with the tractor we have in the barn.”

“I’ll come by and do it in the morning.”

“You don’t have to do that, Gavin.”

“The ground’s going to freeze tonight. Henry doesn’t need to risk slipping and breaking a hip.”

When he put it that way, how could she refuse? And yes, his consideration touched her. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” He shoved open his door.

She stiffened. “You should get home before the roads worsen.”

“I’m walking you to the door,” he said, his voice firm and insistent.

Determined to keep the good-bye short and sweet, she slid from the cab. Gavin caught up with her, grabbed her arm and offered support as she made her way through the powdery snow. She wanted to cast off his help, but the back door opened before she could. Pops stood in the threshold.

“Should have known my bones weren’t wrong about the storm front.”

“They never are, Pops.” She turned to Gavin, trying to figure out how exactly you said good-night to a lover when you didn’t want anyone to know about the intimacy. “Thanks for the ride, and the sledding and dinner.”

He searched her face. “You’re welcome.”

“Get out of the way, girlie, and let the man inside,” Pops said from behind her. “You’re not sending Gavin back out in this weather. It’s late and we have a houseful of beds. He can stay here and go home in the morning after the roads are plowed.”

No. Panic rose inside her. “But, Pops—”

“B’sides, I’ll need his help cranking the old tractor and putting the plow blade on it in the morning.”

Her stomach plunged to her cold feet and a trapped sensation banded her chest. Spending a night under the same roof as Gavin Jarrod was the last thing she wanted to do.

But the choice had been taken from her.

Nine

She should be exhausted, but instead Sabrina fidgeted in bed, staring gritty-eyed at the ceiling and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She could still taste Gavin on her lips, smell him on her skin and feel the residue of their coupling between her legs. Maybe a shower would wash away her tension so she could sleep. But no. Since her bathroom backed up to Pops’s, he would hear the water running through the pipes in the walls of the old house.

That left her stuck with traces of Gavin all over her and the same old unanswered question playing over and over in her head. Had she made a mistake in getting involved with Gavin?

A noise jerked her from her rumination. Holding her breath, she listened until she heard the click-click again, then bolted upright, climbed from the bed and eased open her door. Was someone in the house? The muffled sounds came from the laundry room just down the hall. No trespasser would break in there and close the door.

Panic subsiding, she exhaled in relief. No doubt Pops was sneaking one of his contraband cigars with the back door open to try and alleviate the odor. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d caught him defying his doctor’s orders in the middle of the night when he thought he wouldn’t get caught. And with the storm still blowing, his aching bones were probably keeping him awake.

Without turning on the lights she shuffled down the hall letting the sliver glowing beneath the door act as her beacon. She sniffed, but she didn’t smell a pungent tobacco aroma. Ready to scold Pops and rehash the old argument again, she shoved open the laundry room door. The sight of Gavin, with his back to her and a pair of her grandfather’s sweatpants riding low on his hips sent her staggering backward.

He pivoted, all bare-chested, barefooted and delicious.

A thin line of pale, untanned skin showing just above his waistband drew her eyes. She forced her gaze upward. “What are you doing?”

“Washing my clothes. We worked up a sweat on the slope tonight.”

And again in his lodge. Twice. She pushed the heat-inducing memories aside. “You know how to use the machines?”

He tilted his head and gave her a patient look. “Of course. I know how to wash my own clothes.”

He washed his own clothes, she silently parroted. Somehow that fact made him seem more human and less rich, obnoxious and entitled. And she had to admit, albeit reluctantly, she found his confidence in being able to handle anything that came his way extremely attractive.

Yet another thought to squash. Focus on the fact that he’s invading your turf. Again. “I usually do our guests’ laundry if they ask.”

“Henry gave me free run of the place and told me to make myself at home. Do you have anything you want to throw in here?”

“No.” Rejection sprung automatically to her lips. How could something as commonplace as sharing an appliance’s washtub seem so … personal, so intimate? But the idea of their clothing intertwining in the water the way their bodies had earlier made her pulse skip and her skin flush.

And then there was her grandfather’s new open-door policy. What was up with that? Normally he wasn’t as trusting as he’d been with Gavin. Why the sudden change? What did she not know? There had to be something.

Gavin closed the lid and leaned a hip against the machine as water splashed into the basin. “Did I wake you?”

“No.”

Fighting the temptation to ogle his body, she focused instead on his face, and because of that she didn’t miss his gaze roving over her, starting with her hair which was probably a frizzy mess from her tossing and turning, then he studied her face, her chest, her torso and her legs. The return trip dragged on equally as long, stirring up a storm of awareness inside her. For a few precious seconds she regretted wearing her old, boring flannel nightgown.

What do you care about his opinion of your wardrobe?

You don’t.

A rueful smile twisted his mouth. “Considering the day we’ve had, we should both be sleeping soundly tonight. But here we are. Awake well past midnight.”

Because of the orgasms, he meant. She couldn’t even remember how many she’d had. Russell had always allowed her one, sometimes two, then he’d gotten down to business. Not that their sex life hadn’t been good, but it had never been … stupendous.

Uncomfortable with the traitorous thought, she shifted on her feet. “If you’re tired you can go to bed, and I’ll switch your stuff to the dryer when it’s done so you’ll have clean clothes in the morning.”

“I can handle it. I make a mean hot chocolate. It’ll help us unwind.” He leaned forward, snagged her wrist and tugged her toward the kitchen.

She tugged back, but trying to pull free proved useless. His grip remained tight. Hijacked in her own home. How had that happened? “What if I don’t want hot chocolate?”

“You will once you taste mine. Like me, it’s irresistible.”

His cockiness combined with the playful attitude he’d displayed while sledding tonight startled a laugh from her. The man had an ego the size of the Rocky Mountains. “You think so?”

He stopped abruptly and snatched her forward. Their bodies collided with a soft, heart-skipping thump. “I know so.”

Her breasts, overly sensitive from the attention he’d already showered on them today, nonetheless welcomed the pressure of his chest against them. His lips settled on hers, sipping and sampling softly at first, then with increasing pressure and urgency. Her pulse rate tripled and her body seemed to come alive in his arms, wanting more of the magic she knew he could deliver. Before she could work up a protest or convince her hands to rise and shove him away, he grasped her upper arms and set her back. “Wait and see. Where do you keep your cocoa and spices?”

Dizzy from the abrupt change, she blinked to clear her head, then pointed toward the pantry and sank bonelessly onto the nearest barstool. She wasn’t used to letting someone wait on her. And she wasn’t sure she liked it. But she’d give it a try. It wasn’t as if she’d get used to it and get lazy since the relationship was short-term.

Gavin found a pot, then gathered and combined the ingredients. After he’d stirred the mixture into the milk and turned on the burner he leaned against the counter watching her with those predator’s eyes. Was he trying to read her mind or looking for a vulnerable spot to attack? Her nipples tightened and her breathing quickened. Sexual tension sizzled in the air between them. She didn’t know how to handle it.

“Come here, Sabrina.”

Her breath caught at the hungry look in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you want to.”

She did, and that scared her. For that reason alone she should refuse, but she slid from the barstool and circled the work island on trembling legs because … Well, she didn’t know why exactly. She just did.

He cupped her jaw. “I haven’t had as much fun as I did today in a long time. We’re good together. In bed. And out.”

When he spoke in that low, knee-melting rumble and looked at her as if he wanted to eat her up she had trouble remembering her name, let alone why they were so wrong for each other. “It’s just sex.”

He caressed her cheek, and the urge to lean into his palm, into his body, surprised her. “Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

“You don’t agree?”

“No. I don’t.” He paused and sniffed. “Hold that thought and prepare to be impressed.” He turned back to the stove, stirred the mixture.

Confused by her disappointment, she hugged her arms around her chest. She should go back to her room. If she stayed there was no telling what would happen.

“Do you have marshmallows?” he asked.

She retrieved the bag. He dropped a few of the white puffs into each mug then poured the steaming liquid over them. The scents of chocolate and cinnamon filled the air.

He lifted his cup for a toast. “To us and the good times we have yet to share.”

The statement implied more of a future than they had.

“To good times,” she corrected and clanked her mug against his. She really should hate him. He was encroaching on her territory, possibly threatening the roof over her head and her grandfather’s security. But distrusting Gavin grew more difficult by the second. And then she sipped his hot cocoa, and disliking him became easier. First his coffee was better than hers, now this.

“Your cocoa is better than my grandmother’s recipe,” she offered grudgingly.

“Told you I’m good.” But his suggestive tone and the hot look in his eyes implied he wasn’t talking about the beverage.

Rather than deal with the sexual innuendo that tangled her thoughts and her tummy, she gulped another mouthful, savoring the sweetness of the marshmallows and the richness of the chocolate. “I can’t see you slaving over a hot stove perfecting a recipe.”

“You’re right. My brother is top chef in the kitchen. But make it campfire rations and I’m king. I made hot cocoa whenever my brothers and I camped out at the mine.”

King. Yes, she’d just bet he liked that. She enjoyed the peeks into his past more than she should since they were completely irrelevant to whether or not he was trying to swindle her grandfather. “I want your recipe.”

“You’ll have to earn it.”

“How?”

His lips curved slowly upward, stealing her breath and sending a rush of warmth to her lower regions. “Drink up and I’ll show you.”

Every fine hair on her body rose to attention. Gavin Jarrod excelled at whatever game he was playing. He was so far out of her league, how could she even begin to compete? And if she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall under his spell.

Who are you kidding? You already have.

Her heart went splat like a thrown snowball and settled like a cold, heavy blob in her stomach. She was falling for Gavin Jarrod despite her aversion to rich men and emotional involvements, and her fear that he had ulterior motives for befriending Pops.

She’d let him get too close. And she didn’t know how to push him away. Or even if she wanted to anymore.

A creeping awareness of pins and needles prickling Gavin’s left arm woke him slowly. He flexed his fingers, trying to work the circulation back into his limb. That’s when he noticed the warm, soft, sweet-smelling weight on his biceps and remembered where he was and why.

Sabrina. He’d slept with her last night. In her bed. Under Henry’s roof. Not smart considering the deed had not been signed over. But he was close—damned close—to closing the deal.

He’d intended to sleep alone just to prove a point—the point being that he controlled the hunger he felt for his soon-to-be temporary wife rather than the hunger controlling him. But the marshmallow foam on Sabrina’s upper lip had been his downfall. One cocoa-flavored kiss and he’d lost control and his common sense, apparently. Even then, he’d intended to leave after the sex, but when he’d tried, Sabrina had whispered, “Stay,” and he’d caved like a damned fool.

To make matters worse, dawn outlined the curtains, and his clothes were still in the washer. Henry would be expecting him to help with the tractor soon.

Gavin grimaced. He had to get up. But he didn’t want to move. The narrow queen bed should have felt cramped since he was used to stretching out in a king. Instead he liked it because it forced Sabrina to lie against him, his body spooning her warmth, her hair tickling his chin and chest. He felt better rested than he had in months—as if he’d had his first good night’s sleep since returning to Aspen.

What in the hell had she done to him?

He had to get out of here before he started believing their relationship could be anything other than temporary. Any marriage to him would be doomed to failure—his past relationships and those of his co-workers had proven that fact repeatedly. He didn’t do failure. And he sure as hell didn’t want to end up like his father—a cold heartless bastard who had driven his children away and had to die to get them to come home.

He eased out of bed, being careful not to wake Sabrina. She sighed in her sleep and rolled onto her back, one pink-tipped breast peeking above the sheet. Hunger speared him and he nearly reached out to stroke the soft swell. He searched her face from the dark fan of lashes on her cheeks to her red lips, and smooth, flushed skin. Beautiful. The urge to say to hell with Henry and climb back between the sheets hit hard, but he stifled it and reached for the borrowed sweatpants. Business came first, and his family was counting on him.

He made his way to the door and escaped as silently as possible. The smell of strong coffee was his first indication of pending disaster.

He ignored it and made his way down the hall to the laundry room. He opened the washer. Empty. It was still too early for Henry to be up, but he hadn’t felt Sabrina leave the bed during the night to switch the clothes to the dryer. He was a light sleeper, but maybe he’d been so drained he’d missed it. Doubtful. He opened the dryer. His clothes were inside and still warm. The warmth was a bad omen.

He had a feeling he’d been busted by Henry. Gavin dressed quickly by the machine, and dreading what lay ahead, made his way toward the kitchen. Henry sat at the table, cup of coffee in his hand, a newspaper in front of him and a scowl on his face so fierce it would blister paint. Anger shot from his eyes like lasers and stiffened his frail body.

Aw, hell. A sinking feeling entered Gavin’s stomach. He squared his shoulders, prepared to fight the battle since he couldn’t avoid it.

“You’ve abused my hospitality and my trust.”

Yep. Busted. “You asked me to romance Sabrina. I’m doing it. My way.”

“You’d better not hurt that girl.”

“I have no intention of hurting Sabrina.”

“If you do, you’ll never get what you want out of that land. I’ll tie it up in so many legal knots you won’t be able to untangle it.”

“You said you’d sign over the deed to me.”

Henry’s mouth flattened into a straight line. “An’ I won’t go back on my word. I may not have the money you Jarrods have, but I’ve been in this city a long time. I have connections. You’ll find it impossible to get your permits or even your trash picked up if you cross me.”

Great. Just what he needed. He’d made a potential enemy out of his only ally.

The men had been outside for over an hour. The sound of the back door closing had jarred Sabrina from her deepest sleep in years. Her face warmed as she recalled the cause of her near-comatose state. Gavin. Sledding. Multiple orgasms.

But she’d yet to hear the growl of the old tractor’s engine. Knowing the pair of them, they’d probably started talking and weren’t getting any work done. They must be frozen by now.

Juggling the thermos and a couple of mugs, Sabrina stepped onto the back porch. The snow had stopped and the sun was making a weak effort to peep through the clouds, but the bite of cold still lingered in the air. A narrow path to the barn had been shoveled clear. Gavin must have done it. Her grandfather had given up shoveling more than a year ago. Like other chores, it had become her job. This year she needed to look into hiring a high school boy to do it.

She made her way to the barn, entered and pulled the side door closed behind her. Other than the horses crunching on oats in the stall, she heard nothing—no conversation, not even the radio her grandfather usually listened to while he tinkered in his small workshop. The two of them working in silence struck her as odd.

A small kerosene heater had warmed the interior to above freezing, but she sensed a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather. What could it be?

Your imagination, probably. Or maybe their frustration over not getting the machine running.

Her grandfather sat stiffly on the tractor’s seat. He glanced at her, then he stared straight ahead at Gavin bent over the front of the plow blade with a wrench in his hand. Gavin had stripped off his coat and his shoulder muscles flexed beneath his turtleneck as he yanked on something. Desire trickled through her like melting snow sliding down the mountainside.

She cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “I brought coffee.”

Both men looked at her, but neither made a move in her direction. Gavin and Pops had never been short of conversation and yet they weren’t talking.

“Is something wrong with the tractor?” she asked.

Gavin straightened. “One of the nuts is rusted. I’m having trouble breaking it loose from the bolt to attach the plow. If soaking it in motor oil won’t free it I’ll have to cut the bolt and wait until the store opens to get a replacement.”

She searched his face, seeking the man who’d held her and made love to her so tenderly last night. Instead she found no welcome in his expression. Confused and slightly hurt, she turned to her grandfather. “You’ve been out here a long time. Why don’t you take a break and warm up?”

Pops swung down from the seat and made his way to her, stopping between her and Gavin. His eyes seemed to probe hers. “How’re you this mornin’?”

A smile she couldn’t hold back curved her lips, but then the odd undertone in his voice registered. What did it mean? Did he know Gavin had been in her room? No. He couldn’t. They’d been quiet, and her last memory of Gavin had been of him kissing her good-night and telling her he was going upstairs to his room. She’d mumbled, “Okay,” through lips almost numb from his ravenous kisses, and then, oblivion. She didn’t remember him actually leaving.

“I’m fine. How are your bones this morning?”

“Good enough.” The succinct answer wasn’t like him.

Gavin joined them, but kept out of her personal space—unusual for him. He silently met and held her gaze. She wished she could read him well enough to know what he was thinking. But she hadn’t even known him a week. Way too soon to be getting as serious or as intimate as they had. They’d skipped a lot of get-to-know-you steps in the dating game.

Too late to worry about that now. As Pops would say, that horse had already fled the barn.

“Pour me a cup, girlie.”

Blinking at the reminder of why she’d come out here, she filled the mugs. “I can call someone to clear the driveway if you don’t think you can get our tractor working.”

Gavin accepted a mug. “If I can’t get this bolt loose I’ll have the Jarrod Ridge crew take care of it.”

“Don’t want your damn charity,” Pops grumbled.

“It’s not charity. It’s a neighbor helping a neighbor,” Gavin countered tightly.

“Neighborly, huh. Is that what you call it?”

Alarm slithered over Sabrina and a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She looked from one man to the other. The tension and antagonism between them was palpable. That could only mean one thing.

Pops knew Gavin had been in her room last night. Her lungs emptied.

Would Pops condemn her? Would he call her a slut the way her father had? Would he shake his head in disgust and stare at her with disappointment-filled eyes? Would he order her to get out because he couldn’t stand the sight of her?

She gulped. Her parents had been more concerned with the embarrassment her unplanned pregnancy would cause them and the potential backlash on their careers than they had on the effect of the situation on her life.

Bracing herself, she searched her grandfather’s face and waited. For condemnation, for understanding or … or anything. Instead, like Gavin, he offered no clues to his thoughts or feelings.

The one thing she’d wanted just days ago—to break up the camaraderie between Gavin and Pops—had fallen into her lap. Right after she’d decided she didn’t want it anymore. Not when she might be falling for Gavin.

And that enmity could very well spread to her.

Now what was she going to do?

How could she make it right?

She didn’t have a clue.

Ten

“Sorry it took me so long to get here. I was in the middle of something,” Gavin told Blake as he joined his brother in the Jarrod Ridge offices. Coming here still made him uncomfortable even without their father behind that desk dispensing orders and disapproval.

He’d received Blake’s text message requesting a meeting hours ago, but he’d refused to leave the Snowberry Inn until he’d plowed the parking lot. Doing so would have meant Henry plowing it and possibly breaking a hip, and/or killing himself with that old tractor before the deed was settled. Besides, Gavin realized, he liked the old geezer and didn’t want him to get hurt.

And then old habits had kicked in. He’d returned to the lodge to shower off the tractor grease and change clothes before putting in an appearance. Being dirty in the public rooms of Jarrod Ridge had always brought down their father’s wrath. On second thought, he should have come here filthy, just to make dear old Dad roll over in his grave.

Blake gestured to a chair. “What’s the status on the land?”

“I have the situation under control,” he replied with a confidence he wasn’t sure he believed. But damn it, he would not fail.

Blake grinned. “I remember saying that last month about me and Samantha.”

“Yeah, and your assistant turned the tables on you. That won’t happen with me. I’m close to getting the property back from Henry Caldwell.”

“How close? Should I let the construction crew move on to another project?”

Frustration made his molars slam together. “If we do, then we’ll lose them for months.”

“That’s right. We’ll have to wait until they finish their next job. But they’re about to wrap the current project and can’t afford to stand idle.”

Damn. He had to pick up the pace. Move the marriage forward. He weighed the idea, and surprisingly, it didn’t repulse him as much as it once had. He also needed to get back on Henry’s good side and marrying Sabrina would do it. The sooner, the better all around. “How’d you go about your wedding?”

“Excuse me?”

He eyed his brother. “Arranging a marriage, Vegas-style.”

Blake’s eyebrows lowered. “Why?”

“I’ve been seeing Sabrina, Henry’s granddaughter, and I’m thinking of proposing.”

“You?”

“Sure. Why not? She’s beautiful. I enjoy her company, and the sex is good.” Damned good. Phenomenal even. But his brother didn’t need to know that.

Blake started shaking his head even before Gavin finished speaking. “That’s not a reason to get married.”

“No. It’s three reasons. Three good ones.”

Blake gave him a pitying look that chafed. “You might want to hold out for love.”

“Who says I don’t love her?”

“You haven’t said you do, which means you don’t.”

Because he didn’t lie. “I’m not the kind of guy who shares personal stuff like that. But I care about her. A lot.”

And strangely, that wasn’t a lie.

“Then take it slow and see what develops.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

Blake frowned. “I’m not liking the smell of your urgency. This isn’t tied to getting the land, is it?”

Gavin considered prevaricating, but Blake was too smart to be fooled. “Henry will be … encouraged to sign the deed sooner if I’m part of the family.”

“Don’t do it, Gavin. Don’t tie yourself to someone you don’t love. It’s not fair to you and it’s disrespectful to her.”

“Says the man who seduced his assistant to keep her from quitting. I know what I’m doing.”

“Those sound like famous last words—words you’ll regret, I might add.”

He brushed off his brother’s concern. He didn’t have a choice. “Like I said, I have the situation under control. Don’t let the crew go. We’ll be ready to break ground as soon as they finish their current job.”

He rose, ending the meeting before his brother could ask more probing questions, and made his way to the door. The idea of whisking Sabrina off to Vegas was growing on him. No fanfare. No money down the drain. No witnesses. But he wasn’t doing that until he had a prenup. For that he needed Christian, the family attorney and soon-to-be brother-in-law.

But first, he needed a ring and a pitch she couldn’t refuse. Until he proposed and Sabrina accepted, the rest was a moot point.

“You win,” Sabrina said after the waiter discreetly backed away from the table, leaving her and Gavin to their afterdinner coffee. In normal circumstances, a highfalutin place like the riverside restaurant wasn’t her style. But with Gavin seated across from her at the candlelit table the evening seemed magical.

“How do I win? Aside from the great company,” Gavin asked in that deep, rumbling voice of his that sent a shiver down her spine.

Her cheeks warmed. She didn’t know where to begin. From the moment he’d shown up at the inn’s front door wearing an immaculately fitted black suit and carrying a dozen red roses every single minute had seemed like a fairytale.

“You got me to a restaurant with a wine list the size of a telephone book and no prices on the menu and made me love it. The food was amazing. And this …” She flicked a hand to indicate the linen-draped table set in an intimate alcove overlooking the Roaring Fork River and the landscaping beyond the window decorated with twinkling white lights. “I don’t know how you managed to get reservations on short notice when most people wait a month to get in, but this is so … perfect. The flowers, the wine, that decadent tiramisu … everything.”

He smiled a little, but he seemed tense. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I want nothing but the best for you. For us. From here on out.”

Her heart hiccupped at the serious look in his eyes. She swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Gavin reached across the table and captured her hand. Her pulse did its usual skip on contact. She loved the strength and gentleness of his hands and the warmth of his skin on hers. He caressed the heart of her palm with his thumb, stirring up a fizzy sensation low in her abdomen.

“Sabrina, I want to go to sleep with you in my arms like we did last night and wake up with in you in mine every morning.”

A thrill shot through her. At the same time, fear tickled her nape. But she’d promised herself seven months and she’d take it. A finite period of pleasure would be safe. But part of her—an itty bitty part—had begun to want more. She struggled to catch her breath. “I’d like that, too.”

His fingers tightened. “I don’t want to have to sneak around to be with you, and I don’t want to upset Henry. I respect him too much for that. Him catching me coming out of your room this morning made us all uncomfortable.”

Understatement of the year. Pops hadn’t said a word, but the tension had hung over them like a dark cloud all day. “I thought you were going back to your room as soon as I fell asleep.”

“You asked me to stay, and I didn’t have the strength to refuse.” Before she could correct him Gavin shifted, reaching into his suit coat pocket with his free hand and withdrawing a small black velvet box.

That couldn’t be what she thought it was.

“Marry me, Sabrina, then we can share as many nights like this as we want.” He flipped open the lid, revealing a pale blue stone set on a woven gold band.

She gasped. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. She wasn’t ready.

“The stone reminded me of your eyes. Bright, clear and beautiful. And when the light catches it right, there’s an inner fire that ignites. From the moment I saw it, I knew it belonged on your finger and that I wanted to be the one to place it there.”

No one had ever said anything as romantic to her in her life. Her head reeled and her pulse pounded in her ears. She lifted a shaky hand to her chest. “It’s—Gavin, the ring is beautiful, but we haven’t even known each other a week.”

His gaze remained steadfast. “Long enough to know we’re as perfectly matched as two people will ever be.”

Wanting to say yes was wrong on so many levels, but the tiny word danced on the tip of her tongue. And that was crazy. It was too soon to make such a momentous decision. Hadn’t she sworn never to fall in love again because she didn’t think she could survive the hurt of losing someone special? And wasn’t Gavin still a rich guy?

But he is so much more than that, an insistent voice in her head argued. He’s fun and sexy and smart. He made her feel alive and special. She’d been wrong about him on so many levels. He didn’t act as if he were entitled to anything he wanted, and he didn’t treat her as if she was less worthy because she was less wealthy.

Stop it. Just say no. Or ask for more time.

But what if she did and she lost him forever? Was she willing to risk that? No. And what if this moment was the one that she’d remember for the rest of her life? She fought to clear her head and use logic. “We barely know each other.”

“Ask me anything.”

“I don’t even know you well enough to know what to ask. What about your job and your insistence on leaving Aspen?”

“I’ll make Aspen my home base. That way you can be here for Henry.”

“Where would we live?”

“For now, I have to live on Jarrod property.”

“I can’t leave Pops alone at night.”

“I’ll arrange for someone to stay with him.”

He made it sound so easy. “Why are you in such a rush?”

“I don’t want to miss another day with you.”

If a heart could actually melt, hers would be a soggy puddle beneath her feet right now. So much for her resistance to his charm.

“I’ll charter a plane and first thing in the morning we’ll fly to Vegas.”

Shock knocked her back in her chair. “Vegas?”

“In another week you’ll be too busy for a vacation. We’ll find a little chapel and get married and be back before Henry misses us.”

A cold rock settled in her stomach, squashing all her warm, fuzzy feelings. “You want to elope? Tomorrow?”

“Why wait?”

“We’re moving too fast.”

“Do you love me?”

The abrupt and unexpected question stunned her speechless. She’d been trying very, very hard not to let her mind wander down that dangerous, slippery path. Her stomach churned, and her thoughts swirled wildly. Did she love him? The weight of the answer settled on her like a cold blanket of heavy snow. “I—I am falling in love with you.”

He closed his eyes, squeezed her hand and inhaled long and slow. His emotional reaction to her confession touched her deeply. Then he met her gaze again with determination-filled eyes. “Marry me so we can be together.”

He hadn’t said he loved her back. But from what she’d learned of his childhood, of his mother’s death when he was four and his father’s overbearing nature, she suspected words of love wouldn’t come easily to Gavin. She’d have to work on that.

“Gavin, even if I accepted your proposal, I wouldn’t elope. I did that the first time.” The hand in her lap clenched and released. Should she tell him? Yes. If their relationship had a future, then it had to be based on total honesty.

“There’s something you need to know. The reason I was in such a hurry to get married the first time is because … because I was pregnant. I—I was still in high school when I found out. My parents gave me the ultimatum of getting rid of my baby or getting out of their house. In their circle, unmarried daughters didn’t have unplanned babies.” She searched his face, trying to read his reaction, but failed to see so much as a flicker of emotion.

“I told Russell, and when he came home from boot camp we eloped. I haven’t been home since. I went with him when he reported to Fort Bragg. I was angry at my parents for not being there for me when I needed them, and I didn’t tell them until after the ceremony, but I’ll always regret not inviting my grandparents. Pops and Grandma were hurt by my selfishness, and I won’t do that to Pops again, not after all he’s done for me.”

Gavin’s eyes filled with compassion. “What happened to your child?”

Loss welled in her chest. “I miscarried shortly after Russell was deployed. The doctors don’t know why. It just … happened. They said it shouldn’t happen again, but we didn’t try. We wanted to wait until Russell got out of the military. And then he—then he was gone.”

He gave her hand another squeeze. “You had to go through that alone?”

“Losing my baby, yes. But Pops was there for me after Russell.”

“I’m sorry. What about now? Do you want your parents at the ceremony?”

They wouldn’t care enough to take the time away from their precious university. “They’re probably too busy to fly out.”

“Then it will be just Henry and us.”

“What about your family?”

“That’s up to you. As far as I’m concerned, as long as you’re there I don’t need anyone else.”

Yet another of Cupid’s arrows scored a direct hit to her heart. Pops would be happy to know he was right when he’d told her that when the right one came along love would hit hard and fast. She hadn’t believed him. After all the pain she’d been through she’d believed herself immune to love. Apparently not. Her feelings for Gavin were far different from the slow-building affection she’d had with Russell.

“Could we wait a little while?”

“Would you be comfortable staying at my place every night until the wedding?”

She sighed. “No.”

“Do you really want to sleep alone?”

He did have a point. “I’d rather be with you.”

He removed the ring from the box and extended his hand, palm up. Tremors started deep in her belly. Why was she being such a coward when she could have more than she’d ever dreamed of—a passionate marriage to a man she loved and a chance to take care of Pops.

“Say you’ll marry me, Sabrina,” he encouraged without one hint of impatience. “On Monday we’ll get our marriage license, and I’ll set something up as soon as I can at the resort and we can be together. Possibly even as soon as Monday evening.”

Her lungs emptied. Her head spun. Her conscience said Slow down but her heart said Yes, yes, yes. She offered Gavin a trembling hand and met his dark gaze. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Gavin Jarrod. I want to be your wife and spend the rest of my life waking in your arms.”

He took her hand and slid the cool ring onto her finger, then kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”

Teary-eyed, Sabrina stared at the ring—a symbol of the kind of happiness she’d never intended to allow herself again. “The stone is beautiful. What is it? A sapphire?”

“A blue diamond.”

Her heart went ka-bump. “Aren’t those incredibly rare?”

“Not as rare as you.”

The words added yet another fairy-tale twinkle to the evening. But a teensy part of her brain asked if a man who bought priceless blue diamonds would ever be happy with a plain-old-quartz kind of girl.

“Let’s go back to the inn and share our news and a bottle of champagne with Henry.”

Sabrina couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate except maybe in Gavin’s bed. But making love with her fiancé would have to wait.

The guilt knife twisted in Gavin’s gut every time Sabrina beamed a smile in his direction. She loved him.

And he didn’t deserve it.

But he couldn’t allow his feelings to show. Not with Henry watching him like a hungry hawk. Sabrina had already been through so much, her parents’ betrayal, losing her baby and then her husband. He had no right to pile more misery on her. But backing out of the deal now would hurt her more than sticking it out and letting her love slowly fade over time—as it undoubtedly would.

The inn’s phone rang. “I’ll get it,” Sabrina said and hustled down the hall.

Henry waited until she was out of the room to set down his champagne flute. “You’re determined to do this?”

“I make her happy.”

Henry’s snowy white head bobbed. “That you do. If not, I’d be calling off the whole deal despite my concern about her being alone after I’m gone. But I’ll be watching.”

“As you should be.”

“Don’t think that ring—no matter how much you paid for it—gives you carte blanche to anticipate your vows under my roof again.”

“I understand. We’ll have a private ceremony at Jarrod Ridge as soon as I can arrange it. I’m shooting for Monday.”

“Why not here?”

“Because if the marriage doesn’t work out, I don’t want Sabrina to have any bad memories attached to the Snowberry Inn.”

Henry grunted. Gavin didn’t know if the noise indicated approval or disapproval.

Sabrina returned. The confused, or maybe dazed was the right word, expression on her face, made him want to hug her—not a normal reaction for him. He wasn’t the hugging type.

“That was Samantha Jarrod. She said she’s your sister-in-law. I’ve been invited to a bridal shower for your sister Erica on the nineteenth.”

Blake must have said something to his new wife. Gavin’s family was already bringing Sabrina into the fold. Too late to back out now—even if he could find another way to get his hands on that land.

Her wedding day.

Sabrina paced inside the atrium at Jarrod Manor Monday afternoon, struggling to settle her rattled nerves and slow her breathing before she hyperventilated.

She needed to remind herself why she was rushing into marriage. But between shopping for a wedding dress and several walk-in guests at the inn, she’d only seen Gavin once over the weekend before this morning’s rushed trip to the Pitkin County clerk’s office for their marriage license.

So much for it being bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony on her wedding day.

Was she doing the right thing?

Her conscience had been screaming that question since Gavin had presented her with the prenuptial agreement Saturday evening. Signing the document had seemed like planning the end of her marriage before it began. But Gavin had explained she needed to protect her interest in the inn, and he needed to protect his siblings’ interests in Jarrod Ridge. Logically, everything he said made sense, but that didn’t mean it didn’t bother her.

To focus on something besides the emotional cauldron boiling in her belly she examined the location Gavin had chosen for their ceremony. She had to give him points for choosing a scenic setting.

The solarium with its vaulted ceiling had already been decorated for Christmas even though Thanksgiving was still weeks away. A massive Christmas tree decorated with red and white poinsettias and twinkling white lights dominated one end of the room, lending a festive air to what should be a simple exchange of vows officiated by one of her grandfather’s poker buddies—a retired judge. At the opposite end of the solarium a poinsettia and greenery-draped stone fireplace dominated the wall. And in the center of it all, a beautiful brass fountain shaped like the jagged mountains beyond the windows gurgled. Under other circumstances, she imagined that gurgle would be quite soothing.

Chilled, she made her way toward the crackling flames and held out her hands toward the heat. Light from the overhead chandelier caught the Colorado-blue-sky diamond of her engagement ring, revealing the inner fire Gavin had mentioned. She’d fallen in love with the ring the moment she’d seen it, but when she’d learned the blue of the stone happened to be Gavin’s favorite color she’d loved it even more. Finding a dress in the same hue felt as if destiny had stepped in to confirm her decision to marry a man she barely knew.

But that didn’t lessen her nervousness.

She swept a hand down the long satin skirt and shifted her shoulders in the sheer lace and beaded bolero jacket overlaying the strapless satin sweetheart top. The dress was a little lower cut than she was accustomed to wearing, showing the top curves of her breasts. She turned to let the flames warm the skin left bare by the deep V-back of the dress.

She hadn’t had a wedding dress when she’d married Russell. They hadn’t had the money for one.

Stop. Don’t think about Russell today.

The door opened, providing a much needed distraction, and Gavin strode in looking powerful and charismatic in his black suit, white shirt and blue-and-black-striped tie. He had a red rosebud in his lapel and one hand behind his back. Her heart quickened.

“Are you ready?”

If she said no would he wait? “I think so.”

He swept out his arm, revealing a gardenia and red rose bouquet. “For you. Henry said these were your two favorite flowers.”

His thoughtful gesture reminded her of one of the reasons why she’d said yes. Gavin was generous and considerate. He might not have said he loved her yet, but he did show it. “Thank you, Gavin. The flowers are beautiful.”

“So are you.” He traced a fingertip over her neckline beneath the sheer bodice, making her shiver as desire swept a few doubts under the expensive rug beneath her feet. “Your dress is sexy.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Blushing, she accepted the bouquet and lifted it to her face, drawing a deep breath of the heady fragrance. “Mmm. Smells good.”

“Where’s Henry?”

“Judge Roberts has cataracts and can’t drive. Pops is picking him up.”

“I could have sent a car rather than have you waiting here alone.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been … gathering my thoughts.” More like gathering her nerve.

Gavin lifted her chin with his knuckle. “Sabrina, if you’re having doubts, now’s the time to say so.”

The fact that he was giving her an out went a long way toward soothing her fears. “I want to marry you, Gavin.”

“Good. Because I can’t wait to hold you in my arms tonight. It’s been a long weekend without you.”

The last of her misgivings melted. “I can’t wait either.”

He took the bouquet from her, set it on a nearby table and pulled her into his arms. He lowered his head and she met him halfway, needing to feel his hunger. The kiss didn’t disappoint her. From the moment his mouth opened over hers, she felt the restraint in his firm possession, in the deep sweeps of his tongue and the way his hands tightened on her upper arms.

He tasted of mints and coffee and Gavin. He shifted his stance, then his palms coasted downward to her waist. His hips pressed against hers, generating heat, hunger and enough eagerness on her part that she should be ashamed of her out-of-control desire. But she wasn’t. As much as she’d enjoyed her numbness before meeting Gavin, she now relished the way he made her feel alive with nothing more than a glance or a touch.

The doors opened, startling them apart. Pops and Judge Roberts ambled in. Judge Roberts rubbed his hands and grinned. “Looks like we need to get this knot tied good and tight as quickly as possible.”

“Amen,” Gavin muttered beside her, making her smile. At least the passion wasn’t one-sided.

And for better or worse, Sabrina decided she couldn’t agree more. She wanted to get the wedding over with so she could stop questioning whether she was doing the right thing.

The gold band weighed heavily on Gavin’s finger as he washed his last bite of wedding cake down with champagne at the end of the brief wedding reception he’d arranged for Sabrina. He owed her that much since she’d had none of the fanfare at her first wedding. His family would probably insist on something larger later since he’d kept them away from the ceremony, but for now he wasn’t looking forward to playing the besotted bridegroom in front of the people who knew him—and his aversion to marriage—best.

He signaled the photographer he’d hired to give them a moment and smoothed a loose curl from Sabrina’s soft cheek. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes with happiness shining in her eyes, and he felt the impact of that glance like a caress. It took him a second to recall what he’d been about to say.

He cleared his throat to ease the sudden thickness. “We need to get Henry and Judge Roberts on the road before dark. I’ll walk them to the car.”

She smiled and lifted her hand to lick a smudge of cake icing from her finger. He intercepted her and carried her finger to his mouth. The tastes of Sabrina and white chocolate buttercream icing mingled on his tongue. Her pink lips parted on a gasp and her pupils dilated, igniting a corresponding hunger in his belly. The woman had bewitched him, but not even a passion this strong could endure the absences his job would require.

But until that day, he would focus on the here and now. In a matter of hours he would have her in his bed, naked, wet, and begging him to taste her other sweet spots. He ground his teeth but he couldn’t contain the groan rumbling up his chest. “Give me five minutes.”

She licked her lips, unconsciously inviting him in for a quick kiss that ended up lingering until he almost forgot he had business waiting. A flash from the camera jarred him away.

“Take your time. I need to run to the ladies’ room anyway.” Her voice sounded breathless and a flush tinted her cheeks.

And he didn’t want to leave her. But the signed deed was the reason for this farce, and he wouldn’t end the day without having it in his possession. Once he had it he’d call Blake and give him the go-ahead to contact the construction team.

Releasing her hand and backing away was more difficult than it should have been. He did it anyway and joined the men by the door. “Gentlemen, shall I see you out?”

Once the door closed behind them, Henry nodded to Gavin then turned to Roberts. “Elwood, can you give us a minute?”

Roberts nodded, slapped Gavin on the back and shook his hand. “Congratulations, son. You are indeed one lucky bastard.”

More bastard than you know. “Yessir, I am.”

After the judge walked away Gavin gestured to a small sitting area around the corner. He and Henry made their way to the secluded spot. “You have the signed deed?”

“I do.” Henry offered the folded document. “A deed for a deed, as promised.”

Satisfaction rolled through Gavin as his fingers closed over the paper. He finally had what he wanted—and he’d achieved something not even his father had been able to manage—getting the land back.

“What is that?” Sabrina’s question jerked Gavin’s attention away from his prize. She stood in the hallway. Holding Gavin’s gaze, she quickly closed the distance and plucked the paper from his hand before he could think of a way out of this mess.

She unfolded it, scanned it and then looked up at him with confusion puckering her brow. “This is the deed to the mine.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me you were just doing business today and that this—” she rattled the page “—isn’t connected to our wedding.”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, girlie,” Henry said and tried to take the deed from her. She snatched it out of reach and focused on Gavin.

“You said Pops agreed to sell the land to you.”

He debated his options. Honesty was his only course. “I said we agreed on the terms.”

She frowned. “If you bought the property where’s the check?” She held up a hand before Gavin could reply. “Think very hard before you lie to me.”

Henry shot Gavin a warning look, but Gavin ignored it. The pain in her eyes cut him to the bone, crushing his triumph over achieving his goal.

He had to fix this. Or he’d lose her.

Eleven

Sabrina searched her grandfather’s face and then Gavin’s. Both looked back at her with matching thin-lipped, guilty-as-sin expressions and her stomach sank.

“A deed for a deed,” she repeated the words she’d overheard through numb lips, trying to make sense of them. Unfortunately, the only option wasn’t a palatable one. Why would the two men she loved the most deceive her?

She focused on Gavin. “Did you marry me to get the mine?”

He shared a long look with her grandfather and each silent second ticking past deepened her misgivings and tightened a vise around her chest.

“Did you, Gavin?” she repeated.

“Jarrod—” her grandfather growled in what sounded like a warning.

“Sabrina needs to know the truth.” Gavin’s solemn dark eyes met hers. “That was the original plan.”

An arrow pierced her heart, but this one hadn’t come from Cupid’s bow. This one had come from an assassin. Her marriage was a sham. “The original plan? Explain that, please.”

Gavin paused and swallowed. “As soon as I met you on that porch I wanted you. And then we touched, and I knew I’d stop at nothing to have you. I’ve never reacted to a woman that intensely or that fast in my life. That was before I met Henry and he laid his suggestion on the table.”

“His suggestion? And what was that exactly?”

Again, he hesitated for a moment as if choosing his words very carefully. “That I take the time to get to know you. Sabrina, with or without the land we would have ended up together one way or another.”

“So all this …” Heartsick, she swept a hand to indicate her dress, the hotel, him. Her throat closed up. Her eyes burned. “You faked it.”

He gripped her upper arm and led her a short distance away from her grandfather, then dipped his head to speak close to her face. “Do you believe I could fake the desire I feel for you? The hunger that eats me up inside until I can barely think? Name one thing that’s happened between us that feels phony.”

He’d lowered his voice to that sexy rumble that made her tremble. She didn’t want to believe him, but for a man who was usually hard to read she couldn’t deny the sincerity in Gavin’s eyes. Her emotions churned wildly. How could his comments simultaneously hurt her and send her heart flying?

Did he love her or had he just used her?

She jerked her arm free and moved a few steps away from Gavin to try to regain control. That left her staring at her grandfather. “So this was your idea.”

Pops’s eyes and his hangdog expression begged for forgiveness. “Sabrina—”

Gavin’s hands settled on her shoulders. “Henry saw the chemistry between us and prodded me to follow through because he loves you, and he doesn’t want you to be alone if anything ever happened to him.”

And then she realized there was a much larger issue here. For Pops to be this desperate he had to be hiding more than his matchmaking. “The pressure you’ve been putting on me to find someone over the past few months … it’s because you’re not well. Isn’t it?”

Pops shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

“Don’t keep secrets,” she warned. “Not about something this important.”

“I’m feeling my age, girlie, that’s all. Colleen would want me to see you settled, before—”

Before he joined her, she finished silently when he didn’t. “I don’t need a babysitter, Pops. You and Grandma taught me well. I can take care of myself and the inn.”

“I’m not talking about a keeper. It’s like I’ve told you. Life is meant to be shared. I want you to experience what your grandmother and I had, Sabrina. You need to know what it feels like to know that one person in this world will always support you and be there for you until God calls ‘em home. You didn’t have that with Russell. He was off doing his job—” She opened her mouth to protest but he held up a hand to cut her off. “I’m not denying his was a valiant mission, but he left you behind to fend for yourself. You never had the chance to be two halves of a whole before you were his widow and alone again.”

She couldn’t argue with facts.

“I saw you primping in the hall the day Gavin first visited. That’s the first time I’ve seen you flushed and excited in years. Then Gavin here couldn’t take his eyes off you, and I knew I had to act before yer blasted stubbornness kept you from finding the match standing right in front of you.”

“But, Pops—”

“But nothing. Gavin is the first man you’ve shown interest in since you moved in. I wasn’t letting him get away.”

Her cheeks burned. “You could have given us a chance to work things out ourselves.”

“Wasn’t wasting time I can’t guarantee I have. None of us knows how many days we have left, and happiness won’t wait. You have to seize it while you can.”

By marrying her off, he’d lessened his worries, she realized.

She turned back to Gavin, and her pulse did a little skip as it did every time she saw him. She loved him, and from what he’d said and from what he’d shown her in the short time they’d known each other, he did care about her. As he’d said, no one could fake that passion or that tenderness. Maybe he didn’t love her yet. Maybe he did. But did she want to throw it all away because of the rocky start to their relationship?

No.

She licked her dry lips and took a breath for courage. “Are you sure you want to be married to me?”

Gavin held her gaze. “I wouldn’t undo anything that has happened from the moment I met you, and I will do my best to make sure you never regret becoming my wife.”

Then she would do her best to make her marriage work for her sake, but mostly for Pops’s sake. “Let’s get Pops home. I believe we have a honeymoon waiting.”

“You know I can’t leave.”

“You won’t have to leave Aspen for me to make you feel like you’re flying.”

The sensual promise in his eyes and voice made her tremble. For better or worse, Gavin was her future.

Pregnant.

Sabrina stared at the test stick.

The word in the tiny window explained so much: the slight nausea she’d experienced the past three days, the extra sensitivity in her breasts, and the way certain smells suddenly repelled her when they hadn’t before.

She’d been blaming the changes on adjusting to married life. As much as she’d loved sharing Gavin’s lodge with him for the past eleven days and nights and spending their mornings and evenings together, juggling her roles as wife, innkeeper and Pops’s caretaker was a tough balancing act. Gavin had arranged for Meg, the inn’s housekeeper, to stay with Pops at night, but Sabrina still worried about her grandfather.

She stared at the bathroom mirror and pressed her hand to her stomach. A baby. Excitement and fear battled for supremacy inside her. Part of her yearned to have Gavin’s child. Another part worried that it was too soon to add a baby into the mix.

How would Gavin react to the news? Would he take it stoically and decide to make the best of the situation the way Russell had, or would he be upset? It was hard to know. They’d been so busy between finishing the chores at the inn and the beginning of construction on the new lodge on the property near the mine that they were still learning about each other, and they could barely have a conversation without ending up naked. A baby would change that.

It was early. Her period was only a few days late. So much could go wrong in the first trimester, as she’d learned the hard way. Maybe she should wait to tell him.

The doorbell rang, startling her. She glanced at her watch. “Oh, darn.”

Her ride was here. She’d met Avery Lancaster last week when at the coffee the Jarrod women had organized to welcome Sabrina into the family, and Sabrina had clicked with Guy’s fiancée instantly. When Avery had offered to give Sabrina a ride to Erica’s bridal shower in downtown Aspen, Sabrina had been touched by the way the Jarrod women had included her and she’d accepted. She hadn’t known then that she’d need the quiet drive to get her thoughts together.

Sabrina huffed out a breath and hastily gathered the test strip and packaging and stuffed them back into the bag. She wasn’t ready to face the world with her new knowledge. But what choice did she have? She crammed the pregnancy test into the garbage can, slashed on a swipe of lipstick and bolted for the front door, grabbing the shower gift from the hall table on the way. She’d have to worry about Gavin and her pregnancy later. And then she’d decide when and how to share her news.

She yanked open the door to Avery’s smiling face. “Hi. Sorry I didn’t hear you drive up.”

“No problem.” Avery’s eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?

You’re very pale.”

“I probably forgot to put on blush. Oops. I’ll daub a little lipstick on my cheeks in the car. What did you buy for Erica?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“Guy and I are going to provide a week’s worth of gourmet dinners and matching wines for when Erica and Christian get back from their honeymoon.”

“Good idea. I hope Guy is cooking the meals himself.” She followed Avery to the car and climbed in.

As she buckled her seat belt she realized she didn’t even know where she and Gavin would be living when their baby arrived sometime in—she did the math in her head—late July. Gavin’s required year at Jarrod Ridge would be ending.

Would he be willing to move into the B and B? If not, maybe they could buy a place in downtown Aspen. Or would he be on the road for his job? She couldn’t leave Pops or the Snowberry Inn to follow Gavin around the globe. Would this be like her marriage to Russell where she’d basically been alone most of the time? Would she be raising her child primarily as a solo parent? Would this pregnancy go full term?

There were so many unanswered questions. She now wished she’d pressed Gavin for details. But the sex—which was still amazing—kept getting in the way. In fact, she had wondered if Gavin didn’t use sex to avoid serious conversations sometimes.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re very quiet today,” Avery asked.

Sabrina grimaced. “Sorry. I was wondering where Gavin’s next job would be once he finished his year in Aspen.”

Avery glanced her way. “I heard him tell Guy he was working on some preliminary studies for a bridge in New Zealand.”

Surprise stole her breath. Not even the same continent. “I didn’t know he’d already accepted a job.”

“He might not have. You’d better ask him before you get excited about living in such a cool place.”

Only she wouldn’t be living there, but Sabrina kept that to herself. Luckily, they’d arrived at the bistro and getting inside ended the conversation.

The other women had already arrived. Bride-to-be Erica glowed with happiness. Sabrina delivered her gift, kissed Erica’s cheek and then scanned the others gathered in the private dining room. She recognized Melissa, Gavin’s sister, and Samantha, who had married Gavin’s oldest brother Blake just days before Gavin and Sabrina had met. The rest of the dozen or so women were new faces. She pasted on a smile and tried to work up the appropriate amount of enthusiasm.

A waitress passed with an order of buffalo wings. The sour smell reached Sabrina. Her stomach roiled. Surprised, she mashed her lips together. Normally, she loved the tangy hot wings, but apparently not now. Her mouth filled with saliva and a cold sweat beaded her brow and upper lip.

Avery touched her arm. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

Sabrina held up a finger. “Excuse me.”

She spotted a sign marked restroom and darted toward it. She slammed through the door and into the cool tiled room. Before she reached the stall the nausea faded. Bracing her arm against the wall, she took several deep breaths. Wow. She’d never been sick like that with her first pregnancy. She turned on the sink, dampened a paper towel and blotted her face, noting that the amethyst cashmere sweater dress she’d chosen for today accentuated her pallor and the circles beneath her eyes. Lovely. Not.

The door opened behind her and Avery entered. “I hate to keep asking, but are you sure you’re okay, because you don’t look like you feel well.”

“I—” Sabrina didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t told Gavin her news, and it didn’t seem right to share it with anyone else until she had. “Don’t worry. I’m not contagious.”

“Ohmigod. You’re pregnant,” Avery exclaimed wide-eyed.

Sabrina didn’t want to lie, and yet how else could she explain her odd behavior. “I’m pretty sure I am. But please don’t tell anyone. Gavin doesn’t know yet. I did the test right before you arrived.”

“That would explain the shell-shocked look on your face when you opened the door. It’s none of my business, but are you happy about this?”

Warmth seeped though Sabrina chasing away her chill. She laid a hand over her tummy. “Yes. I’d love to have Gavin’s baby. But I’m not sure how he’s going to take the news. It’s so soon and we didn’t plan this. We haven’t even discussed having children.”

Yet another conversation they should have had before rushing into marriage. Luckily, Avery didn’t point that out. Sabrina brushed a stray curl from her face. “I’m thinking about waiting a bit before I tell him … you know, feeling him out about the situation and figuring out how best to approach him.”

“Sabrina, if you’re already pregnant it’s too late to test the waters on his thoughts about children. Besides, if what happened out there happens again you won’t be able to hide your news anyway.”

“No. I guess not. But …”

“Let me tell you something I’ve figured out. Gavin—like all the Jarrod men—is tough on the outside because he had to be with his father, but all the guys also have warm hearts. It shows in the way they care about each other and kept in touch even when they were scattered about the globe and in the way they dropped everything and rushed here for each other when Donald’s will required it. Trust me on this. I should know since I’m engaged to Gavin’s big brother.” Avery gave a sympathetic smile.

“I guess you’re right. I’ll tell Gavin tonight.”

And she prayed he’d be as happy as she was.

“Hey.” Blake’s shout jerked Gavin back to the present.

“What?” Gavin scanned the area and spotted a backhoe heading toward him. He moved out of the way without a second to spare.

Blake approached. “Didn’t you see the tractor coming?”

Gavin shook his head. “My mind was elsewhere.”

“On the Auckland job?”

“No. I—” He cut off the words rather than admit he’d been thinking about Sabrina, how flushed and satisfied she’d looked this morning when he’d climbed from their bed.

Blake grinned. “Thinking about your pretty new wife? Welcome to the club, man. Go home and get you some. I have it covered here.”

“I don’t need to leave. I’m fine.”

“Cut yourself some slack. You didn’t even take a honeymoon. Spend a little time with your woman.”

Tempted more than he should be, Gavin checked his watch. It was almost quitting time anyway. He’d go because if he stayed his distraction was going to get someone hurt—probably him. Heavy equipment on-site meant everyone’s head had to be one hundred percent in the game one hundred percent of the time. Today, his wasn’t.

But he wasn’t leaving because he needed to see Sabrina.

Who are you kidding?

Disgusted by what he considered a weakness, he waved good-bye to Blake and stomped across the mud and slush-covered ground toward the pickup. What had Sabrina done to him? How had she managed to shatter his concentration when his ability to focus anywhere and under any conditions had previously been one of his best assets?

He shoved the key into the ignition and glanced at the folder labeled New Zealand on the passenger seat. Blake had asked about the project. Before meeting Sabrina, Gavin had considered the bridge the most exciting opportunity of his career. But the sad fact was he hadn’t been able to work up any enthusiasm for the job since he’d met Sabrina. He carried the file around intending to delve into it, but he’d only opened it a couple of times when Sabrina had been tied up at the inn, and then he’d been listening so intently for her key in the lodge’s front door he’d had trouble concentrating on the geology reports.

“It’s just the sex,” he muttered under his breath. “Damned good sex.”

Yeah, right, his conscience jibed. And that mine is just a hole in the ground.

The dashboard clock read four o’clock. At this time of day Sabrina would still be at the inn. He tromped on the gas, earning a warning glare from the Jarrod Ridge security man working the gate blocking access to the construction site. Within minutes he reached the inn’s lot, pulled in and parked beside two other cars—probably tourists getting a head start on sightseeing before the crowds swept into town next week.

Using his key, he let himself in the back door. The smell of cinnamon hung in the air telling him she’d recently made a batch of her famous oatmeal cookies. “Sabrina?”

“In the office,” she called back.

He made his way down the short hall. She sat behind the old wooden desk with her hair twisted up, baring her neck and that spot near her nape that she liked for him to nibble. Seeing her hit him with a pulse-accelerating punch of desire to the gut. “Where’s Henry?”

“Out with the judge.”

“And your guests?”

“Visiting art galleries.”

He pushed the door closed and turned the lock. Her eyes widened. “It’s early. Why aren’t you at the construction site?”

“Blake has everything under control.” He circled the desk, grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. He studied her from her face to her breasts outlined to mouthwatering perfection by the purple sweater and then down. He liked the surprise. “You’re wearing a skirt.”

“I attended Erica’s bridal shower today.”

He skimmed a hand over her hip and then beneath the hem and back up her thigh. She wasn’t wearing pantyhose. But she was wearing panties. Too bad, but not for long.

She gasped as he tugged the cotton down her thighs. “Gavin, we need to talk.”

Why did women always want to talk when they communicated so much better on a more basic level? The panties fell to her ankles. “In a minute. First, I need this.”

He hooked a hand around her nape, pulled her forward and kissed her, covering her soft lips, stroking them with his tongue and lapping up her unique flavor. “Mmm. You’ve been eating chocolate mints again.”

Ever since the night he’d painted her nipples with chocolate she’d had a craving for the things.

“Just one.” Her breath caught when he cupped her breast and found her tight nipple, then a moan slipped free. Her breasts were so sensitive a man couldn’t help playing with them. But he wouldn’t taste them today—not with the threat of Henry or the guests interrupting him.

He lifted her skirt, finding her curls already wet and her slick little nub swollen and waiting for his attention.

“Gavin, please.” Her breathless voice egged him on.

“I will, baby. I will please you. I know exactly what you like.” He caressed her until she trembled in his arms, then turned her, planting her hands on the desk’s surface. He buried his face in her neck and her perfume filled his nose as he opened his mouth over the warm, satiny flesh beneath her ear. She bowed her back, pushing her bottom into his groin. Hunger surged through him, making his erection pulse in her warm crevice.

He quickened his finger, listening to the telltale sign of her panting breaths. When he thought she was close to the edge he ripped open his pants and shoved the fabric out of the way. Then when her muscle tension told him she was on the verge, he rolled on a condom and eased into her, filling her and sending her over the edge.

She felt so damned good. Slick. Hot. Wet. He gritted his teeth to keep from losing control right then as her muscles contracted around him with the rhythm of her orgasm. Once she settled, he stroked her again, this time using his penis as well as his hand to push her toward the next peak. He teased her as well as himself, alternating fast and slow strokes. Her body drew tight and he backed off once, then repeated the process a second time, making her wait for release. When he couldn’t stand the pressure building in his gut any longer he caressed her past the point of no return and quit fighting.

Climax exploded through him in hot brain-numbing bursts leaving his legs weak and shaking in the aftermath. He had to brace his arms on either side of hers to remain upright. His chest burned as he struggled to fill his lungs.

How could it be that good every time? How long would it take before his craving for her waned?

Sabrina squirmed free long before his legs regained stability. She hastily righted her clothing, and ducked to scoop up her panties. “That was—”

“Fantastic.” He dropped the condom in the trash can beneath her desk and refastened his pants.

“I was going to say unexpected.” When she met his gaze again, the pink drained from her cheeks. Worry clouded her eyes. “Gavin, I have something to tell you.”

Her tight tone indicated whatever it was couldn’t be good. “Is Henry okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine.” She chewed her bottom lip and shifted on her feet. Her fingers tightened and relaxed on the panties in her hand. “I’m pregnant.”

Shock winded him. The blood drained from his head and tension instantly knotted his previously relaxed muscles. “How?”

She searched his face as if trying to gauge his reaction. “I’m guessing I conceived that first time in the tack room. That’s the only time we haven’t used protection.”

He didn’t want to be a father.

He especially didn’t want to be an overbearing, fault-finding parent like his had been. Gavin could almost smell the smoke of his plan for a short marriage going up in flames. He’d expected Sabrina to tire of his long, work-related absences and demand a divorce. And then they’d never see each other again. That blueprint had been part of the Auckland job’s appeal. Distance of that magnitude meant fewer visits, less face time.

But now he and Sabrina would be permanently tied by a child. A child he would fail unless he found a better role model than Donald Jarrod.

Twelve

Gavin’s bleak expression dropped a lead weight in Sabrina’s stomach, erasing any lingering afterglow.

“Children were never part of the plan.”

She blinked at his bluntness. “We didn’t discuss them one way or the other. Are you telling me you don’t ever want children? Or you don’t want them with me?”

“My job involves too much travel for me to be a good father. I’d be an absentee one at best.”

Her heart sank upon hearing him confirm her fears. “So you are going back on the road when your year in Aspen ends?”

“Yes.”

“What about me? What about us? You know I can’t leave Pops, and the inn has been in my family forever. I can’t just abandon it or turn it over to strangers to manage.”

“I never intended for you to leave the inn. I’m going back to the lodge.”

“Wait. Don’t you want to talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to discuss. You’re pregnant with my child. I’ll make sure you have the assistance you need when I’m away on the job, and I’ll provide for the kid.”

Pain pierced her chest. She winced. “So you did marry me to get the deed. Then what? What was your plan after you had what you wanted, Gavin?”

He stared at her through eyes devoid of emotion—eyes that had only moments ago burned with passion. For her. She knew then that Gavin would never care for her the way she did him, and the reason he’d never said he’d loved her wasn’t because he didn’t know how to verbalize the words, but because he didn’t feel them.

Getting buried by an avalanche would have been less painful, less chilling than the realization that sex and land were all that mattered to him. For her the relationship was about so much more than just physical satisfaction.

She wrapped her arms around her middle. “If you married me to get the land then you have it. Mission accomplished. You don’t need me anymore. And I don’t need you. I’ll give you an uncontested divorce if you’ll sign over your rights to my child.”

“Our child.”

Numbly, Sabrina shook her head. “I grew up feeling unwanted and in the way and like a burden to my parents. As long as I’m breathing, my child will never experience that. If you don’t want him or her, if you don’t want us in your life, then you and I have nothing more to say. I’ll send someone for my things. Now please get out.”

Gavin let himself into the Black Spruce Lodge a few minutes before noon. The heavy snow falling had shut down construction. Just as well. With everyone on the site yapping about tomorrow’s Thanksgiving plans they weren’t getting much work done anyway, and he’d been eager to escape the chatter for the solitude of his home-away-from-home.

He hadn’t told anyone that he and Sabrina had split, but when he showed up at the family dinner without her they’d figure it out.

The silence of the house echoed around him and the sterile smell of hotel disinfectant lingered in the air. In the short time Sabrina had lived here she’d made her mark—particularly in the small kitchen. Each night when he’d come home from the site the delicious scents of the recipes she’d been testing had greeted him at the door, and the refrigerator had been filled with tasty and sometimes decadent morsels for him to munch on.

But not this week. This week the place smelled like sanitizer. His refrigerator was empty and Sabrina’s flowery shower gel wasn’t on the shelf by the tub. And even though he’d asked the maid not to, she still left chocolates on his pillows—chocolates that reminded him of making love to Sabrina, of painting her nipples and then lick—

He wiped a hand down his face, trying to sever that thought, but it was too late. Heat built like steam in his groin—heat that would have no outlet. He hung up his coat and headed for the minibar and a shot of Dewar’s. It burned all the way down his throat.

An odd restlessness rode his back. Why? He was used to hotels. Hell, he spent most of his life in generic, temporary accommodations. Free. Unencumbered. Uncluttered. And he liked it that way. So why did it feel as if something were missing now?

Deciding to forego lunch due to a lack of appetite, he opened his briefcase and extracted the Auckland file. He’d work until he got through the data. He considered lighting a fire, but that too brought back memories of making love to Sabrina in front of the crackling flames. He’d even given her rug burn on that—

He drowned the thought with another gulp of Scotch and headed upstairs to the loft office—where the fireplace was out of sight. He settled on the leather sofa and tried to focus on the geological reports, but it was slow going. His lids grew heavier with each passing second when normally the technical pre-construction specs fascinated him. He loved the challenge of anticipating problems before they arose. But not today.

What do you expect when you’re not sleeping at night?

That was only because he was worried about failing a kid as badly as Donald Jarrod had failed his children. Gavin and each of his siblings had baggage from their father’s brand of tough love.

Twenty minutes later—yeah, he was watching the clock—a knock at the door gave him an excuse to abandon his fruitless attempt. He made his way downstairs and opened the front door. A clean-cut twenty-something guy in a suit stood on the stoop. “Gavin Jarrod?”

“Yes.”

“This is for you, sir.” The young man handed over a thick envelope, then turned and departed before Gavin could dig a tip out of his pocket.

Curious, Gavin scanned the return address. An attorney’s office. “What in the hell?”

He hadn’t spoken to Henry since the separation, but the old man might have followed through with his promise to muck things up with inspectors since Gavin had hurt his granddaughter. The construction crew had barely begun. Plenty of stuff could go sour at this point.

He opened the tri-folded sheets expecting to find some kind of injunction to halt work on the lodge.

Divorce Petition.

The words hit him like a one-ton I beam slamming into his chest. Sabrina had filed for divorce. He flipped through the pages, skimming the legalese, most of it predetermined by their prenup, and then he came upon a second document—a form asking him to relinquish his paternal rights to the child she carried.

Gavin staggered backward until the living room sofa hit the backs of his legs. His knees buckled. He collapsed onto the cushion.

If he signed this then he’d have no reason, no right to contact Sabrina ever again or to see their child, and no reason to ever return to Aspen.

Sign it. It’s the best thing you can do for both of them. You’ll make a lousy husband and a worse father.

He pulled a pen from his pocket. His hand shook, quaking over the page until his eyes blurred. He couldn’t do it. He dropped the pen, shot to his feet and walked away from the papers lying on the table.

The idea of going another day—let alone a lifetime—without seeing Sabrina made it hard to breathe. His chest and throat burned as if a hot steel band constricted him. He glanced over his shoulder at the papers on the table. Signing them was the easy way out of all his problems. So why did the idea of walking away from her feel as if he were ripping out a part of himself? He’d never wanted a wife, and he’d sure as hell never wanted children.

Because you’ve fallen in love with the woman you married under false pretenses.

The realization stunned him. He didn’t do love.

Until now.

In their short time together, Sabrina had gotten to him and breached barriers he didn’t let people cross. She’d shown him how warm and welcoming a real home should be and reminded him how much he loved Aspen when his father wasn’t acting as a domineering killjoy. She’d taught him that real love meant sometimes putting another’s happiness ahead of your own.

For a moment when she’d been telling him about the baby there’d been a glow of hope and excitement in her eyes making them sparkle more than the diamond on her finger. And he’d killed it with his knee-jerk reaction and cruel words.

He wanted to see those emotions light up her face again. He couldn’t live a lifetime wondering if she and the child they’d created together were happy and flourishing. And leaving Aspen to avoid her the way he had his father seemed repugnant.

The most important lesson he’d learned from Sabrina was that bad parents didn’t necessarily make an emotionally crippled child. Look at her. Despite her parents’ lack of interest he’d never met a warmer or more generous woman. She relished making even strangers feel welcome in her home.

And she hadn’t let losing her husband or her first baby stop her from trying love again. She believed her late husband was the courageous one, but that man had nothing on Sabrina. Any child would be lucky to have her for a mother. Gavin fisted and released his hands by his side. He wanted a chance to raise that child with her even though he didn’t have the skills to handle the job.

Maybe with Sabrina’s help he could learn how to be a father.

You could end up failing Sabrina, your child and yourself.

But that was a risk he had to take. If it wasn’t too late.

But first he had to talk to his siblings. What he was considering wouldn’t affect just him. He had to find a way to prove to Sabrina that she was worth more to him than a hole in the ground.

“Kinda overdid the cooking, didn’t you?” Pops said.

Sabrina glanced up to see him looking over the top of his glasses at the kitchen work island laden with pies, cakes, cookies and an assortment of other dishes she’d prepared for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving meal.

She shrugged and continued kneading the dough for Friday’s sourdough coffee cake. “I had a lot of new recipes I wanted to try, plus all of Grandma’s favorites.”

“Did cookin’ fix what ailed ya?”

Her fingers twitched in the malleable mix. “I’m sorry?”

“Colleen always baked when she was upset. I ate best when she had issues to think through.”

Sabrina ducked her head. Was she so transparent? “I’m fine, Pops.”

He snorted. “You gonna let him get away with it?”

She considered playing dumb and asking “Who?” but Pops wouldn’t buy it. He’d been hovering since she’d moved back in, and his worrying about her wasn’t good for him. His agitation would only worsen once she told him about the baby. She hadn’t found the nerve to do that yet. “Let Gavin get away with what?”

“Running scared.”

“He’s not running scared. He married me for the land. He got it. He’s history.”

He shook his head. “If he was history you wouldn’t have cooked enough to feed a church congregation.”

Embarrassment burned her skin like a heat lamp. “The inn is at full occupancy. I want to have plenty to go around. You know our guests are ravenous when they return from the slopes.”

He tsked and shook his head. “Never known you to back down from a challenge, girlie. Always admired your grit. Until now.”

She flinched. “What would you have me do?”

“Nope. I’m not giving you the answer. You have to figure that out for yourself. But I’ll tell ya this much. Hiding in the kitchen and baking into the wee hours every morning ain’t gonna solve your problems or make you happy.” He shuffled out of the room.

The spacious room suddenly felt crowded and hot. She needed a break. Sabrina quickly washed and dried her hands, then plucked at her cowl-neck sweater. If only she could turn back the clock to October, back to when she’d been normal and numb. No. She smoothed a hand over her tummy. She didn’t want to go back. Going back meant undoing the miracle she and Gavin had created and forgetting those wonderful, magical, Christmas-card moments they had shared.

The only thing she’d change if given the chance was to slow everything down. Her relationship with Gavin had been too … everything. Too fast. Too intense. Too perfect. Too good to be true. And now … too painful.

What else could she do? She’d fought for her parents’ attention and failed to get it. Then she’d begged Russell to come home and share her grief after she’d miscarried. And even though his superiors would have granted him leave, Russell had chosen to stay with his men and do his job over being with her. She wasn’t going to set herself up for another rejection from Gavin.

If you don’t have the guts to ask for something, then you don’t deserve it. Sabrina heard her grandmother’s voice as clearly as if Colleen Caldwell were standing in the kitchen kneading dough and dispensing advice the way she’d done every summer of Sabrina’s life.

But was her grandmother’s wisdom right?

Sabrina fussed with the tie strings of her apron. No. She wasn’t going to beg for love. She wanted a man who chose to be with her, one who needed her as much as she did him. If Gavin wasn’t that man then she didn’t want him.

Yes, you do.

Sad, but true. She still loved him. Gavin had hurt her, but he’d also taught her how to play again, how to feel, and he’d shown her a side of Aspen she’d never experienced before—Aspen through the eyes of a native who truly loved this place, even though he let his father drive him away.

And that was the key, she realized. When you loved something or someone, you couldn’t let them push you away. You had to push back and fight for what you wanted.

She couldn’t walk away without at least making an attempt to see if what she’d shared with Gavin was more than just an act on his part. His touch, his lovemaking, his smiles had all seemed too genuine to have been nothing more than a pretense to seduce her into marriage.

And didn’t her child deserve better than an emotionally and geographically distant father? Yes. And the only way this baby had a chance at having an involved father was if Sabrina found the courage to confront Gavin and demand he be a better parent to their child than his or hers had been to them. If he’d already signed the relinquishment papers her lawyer had sent him then she’d just have to change his mind.

And, as Pops had so wisely pointed out, she couldn’t do that hiding in the kitchen.

“Meg?” she called.

The inn’s housekeeper stuck her head around the corner of the laundry room door. “Yes?”

“Everything is under control here. Leave the dough to rise and I’ll deal with it later. I’m going out.”

“In this weather? Honey, you’ll need sled dogs to travel now. The snow is really coming down. Visibility up on the mountains can’t be good. Our guests will be returning from the slopes before dark, I’m thinking.”

Surprised, Sabrina glanced out the kitchen window. Leaden skies dumped big, fat flakes. Her heart sank. “I guess I could put the chains on the tires.”

“Can’t whatever it is wait until tomorrow?”

“No. It can’t wait another minute.” She pulled on her coat, hat and gloves. “Dinner is in the oven. It’ll be done at five if I’m not back.”

“The girls and I can handle serving. Do what you’ve got to do. Just be careful out there.”

Sabrina felt a twinge of guilt at leaving the inn’s staff to cope, but that is why she’d hired extra help for the tourist season. She stepped out on the back porch and the cold hit her like a blow, but she gritted her teeth and headed for the barn to get the chains for the minivan’s tires. She’d made it halfway to the building when the sounds of bells caught her attention.

Her heart skipped at the memory of the carriage ride with Gavin and what had happened afterward. They’d made love and made a baby. She’d never be able to hear sleigh bells again without remembering. But right now she had more important things to do than reminisce.

She ducked her head and trudged onward, but the bells kept coming closer. She stubbornly refused to look. “Probably tourists taking a sleigh ride.”

She stepped into the cold barn, rummaged until she located the chains and headed back out the side door only to stop in her tracks. A sleigh she didn’t recognize stood in the inn’s driveway, but two familiar horses snorted frosty white clouds into the air from the harnesses. The man stepping down from the vehicle didn’t glance her way, but she’d recognize that muscular frame and that confident bearing anywhere. Gavin. He marched toward the inn’s back door.

“Gavin,” she called out, her voice cracking.

He stopped and pivoted. Her heart swooped to her stomach like a skier plunging down the mountainside. He closed the distance between them in long determined strides.

She wet her dry lips. “What are you doing here?”

He looked tired and tense as his dark eyes prowled slowly over her, resurrecting memories of his hands and mouth doing the same. He jerked his head toward the sleigh. “Get in.”

Her breath hitched. “It’s cold. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather put the horses in the barn and go inside the inn?”

“If we go into that barn together, we’re going to end up making love and not talking. And as much as I want you, it’ll have to wait.”

A quiver started deep inside her, then worked its way outward until her entire body trembled. “Oh. I—I—” The tire chains in her hands rattled. She swallowed and tried again. “I was coming to see you.”

He took the chains from her, carried them back to the barn. She took the sixty seconds while he was out of sight to try and gather her shattered composure. Why was he here? The divorce papers? The relinquishment form? Both should have been delivered this morning.

He returned. “The sleigh is safer than slick tires. Let’s go.”

He gripped her elbow and pulled her forward, hitting her body with a bolus of adrenaline. How could his touch affect her so deeply? He’d married her for land. Or had he? Was Pops right? Was Gavin running scared? Heaven knew the way he made her feel terrified her.

“Are you sure the horses will be okay?”

“They’re conditioned to the weather and they have the proper shoes.” He helped her into the vehicle but this wasn’t the one they’d used before. This one had runners instead of wheels. She settled on the seat and pulled the blankets over her legs. He climbed in beside her, his body only inches from hers, then released the brake and clucked to the horses. He guided them back to the road where, thankfully, the traffic was light due to the heavily falling snow.

“Where are we going?”

“Wait and see. Are you warm enough?”

“Yes.” An electric blanket kept the chill away and the curved top kept the snow off their heads. But neither did anything for her doubts. She knotted her gloved hands and tried to find the words to broach her request. How did you order a man to be a good father? Giving him a chance to concentrate on maneuvering them through traffic was the perfect excuse to stay silent.

He turned the sleigh into the Jarrod Ridge driveway, then took the path toward the mine—the cause behind everything that had happened in the past twenty-four whirlwind days. Their meeting, dating, marriage, baby and separation.

“Look in the compartment,” he said.

Sabrina leaned forward and opened the small box in the front dashboard of the carriage. She withdrew a sheaf of papers and unrolled them. She’d seen this document before. “It’s the deed to the mine.”

“Made out to you.”

She scanned the words and saw her name, verifying what he said. “Why?”

He pulled the horses to a stop beneath a covered shelter that hadn’t been here last time she’d visited the mine, then he set the brake and dropped the reins. She looked around, noting the stakes and the trenches in the nearby soil rapidly getting covered with snow. “I’ve halted construction on the lodge.”

“Why?” she repeated.

“Because I married you under false pretenses, this land is rightfully yours.” He paused and swallowed, his dark gaze unwavering. “But I’m hoping you’ll share it with me. With our child.”

Stunned, she stared at him. “What are you saying, Gavin?”

“I may have married you for the wrong reasons, but I fell in love with you for the right ones.”

Her eyes, throat and lungs burned. She searched his eyes, seeing the truth, the emotion behind the words. He loved her. “Gavin—”

He held up a hand. “Hear me out. You stole my heart, Sabrina, with your smiles, your generosity and your courage. You reminded me why I love this place.”

The pages crumpled in her hands. He took them from her and dropped them on the seat, then climbed down from the carriage and held out his hand. Too dumbfounded to do anything else, Sabrina placed hers in his and let him assist her from the carriage. Cold as it was, she resented the gloves separating their flesh. He led her toward the path and stopped a hundred feet away at the overlook where he’d allowed Pops to rest the day they’d hiked to the mine.

“I told Henry that if I ever returned to Aspen I’d build a house here overlooking the valley. That day I didn’t have the courage to face the bitter memories I’d left here. Today, because of you, I do.”

“Gavin, I don’t want to be any man’s anchor. You love your job.”

“You’re no one’s anchor. You’re the fulcrum on which everything else balances. The idea of not being able to come home to you every day, to hold you in my arms at night and to make love with you knocks me off center.”

Her knees went weak. “You’re not saying this just because of the baby, are you?”

He shook his head. “I never expected to find you. The baby is a bonus—first of several I hope to have with you. Let’s build a home in this spot overlooking the inn and raise a family together.”

“But you love your job—”

“I’ve traveled the globe because I had no reason to put down roots. I was trying to fill a void, an emptiness that you erased the moment I met you. I can limit myself to local assignments or consult on projects that won’t keep me away from you for weeks on end.”

He peeled off his gloves, then hers. When they were skin to skin, palm to palm with their fingers laced he squeezed her hands. “Be my reason for coming home.”

He was offering everything she’d ever dreamed of. “I don’t want you to feel as if you’re giving up everything for me, for us. I don’t want our child to feel like you resent his presence.”

“I love you and I will love this child and any others we might have. I promise you, Sabrina, if you’ll allow me to be a part of your life, I’ll be losing nothing and gaining everything.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle. “Tell me I haven’t lost you, that you still love me.”

A tear scalded its way down her cheek. Gavin brushed it away before it had a chance to cool. “I do love you, Gavin. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much.”

“I promise you won’t regret it.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her so tenderly Sabrina’s tears overflowed, then he pulled back and tugged her down the path.

“Where are we going?”

“Into the mine. I want to carve my initials next to yours in that beam for all the future Jarrod generations to see. One of these days we’ll be telling our grandkids it all started with a little hole in the ground … one filled with silver and dreams, but the riches weren’t in the minerals.”

Dynasties: The Ashtons

Entangled

Eileen Wilks

A Rare Sensation

Kathie DeNosky

Society-Page Seduction

Maureen Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Entangled

Eileen Wilks

This book is dedicated to my fellow Desire authors – those on the loop, and especially those who participated in this continuity series.

You’ve been a delight to work with. Desire authors are a great bunch, giving and supportive and maybe a little crazy. I’m glad to be one of you.

Prologue

Nobody expected the church to be full. At eleventhirty on a rainy Wednesday morning in Crawley, Nebraska, most folks were at work. But the postmistress was there, and the druggist and his wife, and the banker with his wife sat in their usual pew. Many of the county’s farming families were represented, for the families of the bride and the groom were farmers.

And, of course, the Mortimer twins sat in their usual spots—sixth from the front on the center aisle. Flora and Dora hadn’t missed a wedding in this church for fifty-five years. A little rain couldn’t dampen their enthusiasm.

“Doesn’t young Spencer look handsome,” Flora whispered.

Her sister snorted. “Handsome is as handsome does. You can’t tell me that hellion would be up there waiting for his bride if—”

The postmistress turned around and gave them an admonishing look.

“Don’t you look at me that way, Emmaline Bradley,” Dora said. “Francis is still on ‘Rock of Ages.’ No reason we can’t talk when she’s still on ‘Rock of Ages.’”

Flora tugged on her arm. “Look. They’re seating Spencer’s father,” she whispered. “He doesn’t look very happy about the wedding, does he?”

Dora sniffed. “Frederick Ashton hasn’t been happy since he was weaned. Got two moods, that man—mad and madder. What Pastor Brown was thinking of to make him a deacon…well, that’s beside the point.”

Lucy Johnson, on the other side of Flora, leaned closer. “At least Frederick made sure his son did right by poor Sally.”

Flora bobbed her head in agreement like a chicken pecking at the dirt. “Poor Sally. I can see why she fell into temptation. That Ashton boy is so…so…”

“Handsome,” Dora finished dryly. “I’m not so sure Frederick did Sally any favors.”

“Oh, Spencer’s just young,” Lucy said. “A touch on the wild side, maybe, but so was my Charlie before we married. And we’ve been together forty-two years now.”

Emmaline Bradley turned around again. “Shh!”

Flora flushed, Lucy’s lips thinned and Dora didn’t notice. She was frowning at the back of Frederick Ashton’s head three rows up. There had been rumors that the man used a heavy hand with his sons. He was big, burly and domineering—the kind who liked to say, “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” Dora was sure neither Spencer nor his brother, David, had been in danger of being spoiled.

Francis struck the opening chord of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” Here comes the bride…

At the back of the church, Sally Barnett pressed a hand to her unhappy stomach. The satin wedding gown felt cold and slippery.

“Butterflies, sweetheart?” her father said.

More like nausea. But Daddy looked so anxious…surely Mama was right. Spencer would settle down once the babies came. She summoned a smile. “I’m nervous,” she whispered.

He patted her hand. “You’re supposed to be. This is our cue, honey.”

Together they stepped out in the stately slow march that would carry them up the aisle to where Spencer waited. Sally’s skirts swished over the carpet and her heart pounded and pounded. She clutched her bouquet so tightly it was a wonder she didn’t squeeze it right in two.

Spencer looked so wonderful in his tux. So what if they’d had to rent it? She’d told him over and over that didn’t matter…except that it did. To him. He was hungry for things, for the trappings of success. But she understood why. He’d grown up hearing his mother whine about how little they had, how much better things would have been if his father had sold the farm years ago. He’d come to believe that happiness came from things, not people.

She’d show him differently, she promised herself as her father released her and stepped back. She’d be such a good wife to him that he’d never regret this day.

Her heart turned over when Spencer took her hand, just as it always had for him. He didn’t love her. Not in the deep, aching way she loved him. But she’d be patient. She’d teach him how to love.

Nausea forgotten, Sally’s face shone as she listened to the preacher repeat the familiar words. Her young groom stood tall and straight beside her.

Spencer glanced at Sally. Look at the stupid bitch smile, he thought. Thinks she has me trapped, doesn’t she? The selfish cow had gone crying to her daddy when she found out she was pregnant, and he’d tattled to the old man…A trickle of cold sweat ran down Spencer’s spine.

“Do you, Spencer Winston Ashton, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?” the preacher said. “To have and to hold…”

Frederick Ashton was the one person in the world Spencer feared. And however much lip service Frederick paid to the Bible, his real god was his standing in the community. He’d made it clear that Spencer wouldn’t be allowed to tarnish that.

“…for richer, for poorer…”

Maybe Sally had won for now, but not for long, he promised himself. He was destined for great things. He’d always known that.

“…and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Spencer said solemnly. Someway, somehow, he’d find a way out of this dead-end town, out into the wide world waiting for him.

Chapter One

Napa Valley, California. Forty-three years later.

Dixie turned off the highway with “Cowboys from Hell” blasting away on the stereo—her notion of motivational music. Who could succumb to nerves with Pantera singing about cowboys from way down under coming to take the town?

Her palms were damp on the steering wheel.

She’d missed the light the most, she thought as she pointed the nose of her Toyota down the little county road. Seasons took sharp turns in New York. She’d enjoyed that, jazzed by the way winter hit with a howl and a slap, knocking autumn flat on its face. California’s seasons jostled for position more politely, one blending into the next in a watercolor wash rather than the charcoal ultimatums of the North.

But the light…January light in the Valley didn’t bounce around with the flat, frenetic energy of summer, but smoothed itself around tree trunks and buildings, settling on roads and earth with a visual hum.

She was looking forward to painting that light. And that’s why she was here, she reminded herself as she slowed. She had a job to do. If she could settle a few ghosts while she was at it, well and good. The silly things had started tugging on her sleeve after she returned to California. It was time to look them in their pale, wispy little faces and get on with her life.

The arch over the entry was tall and wide, a graceful cast-iron curve with replicas of the property’s namesake vines twining up its sides.

She was here. Dixie took a deep breath and turned onto the driveway leading up to The Vines.

The house lay directly ahead. She took the curve to the left, heading for the winery, offices and tasting room, housed together in a large, two-story building with a roof that made her think of a Chinese peasant’s peaked hat. She pulled into the parking lot in a car crowded with ghosts, shut off the ignition and sat there a moment, absorbing the changes…and the things that had remained the same.

Then she retrieved her hat and her purse, checked on Hulk and opened the car door.

The air smelled of earth and grapes. The scents slithered past her conscious mind and plopped into the swampy goo of the unconscious, splattering her with memories.

Not sad memories, though. Loud, laughing, sometimes angry, but not sad. That’s what made this so hard. She took a deep breath and let the ghosts slide through her, then stepped forward.

“Dixie!” A slim young woman in a cream-colored suit stepped out on the porch. Her hair had undoubtedly started the day in a sleek knot at her nape. The sleek was long gone, but most of the knot remained. She hurried down the steps. “You’re late. Was the traffic bad? What did you forget? Where’s your cat?”

Laughing, Dixie caught her friend up in a hug. “Traffic sucked, I won’t know what I forgot until I can’t find it and Hulk is asleep in his carrier. God, you look great!” She stepped back, looking Mercedes over. “Skinny as ever—they’d adore you in New York—and I love the wispies.” She flicked one of the curls frantically escaping bondage. “But that is one boring outfit.”

“We can’t all dress like artistes.” Mercedes’ mouth tucked down and she shook her head. “Not that I could pull off an outfit like that, anyway.”

“You like it? I call it my Beach Blanket Bimbo look.” Dixie had changed her mind and her outfit five times this morning, finally deciding on a what-the-hell combination of yellow vintage capris and matching halter top with a Hawaiian shirt in lieu of a jacket. The oversize sunglasses and straw hat were more sixties than fifties, but Dixie wasn’t a purist.

Mercedes laughed and started for the building. “But that’s just it. You look very retro chic, not like a bimbo at all.”

“Well, this is the wrong era for you,” Dixie said, falling into step beside Mercedes. “I’m the one with a body straight out of the forties or fifties. You’d look great in flapper clothes—long, lean and sophisticated.”

“I am so not the flapper type.”

“You’re wearing a button-down oxford shirt with that suit, Merry. You need help.”

Mercedes held a hand up, half laughing, half alarmed. “Oh, no, you don’t. Do not help me. I’m not up to it right now.”

“Hmm.” Dixie stepped up on the porch and looked around. Eleven years ago this had been a smaller, less stylish building. “Someone does good work. The expansion is invisible—it looks like it was always this way. Now show me your lair.”

“If you mean the tasting room, it’s through here. We’re talking about a possible remodel—Jillian’s idea.”

Dixie tipped her head to one side as she stepped inside. Mercedes was tense, which was weird. She was the one whose stomach had every right to be doing the bubble-bubble-toil-and-trouble bit. “Hey, this is nice.” She took her hat off and pushed her sunglasses on top of her head, looking around.

Lots of exposed wood, subdued lighting, great views…nice room, yes, but it suffered from split personality. It couldn’t make up its mind whether it was rustic or modern. “What did you have in mind for the remodel?”

“Nothing’s decided yet, but we want to unify the look, tie it to the theme of the promotional campaign.” The tense set to Mercedes’ shoulder didn’t ease. “The offices are upstairs. Eli’s out in the vineyard, so I’ll take you to Cole.” She headed for a door at the back of the room at a good clip.

Dixie didn’t move.

“Dixie?” Mercedes paused with the door open, looking over her shoulder with a frown. “Are you coming?”

“Not until you tell me what has you wound tighter than a cheap watch. And don’t pull that princess face on me,” she warned. “It won’t work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve turned polite,” Dixie observed. “Always a bad sign. What is it? Is Cole upset that you hired me for the illustrations?” The flash of guilt on Mercedes’ face made her exclaim, “He does know, right? Mercedes?”

“Not…exactly.”

Dixie closed her eyes and put a hand on her stomach. Yep, things were churning around nicely in there. “Am I going to be fired before I start?”

“He can’t do that,” Mercedes assured her. “We’ve got a contract, and he and Eli gave me full authority to hire you. That is, they didn’t know it was you, but I told them all the places your work has appeared, and they were eager to sign you on.”

“And here I was afraid you’d grown risk averse,” Dixie muttered, opening her eyes. “What were you thinking?”

“That Louret Winery needs you for our new ad campaign. You’re the best.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Dixie said, not being one to underestimate her talent. “But it doesn’t explain your vow of silence.”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to have your two big brothers for bosses?” Mercedes demanded. “I did not want to waste time arguing with Cole. Come on, Dixie. I know this is a little awkward, but it’s not like you’re really shook. You?” She grinned. “A tornado wouldn’t rattle you.”

Shook, no. Pit-of-the-stomach scared…yeah, that was about right. “Cole’s face ought to be an interesting sight when I walk in.”

Mercedes laughed, relieved. “I’m looking forward to it. And then I’m ducking.”

“Thanks. You’ve made me feel so much better.”

Behind the tasting room was a short hall with doors leading into the winery proper and stairs to the office area. Not luxurious, Dixie thought as she started up the stairs after Mercedes, but several notches above utilitarian. It looked as if the winery was prospering.

Eleven years was a long time. What was she afraid of, anyway?

That he hated her.

She put a hand on her stomach again. It had been a long time, yes, but Cole was not a tepid man. He ran hot or cold without lingering much in the temperate zone…though most people didn’t see that, fooled by the glossy surface.

Cole did have shine, she admitted. But so does a new calculator.

At least he used to. Maybe he’d gotten fat. Mercedes hadn’t mentioned it, but Dixie hadn’t exactly encouraged her to talk about her brother. “Hey, Merry,” she said as she reached the top of the stairs, “has Cole been putting weight on?”

Mercedes gave her a puzzled look. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Ah, well. Can’t win them all.” However this turned out, she could take comfort in one thing. Cole wouldn’t have forgotten her. “Here,” she said, digging into her pocket. “After you cut and run, you can go get Hulk out of the suvvy and put him in my room.”

Mercedes accepted the keys. “Um…suvvy?”

“SUV sounds ugly. Suvvy sounds cute.”

“Suvvy. Right.” Mercedes shook her head, smiling—and impulsively reached out and hugged Dixie with one arm. “I’m so glad you moved back. Sorry for the reason, of course, but glad to have you close again.”

“Me, too,” Dixie said quietly. “On both counts. Well.” She ran a hand through her hair, straightened her shoulders, and said, “How does that poem go? ‘Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!…Into the Valley of Death…’ I can’t remember the rest.”

Mercedes grinned. “Something about ‘cannons to the left of them, cannons to the right.’ I’m pretty sure Cole doesn’t have any cannons in his office.” She turned and rapped smartly on the door on her right.

“I notice you’re not disputing the Valley of Death part.”

Mercedes ignored that and opened the door. “Cole, our artist is here. Shannon’s sick, so I’ve got to man the tasting room in twenty minutes. I thought you might show her around.”

“I’d be happy to,” said a smooth, almost forgotten baritone. “As soon as I…” His voice trailed away as Dixie stepped in behind Mercedes.

He hasn’t changed. That was her first thought—and it was quite wrong.

Cole was still lean as a whip with mink-brown hair cut short in an effort to tame the curl. He had neat, small ears set flat to the head, a strong nose and straight slashes of eyebrows. But the face that had been almost too good-looking eleven years ago had acquired character lines that rubbed off a bit of the gloss.

Then there was the way his mouth was hanging open. That was definitely different. She liked it.

Dixie smiled slowly, hardly noticing when the door closed behind Mercedes. “Hello, Cole.”

Cole’s face smoothed into a professional smile. “Welcome to The Vines. As I was saying, I’d be glad to show you around…as soon as I’ve killed my little sister.”

Dixie burst out laughing. “And here I’d been thinking you’d be all cold and businesslike.”

“And I know how you feel about businesslike. I’ll try to avoid it.” He gave her a thorough, up-and-down appraisal that stopped an inch short of insult. “You’ve always tended to run late, but eleven years is excessive, even for you.”

She shook her head. “You aren’t going to fluster me that way.”

“I can try.”

Time to switch topics, she decided, and glanced around the office, which was ruthlessly neat everywhere except for the big, dark-wood desk. A spotted canine head poked around the corner of that desk, brown eyes looking at her hopefully. “Oh!” She bent, smiling. “Who’s this?”

“Tilly. She won’t let you pet her.”

“No?” Challenged, she held out her hand for the dog to sniff—and the animal cringed back out of sight behind the desk. “She is timid, isn’t she?”

“That, yes. Also neurotic and not too bright,” he said, reaching down to fondle the animal Dixie couldn’t see. “Tilly’s scared of storms, other dogs, birds, new people, loud noises—you name it, she’s afraid of it.”

Dixie moved around to the side of the desk so she could see the dog. “She’s some kind of Dalmatian mix?”

“That and greyhound, the vet thinks, with maybe some plain old mutt mixed in. I found her on the side of the highway about a year ago.”

“How in the world did you get her to go with you if she’s scared of everyone?”

He glanced down at Tilly, his smile amused—and slightly baffled. “She seemed to think she’d been waiting for me. I stopped, opened my door, and she jumped in.”

Dixie shook her head. “She is female.”

“But not my usual type.” His crooked smile hadn’t changed—a downtuck on one side, uptilt on the other, as if he were wryly hedging his bets. “All right, Tilly, that’s all. Lie down.” Amazingly, she did. He looked back at Dixie. “Are you waiting to be invited to sit down? By all means, have a seat.”

Dixie thought that the dog seemed just Cole’s type—obedient. Consciously virtuous, she forbore to mention that as she sat in the chair in front of the cluttered desk.

So far so good. The tug in the pit of her stomach was mostly memory, she told herself, a response to remembered passion. It had nothing to do with the man in front of her now. “You’ve done wonders with Louret Wines.”

“Eli is the wonder worker. I’m just the bottomline man. How’s life been treating you? You’re looking good.”

“My life’s been full of the usual ups and downs, thank you. How’s yours?”

“Busy. You’ve made a name for yourself. Congratulations.”

A laugh sputtered out. “This will teach me to make a big deal out of things. You wouldn’t believe how I’d built up this meeting in my mind. Now, after only a couple of quick jabs, we’re exchanging polite compliments.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You’re disappointed.”

“No. Well, maybe a little.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if I wanted to be treated to that frigid way you have with people you don’t like. You can do cold better than the North wind’s granny.”

Something flashed in his eyes, but his smile was easy. “I’m a warm, lovable guy these days. Mellow.”

That made her grin. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“You’ll be here a few days, I understand.”

“Poking my nose into everything. That’s how I work.”

“Hmm.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been compared to Maxwell and Rockwell—not in terms of style, but recognition. I’m wondering how we can afford you.”

Dixie let herself look amazed, which wasn’t hard. She’d had no idea he’d paid attention to her career. “Didn’t you read the contract?”

“For some reason Mercedes wanted to handle everything herself,” he said dryly.

“Well, you’re buying reproduction rights to my paintings, not the paintings themselves. They’d cost you a good deal more.” She planned to give one to Mercedes, but that was friendship, not business.

“So you’re not doing this as a favor to Mercedes?”

She shrugged. “That’s part of it.”

At last he stood. “Would you like that tour now?”

“Let’s go.”

Cole waved for Dixie to go down the stairs first, which left him looking at the top of her head. It shouldn’t have been an enticing view, but her hair had always fascinated him. Dirty blond, she’d called it. Sand colored, he’d thought. A dozen shades of shifting sand falling fine and straight, like sand poured from an open hand.

“Mercedes will have told you in general what we’re looking for,” he said as they reached the short hall at the bottom of the stairs. “We’re planning a series of ads in some of the upscale magazines and want a painterly look for them, nothing high-tech or mass-produced. We want them to convey the handson, personal quality of our wines.”

“She did.” Dixie had a slow smile, as if she liked to take her time and enjoy the process. “She also said you gave her a hard time about some aspects of the concept.”

“You can see who won. You’re here, even though it’s winter—not the best time for pictures of the vineyard.”

“But I’m not painting the vineyard. I’m painting the people.”

“She said something about that, but I don’t see how a picture of Eli fondling the grapes will sell wine.”

“She also said you don’t listen to her.” Dixie shook her head. Her hair swayed gently with the motion. “There are thousands of good wines out there. Yours may be the best, but how do you show that in an image?”

“Wine, grapes, the vines themselves—they’re strong images. A good artist could make them memorable.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I could paint you a picture of grapes that would make teetotalers weep for what they’re missing. But everyone’s seen beautiful pictures of grapes. One more, no matter how well done, won’t identify what’s unique about Louret. Your ads shouldn’t sell wine. They should sell Louret.”

“I’m familiar with the idea of branding,” he said dryly. “But why pictures of people?” He’d heard Mercedes’ reasons—and they were good, or he wouldn’t have signed off on the idea. He wanted to hear Dixie’s take on it.

“Because with a boutique winery, it’s all about the people. You’ve established yourself with your pinot noir and merlot. Your cabernet sauvignon wins awards routinely. But the reds come from your grapes, your soil, unlike the new chardonnay. You want people to understand that they aren’t just buying great grapes when they buy a bottle of Louret wine. They’re buying Eli’s nose and a sip of your mother’s heritage.”

His eyebrows lifted. This didn’t sound like the passionately impractical rebel he’d once known. “Either you’ve gotten into wine or you’ve done some research.”

“Wine does come up when Mercedes and I talk, but yes, I’ve done research. I paint quickly, but I spend a good deal of time researching my subject before I start.”

“What happened to your art?” he asked, suddenly curious. “The noncommercial stuff, I mean.”

She shrugged. “The art world is intensely parochial. If you aren’t playing in whatever stream is fashionable, you aren’t doing ‘significant work’—which means being part of the dialogue between artists, other artists and art critics.”

“You used to like the avant-garde stuff.”

“I still do. I just don’t want to play in that stream myself. I want to do representational art—which is only slightly less damning than doing commercial art. Which I also do, obviously.” She chuckled. “An instructor once told me that I have the soul of an illustrator. He did not mean it as a compliment.”

“Some bastards shouldn’t be allowed to teach.”

“No, he was right. Of course, I think of Rembrandt as a superb illustrator, too.” She grinned. “I’ve never been accused of false modesty.”

Or any other kind, he thought, amused. Pity he found that so attractive. “You don’t find it, ah, stifling to your creativity to work on the commercial end of the spectrum?”

“I’m in a position to pick and choose my jobs these days. I have a good deal of artistic control, and I don’t take work that doesn’t excite me.”

Yet she’d accepted this job…and for less money, he suspected, than she usually charged. A favor for a friend? “You’re excited about wine?”

She leveled a long, thoughtful look at him. “Are you going to give me that tour, or not?”

“By all means.” He pushed open the nearest door. “This is the bottling room. Randy handles things here.”

Dixie hadn’t changed much. She still had a body that could make a man beg, and a smile that suggested she’d like it if he did. And she still drew people to her, male and female alike. For the next hour, Cole watched her charm everyone she met.

Randy fell easily, but he was young and born to flirt. Russ, who was foreman at the vineyards, wasn’t much more of a test—he was older, but he was still male. The real challenge came when she met Mrs. McKillup. The crotchety old bookkeeper actually smiled. Cole didn’t think he’d seen her do that over anything less important than a new spreadsheet program.

And none of it bothered him. That realization gusted in while he was watching her twist Russ around her little finger. Jealousy wasn’t even a smudge on the horizon. It wasn’t there at all.

The lightness around his heart grew with each introduction. He hadn’t needed proof that he was over her. Once he knew she’d really left him he’d set out to forget her, and had done a damn fine job of it. Some men enjoyed sighing over a lost love. Not him.

But he hadn’t known for sure he was past the jealousy, not until today. He could stand back and watch her flirt, appreciate her body and her easy laugh, without sinking into that old swamp.

Maybe he wouldn’t kill his sister.

“You let me have a look at your laptop,” Mrs. McKillup was saying as they prepared to leave her to her numbers. “I suspect you just need more memory. Very easy to install, if so.”

“Thanks.” Dixie smiled ruefully. “I’d really appreciate help from someone with a functioning left brain. I think mine gave up on me years ago in disgust.”

“Not much doubt about the health of Mrs. McKillup’s left brain,” Cole said when they were on the stairs, headed down. “You could cut yourself on it.”

“What an image.” She grinned as they reached the bottom floor. “She reminds me of my third-grade teacher. The woman terrified me.”

“You weren’t showing any signs of fear.”

“Oh, I decided a long time ago that it’s easier to like people, and you know how I hate to waste energy. It’s also much more interesting.”

And that, he understood, was the root of her charm. It wasn’t about getting people to like her. It was about liking them. Which might be what had gone wrong with them—there’d been too much she hadn’t really liked about him.

The flash of anger surprised him. He squelched it. Old news. “Some people aren’t easy to like.”

“True. And a few aren’t worth the effort, but you can’t know that until you’ve tried.” She opened the door to the tasting room. “I’d better get the rest of my stuff unloaded. I’m not sure where to put it, though.”

“Mother has you in the carriage house. You’ll remember it.”

She stopped with the door open and aimed a glance over her shoulder at him, her face quite blank. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Yes, I do.”

The carriage house was set away from the main house—not far, but enough to offer some privacy. On that long-ago summer, he’d been living in the big house still; Dixie had moved in with her mother after graduating while she looked for work. She’d come to visit Mercedes one day.

By that night, she and Cole had been lovers. They’d met at the carriage house often. Made love there.

She gave a little shake of her head, half of a smile settling on her mouth without touching her eyes. He couldn’t decipher the emotion there. “You going to give me a hand with my things, or do you need to get back to work? I warn you—I don’t travel light.”

“No problem. I love to flex my muscles for the girls.”

Her gaze wandered over him, head to toe, a spark of mischief replacing the unknown emotion. “Got a tank top? It would be so much more fun to watch you flex in one of those.”

The rolling rise of heat didn’t surprise him. She was a woman who’d always provoke a response in a man, and when she looked at him like that he’d have to be dead not to respond. But the strength of it was unwelcome. “Still playing with matches, Dixie?” he asked softly.

“I run with scissors sometimes, too.”

She was far too amused. For now, he’d let her get away with that. Later, though…Dixie wasn’t a woman for the long haul. He knew that, and he knew why. But she was hell on wheels for the short term. “Let’s go exercise my muscles,” he said lightly, leaving it up to her to decide what kind of exercise he had in mind.

Chapter Two

“You’re driving an SUV.”

“I prefer to call it a suvvy.” Dixie did not care for the look of unholy delight on Cole’s face. She opened the door on the driver’s side. “Were you going to ride to the carriage house with me, or would you prefer to tote and flex over there on foot?”

He climbed in, looking around. “I could have pictured you in a Ferrari. Or something tiny and fuel efficient with a bumper sticker asking if I’ve hugged a tree today. But an SUV?” He shook his head, grinning. “It’s so soccer mom.”

“Nothing wrong with soccer moms.” She hit the accelerator a little too hard. “I do a fair amount of work on location. I needed to be able to haul around my equipment, not to mention the Hulk, and this is the most fuel efficient suvvy on the market.” And why was she so defensive, anyway? “So what are you driving these days? A shiny new Beamer or a Benz?”

“A five-year-old Jeep Grand Cherokee, eight cylinders, standard,” he answered promptly.

“An SUV.”

“Yep.”

She glanced at him—and they both burst out laughing. “Were we really that shallow before?” she asked. “Arguing about cars as if it mattered.” She shook her head, remembering.

“Speak for yourself. I wasn’t shallow. Just stupid.”

Not stupid, she thought. Obsessed, maybe. Ambitious, certainly. Grimly determined to outdo the father who’d walked out on him, to prove that he and his family didn’t need Spencer Ashton in any way—definitely. Dixie had understood that. She just hadn’t been able to live with it.

The carriage house was located just behind and to the east of the main house, but to get there by car they had to drive well past the house and circle back, passing through a portion of the vineyards and a small grove of olive trees. Even in January, the trees were picturesque with their knotty limbs and graygreen foliage, and the hummingbird sage and licorice plants beneath them were green.

The grove was even prettier in the summer, surrounded by rows and rows of lush vines, Dixie remembered wistfully. But perhaps it was just as well she was here in January.

“So why a suvvy?” she asked lightly as she came to a stop in front of the small stucco building. “You can’t need to haul things around that often.”

“Not as much these days, no. But for a while I was. I bought a small cabin a few years ago and have been working on it ever since.”

“A fixer-upper?” she asked, surprised. The Cole she’d known had wanted the newest and best of everything.

“You could call it that, if you’re feeling generous.” He opened the door.

She got out. “What would you call it?”

“Pretty decent now. Uninhabitable when I bought it. I wanted the land, the view, and planned to tear down the cabin and put up something new and shiny. Somewhere along the line, though, I got hooked on power tools. The cabin’s been my excuse to use them. Do you need all of that carried in?” He gestured at the piles in the back.

She grinned. “I warned you.”

“So you did.”

Dixie carried the smaller suitcase and the tote with her paints. Cole grabbed the other suitcase and the huge roll of untreated canvas. This diminished but didn’t empty the pile in her suvvy.

The door to the carriage house was unlocked. Dixie pushed it open and stopped a foot inside.

Nothing had changed. From the pine paneling to the white curtains to the simple furniture, everything looked just as it had eleven years ago.

Cole nudged her. “Sightsee later. This is heavy. Are you sure you don’t have a body rolled up inside?”

“Of course not. The blood would make a mess of my canvas.”

“Your weights, then? Move, Dixie.”

She moved, stopping beside the battered leather couch. The last time she’d seen that couch, she’d been naked. “Isn’t this the same Navajo blanket on the back of the couch?” A bit worn now, but the colors were as beautiful faded as they had been new. Bemused, she ran a hand over it.

“I remember how it looked wrapped around you.”

Her hand remained on the blanket. Her gaze flew to Cole’s—and the past crashed into the present, smashing itself all over her, making a mess of her mind and her heartbeat.

At that moment she wanted him. Wanted him badly.

Twenty-two fuzzy pounds thumped against her leg, nearly knocking her over and making a noise like a chain saw.

Cole’s eyes widened. “What in the world—?”

“Meet Hulk.” Thank you, Hulk, she told him silently, bending to pick him up. He sprawled, limp with pleasure, over her shoulder while she ran a hand over cowlicky gray fur. Hulk loved attention.

“As in The Incredible?” Cole looked dubious. “He is a cat, right?”

“That’s the rumor.”

“I’d better let my mother know about him.”

“She’s not allergic or something, is she? Mercedes said it was okay to bring him.” She rubbed him under the chin the way he liked, and his motor revved loudly. “He always travels with me.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. I don’t think she was prepared, though. She hasn’t stocked the grounds with antelope or gazelle for him to feed on.” He eyed the cat. “Good thing there aren’t any small children in the neighborhood.”

“Very funny. Hulk’s big, but he’s a sweetie. He loves everyone, children included.”

“For dessert?”

She huffed out a breath. “What do you have against my cat?”

“Tilly.”

“There shouldn’t be a problem. If he has to, Hulk will take to a tree, but he isn’t easily intimidated.”

“Tilly is. Though terrified describes her better.”

Oh. She grimaced. “I’ll try to keep him in.” She detached Hulk and poured him onto the couch. He gave her a reproachful look and jumped down. Cat honor demanded that he not stay where he’d been put, even if he wanted to.

It took three more trips to finish unloading her suvvy. Dixie managed not to slide back into memory land, but she was very ready for Cole to leave by the time they brought in the last few items. Her emotions were a jumble. She needed a sit.

With typical contrariness, once he’d deposited her bag of books Cole seemed ready to stay and chat. “Weird pillow,” he said, nodding at the zafu she’d placed on the floor by an empty wall. “Gives me all kinds of kinky thoughts.”

“It’s for my sits.” When he looked blank she added, “Meditation, Cole. You have heard of meditation?”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Does that mean you aren’t practicing witchcraft anymore?”

“It wasn’t my path.” She huffed out an impatient breath. “Look, do you still run all the time?”

“Two or three times a week.”

“That’s your mental-health break. I sit.”

He burst out laughing. “No, no—” he said, holding up a hand. “Don’t blow up at me. I just thought that I should have known you’d prefer sitting to running.”

She couldn’t help grinning. It was appropriate. “I can’t see the appeal in sweating.” Though it was hard to argue with the results. Cole was as lean and sculpted at thirty-five as he’d been at twenty-four.

At least, he seemed to be. A dress shirt and slacks don’t make everything clear…Don’t go there, she told her imagination.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Going to offer me a cold drink now that I’ve flexed my muscles for you?”

“You didn’t put on the tank shirt,” she pointed out, setting her laptop on the table. “Besides, I haven’t been to the store yet.”

“Mother will have seen that the refrigerator and pantry are stocked with the basics.” He cocked his head. “Nervous, Dixie?”

“Of course not.” Oh, God would get her for that lie. “But I do need to get settled in. Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I’ve been known to go for whole minutes at a time without my calculator these days. So why are you here?”

She blinked. “You’re having a little trouble with your memory?”

“You’re in a position to pick and choose your jobs. You picked Louret. I want to know why.”

She made her shrug as casual as she could, considering the irritating way her heartbeat was behaving. “First, you’re paying me a good deal of money. Second, Mercedes asked me to do it. Third…while ignoring your existence has been a pleasant habit, it’s getting in the way of my friendship with your sister now that I’m back in California.”

“So you’re here because of me.” He started toward her.

“Your ego is showing.”

“Call it unfinished business, then.”

He was standing too close, but damned if she was going to retreat. “That’s part of it. A small part.”

“Good.” He leaned in even closer and kissed her.

Shock held her still for the first instant, long enough for the liquid roll of desire to hit. Instinct had her reacting in the next.

She shoved him. Hard.

He staggered back a step, tripped over Hulk and fell flat on his butt.

Dixie burst out laughing.

To her surprise, he chuckled, too. “The idea was for me to sweep you off your feet, not to get knocked off mine. Your demon cat—”

“You’d better not have hurt him.” She looked around and saw Hulk sitting by the couch, busily smoothing his ruffled fur with his tongue. No damage there, obviously.

“That’s right. Worry about your cat, not me.”

“You’re bigger than he is.”

“Not by much.” But he was grinning as he got to his feet.

She raised her eyebrows. “You have changed.”

“I’m not twenty-four anymore.” The smile lingered on his mouth, but his eyes held a different message. One that hit her harder than that so-brief kiss. “Understand this—what we had eleven years ago is a closed account. That doesn’t keep us from opening a new one.”

“I’m not interested.” Her body might be, but her body wasn’t in charge.

“I am. Tell me—do you still have that tattoo?”

“Go away, Cole.”

“I’ll be out of town for a couple days, but when I come back, I plan to find out about that tattoo.” With that he turned and left, pulling the door closed behind him.

All sorts of emotions jostled around inside Dixie. She bit her lip. For a second she tasted him again, salt and coffee and the subtle blend that was pure Cole. Oddly, though, her ghosts were silent.

Maybe memories are like the moon, she thought. Reflected light is never as bright and strong as what you get direct from the source…and the source of her ghosts had just kissed her for the first time since she left him eleven years ago.

Shouldn’t she be cautioning herself about all sorts of things?

But the interior tumult gradually settled into a smile, and it was filled with speculation, not nostalgia. She’d agreed to the job as a favor to Mercedes and because she did need to deal with some ghosts. But curiosity had played a part, too.

It looked as if the next two weeks would be anything but boring.

Early in the morning the following Monday, Dixie went strolling along the curving driveway that circled the front of the property, looking for a gray blob. Hulk had gotten out. He’d managed to do that at least once a day since she arrived.

Not that it mattered. Cole had left on a business trip the day after Dixie got here. He’d taken Tilly with him.

“Hey, Hulk,” she called. Dawn had arrived, but the bank of storm clouds nearly hid the fact. The wind was blustery, promising rain, and the temperature was a cool forty-five degrees. “You know how you hate to get wet. Time to come in.” No sign of him.

It was probably just as well Cole had taken off. The reminder of his priorities could only be good for her, even if, like a lot of things that are good for you, it tasted nasty going down. But dammit, when a man announces his intention of inspecting a woman’s tattoo, he ought to stay around long enough for her to turn him down.

Funny how alike she and Cole were in some ways, she thought, crossing to the next row. Most people don’t take their pets with them on business trips. Yet in other ways, they stood on opposite sides of a chasm.

Of course, it wouldn’t be odd for Tilly to go with him if it wasn’t really business that had taken him away.

No. She shook her head. Cole had faults—huge, heaping bunches of them. But unless he’d changed beyond all recognition, he played fair. No lies, no tricks. Besides, she couldn’t picture his mother fibbing for him.

Dixie smiled. She liked Caroline Ashton Sheppard, even if the woman was the source of some of Cole’s more irritating assumptions about the female half of the gender divide. Had Caroline been born a couple thousand miles to the east, she would have made a great Southern belle—gentle, soft-spoken, with an innate sense of style and a will of iron.

She liked Cole’s stepfather, too. Lucas Sheppard was one of those salt-of-the-earth types who serve as a reminder to cynics like her that not all men are cads, little boys or idiots.

Another thing she and Cole had in common, she thought wryly. They both had father issues.

Of course, his went a lot deeper. Dixie’s father hadn’t meant to die and leave her, while Cole’s father had abandoned him intentionally. Not that Cole had told Dixie about it, not Mr. I-Don’t-Talk-About-Personal-Stuff. But Mercedes had. When Cole was eight, Spencer Ashton had walked out on his family to marry his secretary, somehow swindling his wife out of most of her inheritance. He’d never looked back.

There was no sign of Hulk. Dixie called again, but she didn’t expect him to answer. Hulk would show up when he darned well pleased.

Ah, well. She’d felt duty bound to try. Shaking her head, she turned and headed back. Even in winter the vineyards were a pleasant place to stroll, with the aisles between the rows of vines green with a cover crop of legumes and barley. Russ had told her the plants would be tilled under in the spring, adding nitrogen to the soil.

Sure didn’t seem like winter, though. The grass was green, for one thing. Most people grew cool-season grasses here, and that’s what she’d grown up with…but she’d been away a long time. Long enough for it to seem both strange and strangely familiar to wander around outside in January without bundling up.

Which led to the subject of clothes. She had a winter wardrobe she’d not be able to…

Who was that? Dixie stopped, frowning. There was a man standing in front of The Vines. Not one of the vineyard workers, she thought, though he was dressed casually, in jeans and a plain shirt. But she’d met all of the workers now, hadn’t she?

Maybe not. She’d have remembered this one—a tall, rugged sort, he looked as if he’d just ridden in off the range. Though there was something vaguely familiar about him…intrigued, she headed his way.

“Hello,” she said as she drew near. “You looking for someone?”

He turned. There was gray in his dark hair and interesting crinkles around his eyes—from squinting as he rode off into the sunset, she decided, amused by herself. “Not really. Just curious.”

“The winery loves curious tourists,” she assured him, “but not until ten o’clock, when the tasting room opens. This area is private property.” She cocked her head. “You look familiar.”

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said politely. “Are you one of the owners? The, ah, Ashtons?”

“No, just a temporary employee and a friend. It’s the head shape,” she said, pleased to have figured it out. “And something about the set of the eyes. If I could line your skull up next to Cole’s and Eli’s, I’ll bet the occipital surfaces and zygomatic arches would be identical.”

He looked faintly alarmed. “I hope you don’t plan to make the attempt. You’re a doctor? Or an anthropologist?”

She laughed. “None of the above. An artist. You wouldn’t be some long-lost Ashton cousin, would you?”

He shook his head and studied her a moment longer, a faint smile on his mouth, something unreadable in his eyes. “I’d better be going, since this is private property. Nice speaking with you.”

Cole had spent four frustrating days in Sacramento. Some of the frustration had been professional, but a fair portion arose from his inability to keep his mind where it belonged.

Dixie had left The Vines on Friday afternoon, planning to be gone all weekend. Which she was entitled to do, of course. But Cole kept wondering who she was spending the weekend with. A woman like Dixie was only alone if she wanted to be.

At two o’clock that morning, alone in his hotel room, he’d been fighting with memories and questioning his sanity. Why in the world would he consider getting involved with her again?

He was attracted, yes. What man wouldn’t be, especially if he knew just how hot it could be between them? But he was old enough to know that fire burns, and long past the point where he could be led around by his gonads.

He didn’t need the heartache or the hassle, he’d finally decided, and had at last dropped off to sleep.

So it was annoying to learn, as he pulled into the parking lot at the winery, that he was looking forward to seeing her again. He grabbed his briefcase, opened the Jeep’s door and slid out.

Eli was waiting for him. “How’d it go?”

“Lots of talk, not much action.” He opened the back door and Tilly jumped down, politely sniffed Eli’s hand, then wandered away to check out the shrubbery in front of the tasting room.

“Everyone agrees that we need better coordination between the various growers’ associations,” Cole said, opening his briefcase and removing a stack of papers. “Especially when it comes to lobbying in Sacramento. No one wants to actually do the work of setting up a coordinating group.”

“I thought Joe Bradley was keen on running things.”

“I’m not letting Joe turn this into one of his dog-and-pony shows. He starts out big, loses interest and then things fizzle.”

Eli sighed. “I suppose that means you agreed to run things.”

“Nope.” Cole was still mildly astonished at himself. Somewhere along the line, though, doing it all—and proving he could do it better—had stopped being fun. “I’ve got enough on my plate already.”

“I know that. I didn’t think you did.”

“Here,” Cole said, handing Eli the papers. “A copy of the minutes. There are a few things of interest in there.”

Eli scowled. “Summarize it for me.”

Cole grinned. Eli’s hatred of paperwork was a chain he loved to yank. “Can’t. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

“I’m going to break that damn plate over your head,” Eli informed him without heat. “This new leaf of yours doesn’t have anything to do with that old girlfriend of yours who’s following me around, does it?”

“Dixie is following you around?” He made that sound so casual he almost believed himself.

“Everywhere I turn, there she is with that blasted camera. Says she wants lots of candid shots before she starts painting.” Eli grimaced. “Why the hell didn’t you and Mercedes tell me this promotional campaign was going to use my face?”

“It’s more fun to surprise you.” Cole started for the door.

“Well, I don’t like it.” Eli fell into step beside him. “Not that I have any problem with Dixie’s company.”

“Who would?” She’d undoubtedly been flirting with Eli, Cole thought. For Dixie, flirting came as naturally as breathing.

“She’s fun to have around, not to mention being eye candy from top to toe. I just wish she’d ditch the camera.” Eli stopped, facing Cole so that he had to stop, too. “So…you have any claim there?”

Cole’s eyebrows snapped down. “With Dixie?”

“I think that’s who we’re talking about, yeah. I know the two of you had something going years ago, but you don’t seem to be picking up where you left off.”

“I’ve been in Sacramento,” Cole snapped. Just because he’d decided to step back didn’t mean he wanted to watch his brother move in.

“And I’ve been here, and I’ve been looking. Thought I’d better let you know before I made a move.”

“You can’t find a woman of your own?” Cole demanded, furious. “You want my hand-me-downs?”

Eli infuriated him by chuckling. “I’d like to be there when Dixie hears you refer to her as hand-medowns.”

He wasn’t entirely crazy. “Bad choice of words,” he admitted. “But you’d still better keep your greedy hands to yourself.”

“We’ll see. If you don’t—”

Tilly rounded the corner of the building at a dead run, hotly pursued by a huge gray cat. The dog skidded to a halt behind Cole’s legs, trembling. And Dixie rounded the corner at a run—face flushed, long hair flying, long legs bare beneath ragged cutoffs.

She jerked to a stop several feet away. So did Hulk, but Cole wasn’t looking at the cat.

He was older and wiser now…but flexibility was an aspect of maturity, right? He could change his mind.

Chapter Three

Cole’s mouth kicked up in a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move that fast before.”

“I was trying to rescue your stupid dog.” She was out of breath and disheveled, her chest heaving beneath a skimpy T-shirt that read, Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History.

Tilly was calmer now that she’d found backup, though she still huddled behind Cole. He ran a hand over the top of her head soothingly and tried to sound severe. “You’re supposed to keep your demon cat inside.”

“Guess what? He got out.”

“Wouldn’t matter,” Eli said, “if Cole’s dog weren’t so pathetic.” He looked at Tilly, crouched behind Cole. “I know the cat is big, but you still outweigh him by fifty pounds.”

“Like that matters.” Cole shook his head. “As far as Tilly’s concerned, everything in the world is bigger and meaner than she is.”

Dixie sauntered closer, as casually graceful as her cat and a lot more interesting to watch. “She may be right about meaner. I’ve seen earthworms with more backbone.”

“Earthworms are invertebrates.”

“You get my point.”

Eli had been noticing Dixie’s legs. In all conscience, Cole couldn’t blame him. “Aren’t you cold?” Eli asked, concerned. “This isn’t exactly shorts weather.”

Cole could have warned him not to suggest that Dixie didn’t know what she was doing at all times. He wouldn’t have, of course, but he could have.

Dixie eyebrows flew up. “It’s shorts weather to me. I’ve gotten used to a more rugged climate.”

“Rugged.” Cole nodded. “Yeah, that’s the first word I think of when I think of you. I like the Tshirt.”

“I noticed that you’d become a slow reader.”

Since the letters were stretched across a pair of lovely breasts, he just grinned.

While they were talking, Hulk was infiltrating. Nonchalant as only a cat can be, he’d wandered closer. Tilly kept retreating until she was behind Eli. Hulk, triumphant, stropped himself against Cole’s leg, purring.

“Yeah, I can see how innocent you are,” Cole said, bending to pick the cat up. He promptly went limp, purring manically. Automatically Cole stroked him.

Dixie smirked. “He likes to be rubbed behind the ears.”

“That’s a dog thing.”

“Tell him, not me.”

“Okay, I get it.” Eli nodded. “See you two later.”

Cole glanced at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Going back to work. You remember about work? It’s something some of us like to do at this hour on a weekday.”

“Good idea.” Cole looked back at Dixie. “Take Tilly with you.”

“Forget it. You deserve a few handicaps. Nice to see you without that camera, Dixie,” he said, then headed off.

Dixie watched Eli leave, looking vexed. “I like your brother.”

“So do I, at times.” Especially when Eli had the good sense to go away. “Why does that bug you?”

She huffed out a breath. “I wasn’t paying attention, I guess. Of course, he’s very closed up, even worse than you. Hard to read. But I was not trying to play the two of you off each other.”

“I didn’t think you were. You can’t help flirting—that’s like breathing for you. A process I enjoyed watching, by the way, while reading your T-shirt, but never mind that for now. You don’t play men off each other. That would be calculated, and there’s nothing calculating about you.”

“That came perilously close to a compliment on something other than my breasts. Backhanded, but averaging more positive than negative.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. Here.” He held out twenty pounds of limp feline. “Take your monster. Tilly’s having a breakdown trying to figure out how to hide behind me when I’m holding her enemy.”

She draped the beast over her shoulder and started at an easy pace for the carriage house. Cole fell into step beside her.

Dixie slid him a sideways glance. “You think Tilly has some kind of canine PTSD?”

“I’m putting it down to poor parenting. Her former owner must have mistreated her.”

“She was previously owned by a cat?”

His lips twitched. “I’d say her fears generalized.”

She smiled, but fleetingly, and didn’t respond. For a few minutes they walked together in silence, with Tilly on Cole’s other side.

Funny, he thought. He’d once found it irksome to walk with Dixie. They’d matched up great in bed, but he hadn’t liked matching his steps to hers. She strolled. He wanted to get where he was going as efficiently as possible.

She’d said she didn’t see the appeal in sweating. He didn’t see the point in taking twenty minutes to get somewhere if you could do it in ten. But it was okay to slow down occasionally, he decided. It gave him a chance to notice the subtle scent she wore…slightly spicy, more herbal than floral, hard to pin down.

Like her. “What did you think of New York?”

“I loved it,” she said promptly. “Even during my homesick period, when I was in this horrible little apartment and didn’t know anyone, I loved it. There’s so much to see and do, and the energy is incredible.”

“You liked that? I never could picture you there, part of that lickety-split New York energy.”

“You always saw me as a lazy flake,” she said philosophically.

“No, I didn’t.” When she looked at him, all skepticism, he conceded, “An artistic flake, maybe. Not the same thing. You saw me as a dull business grunt.”

“Never dull,” she murmured. “Driven.”

“A word that conjures the echoes of a few of our better arguments.”

“Your definition for better being…?” She shook her head. “Never mind. You never wanted to move away, try a new place, did you?”

“My goals, my family, my life—they were all here. They still are. Why did you leave?” As soon as the words were out, Cole wanted to call them back. They’d come out too abruptly, sounding too much like why did you leave me?

He knew why. Eventually he’d understood and even agreed with her. Understanding wasn’t the same as forgiving.

Either she didn’t hear the unspoken question or she didn’t want to go there, either. “Itchy feet,” she said lightly. “You know what they say about New York—‘if you can make it there, you’ll make it anywhere.’ I wanted to see if I could make it.”

“You succeeded.” They’d reached the carriage house. He opened the door and held it.

“Women and monsters first.”

“Just the monster. I’ve got to get back to work. What?” she demanded. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re in a hurry to get back to work and I’m not.”

“Okay, that is weird. Be ready to close the door fast.” She dumped Hulk onto the floor, stepped back and Cole closed the door—fast, as ordered, with Hulk on the other side and complaining about it. “The deadline for the first painting is pretty tight, and I haven’t got it settled yet in my mind. Eli’s the subject, but I don’t have the right angle on him.”

“You pay attention to deadlines?” he asked politely.

“Very funny. I’m not that bad.”

“If you tell me you’re always on time now, I’ll have to ask for ID. Or maybe consult an exorcist.”

She grinned. “At least you admit it’s demonic to be compulsively punctual.”

Her grin was too familiar. It tugged at places inside him that he preferred to keep private. Cole put a hand on the door, keeping her where she was, and leaned in closer. “These are new,” he observed, touching his thumb to the corner of one eye, where a faint smile line showed.

She jerked her head away. “You used to be better with compliments. Back off, Cole.”

“I’m not going to kiss you. Not right this minute, anyway.” He’d forgotten the flecks of gold in her eyes, and how they turned plain brown to a rich caramel.

Her eyebrows lifted in haughty offense over those caramel eyes—but her tongue darted out to moisten her lip. “I see. You suddenly felt weak and couldn’t stand up on your own.”

“You’re nervous. I like that.”

“You’re obnoxious. I don’t like that.” He chuckled and straightened. “How long will you be here at The Vines, Dixie?”

She regarded him suspiciously. “Why?”

“I need to know what my deadline is.”

“If I ask why again, and you tell me, am I going to be mad?”

“Probably. No, almost certainly.” “Then we’ll skip the questions and go straight to the answers. I’ll be here for about two weeks, and I’m not going to bed with you. And now I really need to get back to work.” She started back toward the winery.

She was moving faster than usual, he noted. “You’re passing up the chance to throw a great temper fit.”

“I don’t throw fits. Or anything else.” “Lost that artistic temperament, have you? I seem to recall a plate that came sailing my way once. I could have sworn you were mad.”

Her lips thinned—but it looked more like an effort to hold back a smile than real temper. “Tell me, Cole. Is this your version of dipping my pigtails in the ink to get my attention? Or are you really spoiling for a fight?”

“Want to watch me turn somersaults? Or I could do chin-ups. They’re more macho.”

The smile won. She paused. “Push-ups. There’s something so manly about push-ups.”

He promptly dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups.

She laughed in delight and sat smack-dab on the cold ground to watch, propping her chin on her hand. “Ooh, look at those muscles. You’re so strong.”

“Don’t forget—” he managed one more “—manly. Strong and manly.” He stopped before he could embarrass himself, rolling onto his back and sitting up. Maybe he needed to add more upperbody training to his routine. His arms felt rubbery. “That was harder than it looked,” he assured her.

“I can’t believe you did it—and in dress slacks, yet.”

He was surprised, too. “It worked. You quit running away.”

“I wasn’t running.” She drew up her legs and hugged her knees.

“Okay, walking away.” He wished she’d stretch her legs out again. Dixie had great legs—firm calves, narrow ankles. He wanted to run a hand up one of them.

“Quit staring at my legs.”

“I’m checking for goose bumps. What did you do—get up and say, ‘I’m in California, therefore I must wear shorts?’”

Her mouth twitched reluctantly. “Something like that. It’s almost warm enough for them.”

He leaned back on one hand. “Why the evasive tactics, Dixie? Do you really want me to go away?”

She shrugged, not looking at him. “When I decided to take this job, I wasn’t expecting you to put on a full-court press. I tried not to have any expectations at all, but in the back of my mind I guess I thought you’d be in your chill zone with me.”

Cole didn’t want to hear about how cold she thought he was. “I keep telling you I’m not twentyfour anymore.”

“It’s damned disconcerting, too.” She plucked a blade of grass and ran it up her bare leg. “Like going home after years away and seeing old buildings gone, new ones put up. You turn a corner expecting to see the Wilson’s frame house, but they’re long gone and the new people have stuccoed the exterior and cut down the big oak tree. So much is the same, but I keep tripping over the differences.”

“You’ve been home for visits, though, haven’t you?”

She slid him an amused look. “I was speaking metaphorically.”

“I got that. I just wondered if you’d avoided California altogether.” And why she’d returned.

“I come back once or twice a year to see Mom and Aunt Jody.” She pulled up some more grass and let it sift through her fingers. “Mom’s getting married again.”

“Yeah?” He tried to sound as if this was a good idea.

Her wry look told him he hadn’t pulled it off. “This time it might work. Mike’s a good guy.”

Cole could barely call up an image of Helen McCord Lynchfield. He’d only met Dixie’s mother once…and that seemed odd, now that he thought about it.

Of course, their affair had only lasted a little over three months, though they’d known each other off and on ever since Mercedes went off to college. Merry and Dixie had been roommates, and Dixie had come home with her several times during breaks. There’d been trouble at home. The man who’d been her stepfather at the time had been a grade-A bastard.

Dixie’s mother had finally left the bastard a month before Dixie graduated. And a month after that, the Valley had sweated under a record-setting heat wave. Cole and Dixie had claimed responsibility for that.

“I imagine your mom is glad to have you nearby. And your aunt, too. She’s still in L.A.?” In some ways, Dixie was closer to her mother’s sister, an award-winning reporter, than to her mother. While Cole could understand why, it had always made him wary. Jody Belleview was a funny, fiercely independent woman with a finely developed scorn for marriage.

“Aunt Jody’s not in L.A. anymore.”

Something in Dixie’s voice caught his attention. She was looking down at a small patch of ground she’d absentmindedly denuded of grass. “What is it, Dix?”

“She’s the reason I moved back here. Mom couldn’t take care of her by herself anymore.”

A quick squeeze of hurt for her had him covering her hand with his. “That sounds bad.”

“Pretty bad, yeah. She has Alzheimer’s.”

Stunned, Cole just sat there. He’d met Dixie’s aunt just once, at the same time he met her mother. But Jody Belleview was the kind of woman who left an impression. He remembered her laugh and her quick, restless intelligence. “I can’t imagine…isn’t she younger than your mother? Only fifty or so?”

“Fifty-four. I’m still in denial. Which is not as easy to do on this coast as it was while I was across the country.” She gave him a brittle smile, then gathered herself and rose to her feet.

He stood, too. “Dixie—”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.”

When she walked away she was moving fast, not strolling, her back straight and stiff. And Cole just stood there and let her go, feeling as if the earth had shifted under him.

She couldn’t talk about it? That didn’t sound like Dixie. Maybe she meant she couldn’t talk about it with him…but that wasn’t what she’d said. It wasn’t what he’d felt radiating from her with the kind of buried intensity he knew only too well.

He was the one who stuffed things into compartments, banged the lid shut and sat on it to keep them there. Dixie had always possessed a terrifying honesty, with herself as well as others. She lifted lids and peeked inside. She didn’t turn away from painful truths.

At least, that’s how he remembered her.

Cole stood there a few moments longer, frowning at the path she’d vanished down. Then he went looking for his sister.

Chapter Four

At ten o’clock that night, Dixie stood on a drop cloth in the center of her temporary living room, slashing color across a canvas. The light was lousy for painting, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t really painting. She was venting. No one but her would ever see this.

Red roiled with brown in a muddy whirlpool at the lower right, while a mountain of black and gray reared over a pale green center like a granite wave about to crash. It was lousy art, she thought, stepping back to look it over. But damn satisfying.

The knock on her door brought a frown to her face. On the couch, Hulk lifted his head, lazily contemplating the possibility of company. To Hulk, company meant someone who could be cozened into rubbing his jaw or chin. To Dixie, it meant conversation.

She didn’t want to talk. She considered not answering, but it probably wouldn’t work. Scowling, she snapped, “Just a minute,” then poked her brush into the wire loop that held it in the cleaner. She grabbed a rag and wiped some of the paint from her fingers as she headed to the door.

Cole stood on her stoop with a frown to match her own—and a small leather tote in one hand, like an overnight case.

She eyed that tote, eyebrows raised. “Not exactly subtle, Cole.”

“It doesn’t hold my shaving gear. No full-court press tonight. No moves, no passes, no fouls. May I come in?”

She studied his face. It didn’t tell her much. “Why not?” she said at last, and stepped back.

“I did some research,” he said as he entered. “Nothing you haven’t already read, probably, but…” Words and feet both drifted to a stop as he saw her easel in the center of the room. And what sat on the easel.

In spite of her mood, his expression tickled her.

“Interesting,” he said after a moment in a careful voice. “I thought you didn’t do that kind of abstract art.”

She chuckled. “That isn’t art, it’s therapy. My version of smashing crockery.”

“That would be why it looks like crap, then.”

“Probably. I’ll scrape the canvas and reprime it later.” She cocked her head to one side. “You aren’t here to inspect my visual therapy.”

“No, I…” Hulk had abandoned the couch and was rubbing against Cole’s leg, making like a chain saw. Cole bent and rubbed behind his ears. “Hello, monster.”

Dixie ambled over to retrieve her brush, which needed to be washed. She’d made the canvas about as ugly as it needed to be. Might as well shut down for the night and find out what Cole was up to.

In the tiny kitchen, she turned on the tap and worked soap into the soft bristles. “Hulk appreciates company, no matter what the hour. I’m not in the mood.”

“Tough.” He’d set the mysterious tote on the coffee table. “You probably know all this,” he said gruffly, taking out a fat folder, “but I wasn’t sure how far your denial extended, so I thought I’d pass it on.”

She put down her brush and returned to the living area, curious. He handed her the folder. Inside, she found pages and pages of information—about Alzheimer’s. Organized into sections, with neatly printed tab tops dividing them: Stages…Treatments…Theories…Caretaker Support…

“That’s all from reputable sites,” he told her. “There’s a lot of information out there, but not all of it is reliable.”

“This must have taken hours,” she murmured, paging through the printouts.

“I wanted to know about your aunt’s condition, and you weren’t talking. Which brings us to another question.”

She looked up. “Us?”

“All right, me. It brings me to another question.” He moved restlessly, paused to frown at her visual therapy, then looked back at her. “Why aren’t you talking about it?” he demanded.

“Just because I didn’t talk to you—”

“You haven’t unloaded on Mercedes, either.”

“I told her about Aunt Jody,” she protested.

“Yeah, and that’s all. You haven’t…you know.” He waved vaguely. “Talked about your feelings.”

“Ah…” Deep inside, a laugh was trying to climb out. “Let me get this straight. You are nagging me to talk about my feelings?”

“Bottling everything up—that’s my deal. I’m used to that. Comfortable with it. You aren’t.” He sat on her couch without waiting for an invitation and began pulling more things out of his tote and putting them on the pine coffee table.

A bottle of wine. Two glasses. A box of chocolates. Nail polish. Peppermint-scented foot lotion. Cotton balls. Polish remover.

She sank down on the other end of the couch. The laugh was getting closer to the top. She waved weakly at the objects on the coffee table. “Cole? You want to clue me in here?”

“Just call me Sheila. I’m a stand-in.”

“For?” A smile started.

“This is one of those female parties. The kind where you women get together to do each other’s hair or nails and end up telling each other the damnedest things.” He shook his head, marveling.

Oh. Oh. He was giving her every signal he could, even playing surrogate female, to tell her he was here as a friend, and nothing more. Because he was worried about her. Dixie’s eye’s filled. She stood, took two quick steps, bent and kissed him on the cheek. “This is about the sweetest thing…thank you.”

“You’re not going to cry, are you?”

She laughed. And if it came out a bit watery, tough. “I’m not making any promises. Are you going to paint your nails or mine?”

“I’m going to drink the wine.” He inserted the bottle opener and twisted. He had strong hands, and they made quick work of the cork. “But you’re welcome to join me.”

“Does cabernet sauvignon go with chocolate?” She sat down and opened the box of candy. “Mmm. Dark chocolate at that.”

“Mercedes seemed to think chocolate was essential.”

She slid him a look. “You talked about this with Merry?”

“Yeah.” He poured wine into one of the glasses, and its heady perfume drifted her way. “For some reason she thinks you’re fine.”

“Maybe because I am.” She selected one she thought might have caramel. She loved caramel.

“Glad to hear it. So what do you talk about at these female shindigs?”

“Pretty much anything—men, work, hair, men, family, movies, men, books, politics…did I mention men?”

“The rat bastards,” he said promptly, handing her a glass of wine. Hulk jumped up beside him and pointed out that no one was petting him by bumping his head against Cole’s arm. Wine sloshed in the glass without spilling. Absently he began scratching the side of Hulk’s face. “They never call.”

Dixie shook her head sadly. “Or remember your birthday.”

“And if they do, they forget the card. Would it kill them to spend some time picking out a card?”

“So true. And they only want one thing.”

“Damn straight. Uh-oh. Sorry—I slid out of character there for a moment.”

“Watch it.” She took a sip, trying to keep a straight face. “Hey, this is good.”

“Ninety-eight was one of our better years.” He swirled the wine in his glass to release the scent, held it up and inhaled, his eyes half-closed. For a moment she glimpsed the closet sybarite in the pure, sensual pleasure on his face. Cole was a deeply sensual man. He mostly didn’t let it show. “It’s aging well,” he observed, and took a sip.

“So what were you doing in ninety-eight?” She leaned back and nibbled at her chocolate. She liked to eat them slowly, let the taste melt into her tongue. “Note that I don’t ask who you were doing.”

“I’d get in trouble if I put it that way.” He continued to send Hulk into a stupor of delight with those elegant fingers.

Quit staring at his hands, she told herself. “Women can say things to each other that men can’t get away with.”

“So you talk about sex at these things?”

“Sure. It’s a subheading under men. For most of us,” she added. “I had a couple of lesbian friends in New York—my downstairs neighbors. We mostly did not talk about sex, out of consideration for my comfort level.”

He chuckled. “My comfort level, on the other hand—”

“Don’t go there, Sheila.” She reconsidered. “On the other hand, I’ve always wondered why men get excited by—”

“You were right the first time,” he said. There was a spark of amusement—and something else, something warmer—in his eyes as he took another sip of wine. “We’d better skip the sex talk.”

She met his eyes as she took another sip, letting the wine sit on her tongue for a moment to develop the secondary flavors the way he’d taught her.

Not a good idea, enjoying her own sensual side while looking at Cole. “A hint of blackberry,” she said hastily, looking away. “See how well I know the lingo? Should be nice with chocolate.” She took another nibble of that. “Want to argue about politics?”

“Not the effect I’m going for tonight.”

“You probably voted for the governor,” she said darkly. “All right, all right—I won’t get into that. So we’re left discussing work or hair. I vote for hair.” She tilted her head. “Who does yours?”

“Carmen at The Mane Place. She has magic fingers. I like your hair.” The warmth in his voice did not belong to anyone named Sheila, unless Sheila had been of the same persuasion as Dixie’s New York neighbors. “You left out a couple choices. Movies, books…family.”

She took a healthy swallow of wine. “Read any good books lately?”

“No. How’s your mom?”

She huffed out an impatient sigh. “Your male side is showing, Sheila.”

So he asked again, but in an absurd falsetto, “How’s your mom?”

Dixie nearly choked, trying not to laugh, and gave up. “The same as ever, pretty much. Only happier.”

“Because of this man she’s going to marry?”

Dixie nodded, sipped, and a smile slipped out. “She always used to try so hard with whatever man she thought was going to fix everything for her. With Mike, she’s relaxed. She isn’t desperate to make him happy, or trying too hard to be happy herself. She just feels good with him, and it shows. Not that she doesn’t hurt because of what’s happening to Jody, but she’s…I don’t know. Somehow she’s okay about it.”

“You aren’t okay about it.”

She frowned, not answering. He didn’t say anything, either. Just sat there and sipped and petted Hulk, watching her.

“All right.” She set her glass down with a snap. “All right! You want to hear about my feelings? I’m mad. Pissed as hell.”

“You would be, of course.”

She shoved to her feet and started to pace. “It’s so horrible and so unfair. She still knows who we are. She isn’t so far gone that she’s lost that, but she will. She’s already lost so many pieces of herself, and it hurts me. This shouldn’t be about me, but every time I see her…the bewildered look on her face…My mother’s dealing with this so much better than I am.”

“She’s been here, watching it happen. She’s had time to adjust.”

“And I’ve been on the other side of the continent, letting her deal with everything. You know what makes me crazy?” She stopped, shook her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“I have no problem with you being stupid.”

“You’re in danger of slipping out of supportivefriend mode,” she warned him.

“Afraid you’ll shock me?”

“No.” She took two steps, stopped and threaded the fingers of both hands through her hair. “It’s all this praise I keep getting. It makes me nuts.”

“Yeah, I hate it when people praise me.”

“Very funny. You know how often I hear some version of how strong I am?” she demanded. “Or that I’m such a great daughter and niece for moving back here. God. Aunt Jody was diagnosed two years ago. Two years. And I’m just now showing up.”

“I guess you haven’t done anything to help these past two years.”

“I sent money. Big deal. I gave up a couple of vacations, flew out for more of the holidays. Then I’d go home and throw myself into work so I wouldn’t have to think about Jody.”

He shook his head. “Now that I can’t understand. Throwing yourself into work to avoid dealing with something? You mystify me.”

A reluctant smile touched her mouth. “You hinting that you have some experience in those lines?”

“I might.” He stood, ignoring Hulk’s protest at being disarranged. Crossing to her, he rested his hands on her shoulders. “What is it you think you should be doing differently, Dixie? Hurting less? Fixing things so your aunt doesn’t hurt?”

“Don’t forget the part about keeping my mother from hurting, too.” The shape of his hands woke a visceral memory, a wordless surge of feeling that tangled past and present. She swallowed. “I said it was stupid.”

“According to you, feelings are never stupid. They just are. It’s what we do about them that matters.”

“I could have sworn you never listened to my preaching.”

Cole smiled that half up, half down smile without answering.

Dixie felt the impact low in her belly. Her heartbeat picked up as the present turned compelling, wiping out the whispers from the past. Desire bit, sharp and sweet. Her lips parted.

His gaze dipped there, lingered. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and the look on his face was unmistakable. He was going to kiss her…and she wanted that, wanted the taste and heat of him.

He dropped his hands and stepped back, his smile lost.

The disappointment was as disorienting as his sudden retreat. She put a hand on her stomach as if she could ease the sense of loss that way and tried to sound amused. “What was that? An attack of nobility, or common sense?”

He snorted. “You think I know?” He turned away, heading for the door. “This was a dumb idea. Enjoy the wine and chocolate and carry on with the nail painting. I’m leaving before I forget Sheila entirely.”

“Cole.”

He paused but didn’t look at her.

“I was the one who switched the dial to another channel, not you. You…what you did helped.”

He glanced back at her, conflicted emotions chasing over his face before he got it smoothed out. “Does this mean I’m invited to your next sleepover?”

“Not likely,” she said dryly.

“Good. Because the next time I visit you at night, I won’t be planning to sleep.”

After the door closed behind him, Hulk came over, voicing his protest at being abandoned. “Don’t come complaining to me,” Dixie muttered, contradicting her words by picking him up and rubbing behind his ears. “At least you got stroked for a while. I didn’t.”

Which she ought to feel a lot better about, dammit.

Chapter Five

Louret’s cellars had been a disappointment to Dixie when Cole first showed them to her. She’d hoped for earthen-floored caves or something appropriately dungeonlike. Instead, the barrels and bottles were aged in perfectly ordinary underground rooms with high-tech climate control and lousy lighting.

Lousy from her perspective, that is. To a winemaker, the dim lighting was necessary, as was strict control of temperature and humidity. But her imaginings would have made such a cool setting for Eli’s painting…well, she thought, studying the barrels from her vantage point on the cement floor, you work with what you’ve got.

The barrels themselves were interesting. She’d use lots of browns in the painting, she decided. Earth tones would suit Eli and suggest Louret’s old-fashioned, hands-on approach while evoking the earth the grapes sprang from.

And gold for Caroline’s painting, she decided, staring dreamily into space. Hints of brown to tie it to the earth and Eli’s painting, touches of blue for the sky, and lots of gold—pale, glowing gold, like the sunlight that joins earth and sky.

Oh, yes. She’d use Eli and the barrels for the earth the vines were grown in, Caroline for the golden sunshine that made the grapes rich. For the end product, the wine itself…maybe a group picture? The family gathered around the dinner table, talking and interacting, their wineglasses catching the glow of sunset.

Set it outside then? And what about—

“Sorry I’m late,” Eli’s deep voice said from behind her.

“That’s okay,” she said, picking up her sketch pad and rising. “I don’t think I’ll draw you here, after all.”

Uncertainty, she’d noticed, looked a lot like a scowl when it settled on Eli’s face. “You aren’t going to paint me with the barrels?”

“No, I’m definitely putting you against the barrels. But I’ve got photos for that. Today I need to draw you. Outside, I think. I need a peek at your bones. Strong light and shadows will help me get that.” She gave him a smile as she passed, heading for the stairs.

After a moment she heard him following her up.

“You want to draw me outside, but you’re not painting me outside.”

“I use the photos for technical accuracy. Drawing helps me learn you. I don’t know a subject until I’ve sketched him or her.”

Eli looked pained. “I don’t see why you need to use my face at all, but you don’t have to, uh, know me to paint it.”

She glanced over her shoulder as she reached the top of the stairs, mischief in her voice. “Oh, but I want more than your face for the painting. I want a bit of your soul.”

He muttered something it was probably just as well she didn’t catch. She was grinning as they stepped out the side door. “This will do.” The light was good, strong and slanting. She got a charcoal pencil from her fanny pack and opened her sketch pad.

Eli squinted at the sunshine, looking profoundly uncomfortable. Better get him talking so he’d forget what she was up to. “Tell me about oaking,” she said, her charcoal flying over the page. “I gather it’s somewhat controversial?”

“More a matter of taste. Most people like some degree of oak. Heavy oaking can mask the subtleties of a really good red, but that’s poor winemaking.”

“What about whites? You’re aging your new chardonnay in oak barrels.” Needs to be heavier around the jaw, she decided, and darkened that line. “Is that standard?”

He shrugged. “Some use steel vats. We won’t.”

She had the definite impression he didn’t think much of the winemakers who used steel. “Was that your decision or your mother’s? With the new wine being named for her, I’d guess she had some input.”

“Mostly mine. Mom likes the vanilla notes from oaking, though, so it was fine with her.”

She flipped to a new page, shifted to get a different angle, and started another sketch. “And whose idea was the new chardonnay?”

“Cole’s.” He looked directly at her. “I thought you knew that.”

“Okay, so I’m fishing.” She frowned at the sketch. Something was off. The zygomatic arches? No, something about the way they related to his forehead. Dixie studied his brow line intently. “You missed your cue. You’re supposed to discreetly fill me in on him without my having to ask.”

He chuckled. It was an unexpected sound, coming from a man who tended toward angry or dour. “It’s damned disconcerting to have you stare at me that way when you’re talking about my brother. What did you want to know?”

She looked at him reproachfully and repeated, “Without my having to ask.”

“Well, he’s not seeing anyone right now, and he thinks you’re hot.”

“Mmm.” Damn. It was his left eye—she’d set it too close to the bridge of the nose. Try again. She flipped to a new page. “I’m trying to come up with a modest way of saying, ‘I know.’”

Again the low chuckle. “I think so, too. When I asked him if he’d staked a claim already—”

“You didn’t.”

“Of course I did. You two were involved before. I needed to know if he was interested. Funny thing is, he didn’t seem to know, himself. I guess he’s made up his mind now.”

“I guess so.” He seemed pretty sure that he wanted to get her into bed, anyway. “He claims he’s mellowed.”

“Mellow? Cole?” There was a note of humor in his voice, but it was fleeting. “Not the word I’d choose. He’s got more control than I do, but there’s a lot of intensity beneath that control.”

“Good way to put it. He’s still pretty wrapped up in the business, I guess.” Her hand and eyes were working automatically now, which was just as well. Her mind wasn’t on the sketch.

“He doesn’t put in the sixty and eighty hour weeks he used to. That’s why you left him, isn’t it?”

Surprised, she looked at him—at Eli, that is, not at Eli’s bones. Their eyes met. “That was a big part of it.”

“Louret is always going to be important to him, and he’s always going to like winning. You won’t get a lap cat with Cole.”

Annoyed, she sketched two tiny horns at the top of Eli’s head. “I don’t want a lap cat. I don’t want to come last, either. There’s bound to be something in between.”

“It messed him up when you left.”

“From my perspective, he was already messed up. So was I,” she said, closing the sketch pad. “That was the problem.”

Eli nodded. “That’s valid. But this time…just be careful with him, okay? Don’t promise more than you mean to follow through on.”

“Are you asking my intentions?”

“I guess I am.”

She smiled suddenly, took two quick steps and went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “That’s sweet. I don’t have any idea what my intentions are yet, and when I do I’ll let Cole know, not you. But it’s sweet that you wanted to ask.”

His ears turned red. “If you’re finished with me, I’ve got stuff to do.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said, enjoying his embarrassment more than she should have. “I hope I’ll be able to bring out your inner softie in the painting.”

Now he was positively alarmed. “My what?”

She laughed and patted his arm. “Don’t worry. Your portrait will be very manly.”

Once Eli made his escape, though, her amusement evaporated. She was frowning as she headed for the carriage house so she could work on the composition for Eli’s portrait.

It was only natural for Cole’s brother to worry about him, she supposed. Only natural that he’d see her as the one at fault for having left Cole eleven years ago. But it left her feeling flat and a little lonely. There was no one worrying about her that way, no one warning her of potential heartbreak if she got involved with a man who’d hurt her before.

Not that she’d listen, she supposed wryly as she opened the door to her temporary home. But it might be nice to have someone worry, just this once.

“You used charcoal when you sketched Eli,” Caroline observed.

“Mmm-hmm.” Dixie’s gaze flew back and forth between the woman in front of her and her sketch pad. Her pencil moved swiftly. They were in what Dixie thought of as the covered porch, though the family called it the lanai. It was open on the north side, which made the light good.

“I wondered why you’re doing my sketch in pencil.”

“I don’t know.” There was something about the flesh over the right cheek that wasn’t right…Dixie smudged the shadow beneath the cheek with her finger to soften it, looked at Caroline again, then used the side of her pencil to pull the shadow back toward the ear.

Better. “I’ll use the photos I took for technical precision,” she explained. “The sketches are to learn you. When I get your shapes down with my hands, I know them, see? I wanted charcoal to learn Eli. I wanted pencil for you.”

Caroline smiled. “My shape’s rounder than it used to be. I suppose you have to show my double chin?”

“You don’t have a double chin.” Dixie spoke absently as she adjusted the brow line, which defined the eyes. “The jaw has softened with age, but…whoops. Forgot tact.”

The older woman laughed. “Tell me something. Since you won’t cater to my vanity in one way…you’re sure it’s okay if I talk?”

“Absolutely.” Dixie turned to a new page, moved slightly to the left and began a gesture drawing from the new angle in a series of quick sweeps of her pencil.

“I’ve sometimes wondered if anything of me showed up in my boys. The girls, yes. I see something of myself in them. But Cole and Eli…”

Dixie heard another question in the way Caroline’s voice trailed into silence. How much did her sons resemble the man who’d fathered and deserted them?

“The girls do take after you more than Eli and Cole do,” she said casually, as if she hadn’t noticed the unspoken part of the question. In Jillian’s case the resemblance was more a matter of manner than genetics, but Dixie could be tactful when it mattered. “But Eli has your nose and your ears.”

“And Cole?”

Cole…whom Mercedes said most resembled their father. “He has your hands. Great hands,” she added, crouching for another angle. “I plan to use them.”

When Caroline chuckled it took Dixie a moment to realize why. Then she flushed. “Ah…in the painting. I’m going to use your hands in the painting. Not Cole’s hands. I’m not planning to use them for, ah…”

Caroline smiled. “How delightful. I didn’t think anything flustered you. You’re a rather formidable young woman.”

“Me?” Dixie was astonished. Caroline was the one with the inbred class and composure, the soft voice and gentle ways Cole had once thrown up at Dixie as the feminine ideal.

“But of course. Look at all you’ve accomplished at such a young age. Though I suppose you don’t think of yourself as terribly youthful.” Her smile turned amused. “The young never do. I hope I didn’t insult you, dear. It’s just that you’re so very competent and confident. I wasn’t, not at your age.”

And yet what Dixie’s pencil had captured was a calm, determined woman. She turned back to the finished sketch, then reversed her pad to show Caroline. “Here’s what I see—strength, kindness, grace.”

“Oh, my,” Caroline said softly, taking the pad. “You’ve made it difficult for me to pry the way I’d intended. May I have this?”

“Of course.” Dixie accepted the return of her sketch pad with a silent, fervent wish that Caroline would continue to find it difficult to pry.

“I don’t know what you charge, but—”

“You’ll insult me if you offer to pay. The paintings are business. This isn’t.”

“Then I’ll just thank you. I’d like to frame it and give it to Lucas for our anniversary.” Her cheeks were a little pinker than usual. “Perhaps it’s vain, giving him a likeness of myself, but I think he’d like it.”

Dixie smiled. “You’ll be giving him a picture of someone at the center of his life. Of course he’ll like it.” She closed the pad. “I’ll need to hang on to it until I’ve finished the painting, though.”

“Our anniversary isn’t for another two months. No rush.” Caroline stood. “I take it you’re through with me?”

“For now,” Dixie said cheerfully. “I’ll be starting the paintings soon, and I may need to stare at you some more then. Or not. First I’m going to pester your vineyard foreman for a day or two.”

“I suspect Russ won’t mind,” Caroline said dryly. “Dixie?”

She slid her pad into her tote. “Yes?”

“My son was deeply hurt when you left him. I’m concerned about your reappearance in his life.”

Dixie froze. Déjà vu, all over again, she thought. First Eli, now Caroline.

And what could she say? That Cole was the one doing the pursuing? It was true, but if she was honest, she’d have to admit she enjoyed the game they were playing. “I don’t know what to tell you. He isn’t serious.”

“Isn’t he?” Caroline let that question dangle a moment, then smiled. “You probably want to suggest I mind my own business. I understand. We’ll change the subject. I’m having a small dinner party Friday, mostly family. I’d like it if you could join us.”

“Thank you,” Dixie said, wary.

Caroline shook her head ruefully. “I’m not usually so maladroit. The dinner invitation has nothing to do with the question I didn’t quite ask you. Truly, I would like to have you join us.”

“And I’m not usually so prickly.” Dixie’s smile warmed. “I’d love to come.”

“Head over any time after six, then. Casual dress. We’ll eat around seven-thirty.”

Dixie was frowning as she headed for the carriage house. She didn’t resent Caroline’s delicate prying. Mothers were allowed to worry—it was in the contract. They were also entitled to think the best of their offspring. Dixie couldn’t very well tell Cole’s mother that all he was after was a quick roll in the hay.

Well…maybe not quick. Her lips curved. That had never been one of Cole’s faults.

Her smile didn’t last. She suspected his pursuit rose, in part, from the desire to prove that he was over her. If that thought pinched a bit, she could understand it. Because Caroline had been right about the other. Dixie was sure she’d hurt Cole.

He’d hurt her, too. But his had been sins of omission, not commission. He hadn’t lied or cheated. He just hadn’t been there enough. Business had come first, second and sometimes third with Cole. All too often, Dixie had been an afterthought.

She’d been so desperately in love. And he…he’d been halfway in love. In the end, she hadn’t been able to handle that.

Dixie rounded the corner of the house—and almost walked right into Cole. And her cat, who was purring madly in Cole’s arms.

“Good grief.” She shook her head, disgusted. “He got out again?”

“I was working on a budget projection and turned away to get a file. When I turned back, there he was, sitting on top of a stack of quarterly reports, cleaning his face and looking smug. Tilly’s still hiding under my desk. Hey.” He touched her arm lightly with his free hand. “Is something wrong?”

“Just thinking deep, philosophical thoughts. It interferes with my digestion.” She started walking again. He fell into step beside her. “Is Tilly okay?”

“She’s fine, now that I removed her tormenter.” He smiled. “That’s three, Dixie. And still two days to go.”

“I know, I know.” She and Cole had a bet on. Cole had bet that Hulk would escape at least half a dozen times before Friday.

It should have been an easy win for her. Not because she fooled herself that she controlled Hulk, but she did know his ways. She’d figured her cat would escape once a day, no matter what she did—but if she let him stay out long enough to get his outside fix, he’d be content to stay in the rest of the time.

She hadn’t counted on his obsession with Cole’s dog. “I think you’re sneaking him out,” she said darkly.

“Would I do that? He may be teleporting. Here.” Cole dumped the cat into her arms. “Where did you find Cattila the Hun, anyway?”

Had Cole always had this deliciously wry sense of humor, and she’d forgotten? “He just showed up one day, sitting outside my apartment as if he’d been waiting for me. I opened the door and he strolled in, demanded dinner, then curled up in my lap and informed me it was time to pet him.”

Cole nodded. “I can see where you wouldn’t want to argue with him.”

“He was half-starved.”

“He’s made up for it.” There was a hint of the devil in his sidelong glance. “Maybe I should borrow his technique. As I recall, you’re a great cook. If I show up demanding dinner—”

She laughed. “You won’t get in the door. I suspect your priorities are different from Hulk’s.”

“You’re right.” His voice dropped as he stroked her arm. “I’d want to go straight to the petting.”

Just that light touch, and her system hummed happily. She wanted more, and there was no one around but herself to warn her of the dangers. “Hands off. I can’t defend myself with my arms full of Hulk.”

“I know. I like you helpless.”

“You’ve never seen me helpless,” she retorted. They’d reached the carriage house. “Open the door, will you, so I can put my monster back where he belongs.”

Instead he leaned against the door, smiling. “Bribe me.”

“Oh, come on, Cole—”

“Just a kiss. I’ll even promise to keep my hands to myself.” But he wasn’t. He’d reached for a strand of her hair and was tickling her with it—under her chin, along her throat. “One kiss…or don’t you dare?”

She raised an eyebrow even as a shiver touched her spine. “You think I’m juvenile enough to jump at that bait?”

“I can hope.” He moved even closer, stopping with scant inches between them. The heat of his body seemed to set the air between them ashimmer with possibilities. “Why not, Dixie? It’s not as if you don’t want to kiss me.”

Her heart was pounding. “Your neck ever get tired from holding up that swollen head of yours?”

He just smiled. “It’s only a kiss. What could it hurt?”

All kinds of things—me, you…but apparently she wasn’t very good at listening to herself, because she went up on tiptoe, pausing with her lips a breath away from his. “No hands,” she murmured. And she kissed him. Slowly. Just a skimming of lips at first…

“Uh-uh,” she said when he tried to take over. “This one’s mine.”

Hulk was between them, so their bodies didn’t touch. Just their mouths. The scent of him was a heady intimacy as she tickled his bottom lip with her tongue, then touched it to each corner of his mouth, and arousal was pure pleasure. The ache grew, gradually focusing like a perspective drawing, when all lines lead to a single point.

Dixie opened her mouth over his and took his breath inside her—which was just as well, for she didn’t seem to have enough of her own. For a moment they met fully, lips, tongues, breath.

Then she eased back, smiling. And was pleased by the stunned look on his face.

He reached for her. She stepped back, shaking her head. “No hands, remember? Open the door, Cole.”

“The door.” He blinked. “Right. Anything you say. Sure you wouldn’t like all my worldly goods instead?”

“Not just now, thanks.” She sauntered inside, still holding her cat…with her heart pounding and pounding, and a little voice inside asking if she’d lost her mind.

This had to be about the stupidest thing he’d ever done, Grant thought as he gunned his pickup in order to keep up with the shiny blue Mercedes half a block ahead on the busy highway. He was acting like some two-bit private eye, for crying out loud.

But Grant didn’t give up easily. Some called him pigheaded. He preferred to think of himself as determined. And so far, Spencer Ashton had refused to see him, leaving Grant only two options: give up and go home, or somehow force the bastard to talk to him.

The bastard who’d fathered him. His father. Grant forced himself to use the word, though it went down about as well as ground glass.

Looked as if they were heading out of the city. Spencer owned a big, fancy mansion near Napa. If that’s where he was going, Grant was out of luck. He’d already been turned away from that door. From the high-rise office building here in San Francisco where Spencer went most mornings, too.

Which is why Grant was playing P.I. Sooner or later the man would go someplace where none of his servants or employees manned the gates.

Sooner or later his father would have to speak to him.

Grant scowled. More than once he’d wished he’d never seen that damn TV show. He’d come in from working on the older of his two tractors, showered and settled down with a cold beer. The game hadn’t started yet, so he’d been thinking about the weather while some documentary about winemaking finished up. A perky young reporter had been interviewing Spencer Ashton of Ashton-Lattimer, a corporation that owned vineyards and a large commercial winery.

Ashton Estate Winery. The name had snagged Grant’s attention, naturally, since it matched his own surname. But it was the face that had riveted him.

Spencer Ashton’s face looked like the one he saw in the mirror every day. Not in any one feature, maybe, but something about the way they were grouped. That had been spooky, but it hadn’t occurred to Grant the man might be his father. Even though the names were the same, he’d known it was impossible. His father had died when he was barely a year old.

Then the interviewer had mentioned Spencer’s Nebraska upbringing. They’d flashed a picture of him as a young man—and the man in that photo had been identical to the one standing beside Grant’s mother in the yellowed wedding photo she’d kept by her bed until the day she died.

Two weeks later, Grant had climbed in his pickup and started for San Francisco, leaving Ford in charge at the farm.

Ford had asked what he expected to accomplish. Grant had told his nephew he wanted to meet the half brothers and half sisters he’d never known existed. That was true, if only a partial truth.

So far he hadn’t mustered the nerve. He’d driven out to The Vines one morning, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to ring the doorbell. It was weird to walk up to a bunch of strangers and say, “Hi, I’m your brother.” Their money complicated matters. They were likely to think he wanted something from them.

He did, but it had nothing to do with money. Family mattered. These strangers were family. He needed to know what they were like.

What he hadn’t told Ford was that he also needed to look the man who’d fathered him in the eye and say, “You can’t pretend I don’t exist. I do.”

What good that would do, he couldn’t say. But he was going to do it. Maybe today, maybe later, but he wasn’t leaving California until he did.

On Friday, Cole took Dixie to Charley’s restaurant in Yountville for lunch.

“I can’t believe I let you finagle me into this,” Dixie said, sliding out of Cole’s suvvy.

“You lost the bet.” Cole was entirely too pleased with himself.

“That part I understand. How I let you talk me into making such a dumb bet, I don’t.”

“Maybe you didn’t really want to win.” He held the door for her.

“I knew you were going to say that. The fact is, Hulk’s gone over to the Dark Side. He conspired with you.”

“You’re talking about a cat, Dixie.”

“I’m talking about Hulk.”

“I get your point. Table for two,” he told the hostess. “I have a reservation.”

“Of course, Mr. Ashton. This way.”

Dixie raised her eyebrows. “They know you here.”

“We sell them wine.”

She nodded. “And just when did you make that reservation?”

“The same day we made the bet, of course.”

Dixie wouldn’t have admitted it for anything, but she was glad she’d lost the bet. Charley’s had been around awhile, but she couldn’t afford the place back when she lived here before and somehow she’d never made it here on her visits home.

The restaurant was set on twelve acres of olive groves, vineyards and gardens brimming with seasonal flowers, herbs and vegetables. Most of the herbs and produce used in their dishes came out of the ground the same day it was cooked. Plus they had an exhibition kitchen.

Dixie considered cooking every bit as much of an art as painting. She was looking forward to watching the pros at work.

“I’ve been thinking,” Cole said after the manager stopped by to welcome them. “If I’d lost the bet, I would have had to donate money to a charity of your choice. Having won the bet, I’m still spending money. What’s wrong with this picture?”

She chuckled. “You set the terms, not me.”

He shook his head. “What was I thinking?”

As they debated their selections, Dixie admitted to herself that she wasn’t just enjoying the place. She was enjoying the man. Had she had this much pure fun with Cole before?

All week, the present had been poking holes in the preconceptions of the past. Dixie remembered an ambitious, rather grim young man who’d had little time to spare for anything except business. This Cole was intense, yes, but he possessed a keen sense of the ridiculous. Even his pursuit of her had been flavored with humor.

And that, she told herself as she placed her order, was more dangerous than a sexual buzz, however potent. She had to be on her guard…because she was beginning to hope. She was trying not to define that hope, but it fizzed around inside, a giddy effervescence that bubbled up into smiles and easy laughter.

Cole selected the wine—one from another vineyard, so he could see what the competition was up to, he said. She picked the entrées. They argued about home schooling, sushi and a recent action movie, and found themselves agreeing about reality TV, garlic and childproof safety caps.

Dixie had a wonderful time until the waiter took their desert orders and left. All at once, Cole’s face froze.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He was staring over her shoulder in a way that should have turned whoever he was looking at into a Popsicle.

She craned her head around. A small knot of people blocked the entrance. Her eyebrows rose. She recognized one of them—the Western-looking man who’d been wandering around the vineyard earlier that week. The manager seemed upset with him.

The other two she’d never seen before, yet she recognized one. Not the curvy blonde in the red power suit. The older man resting a possessive hand on her back.

He had silver hair and an impeccably tailored suit over a lean body. His eyebrows were straight, his nose strong, his small, neat ears set flat to his head. His features were symmetrical, possessing the kind of balance people call handsome in a man, beauty in a woman.

He looked exactly like Cole would in another thirty years.

“Dammit, Dixie, don’t stare.” Cole’s voice was low and angry. “He doesn’t matter.”

That was blatantly false, so she ignored it. “That’s your father, isn’t it?”

“My real dad is married to my mother. That man is nothing. Nothing at all.”

The problem, whatever it was, appeared to be resolved. The manager was escorting Western Man out of the restaurant—and one of the waiters was leading Cole’s father and the woman with him their way.

The woman’s hair woke envy in Dixie’s heart. It was long, pale blond with a hint of curl. Her situation didn’t. She looked as if she didn’t appreciate the hand resting on her back. And the man escorting her didn’t seem to know his son existed.

The waiter stopped at their table, looking flustered. “My apologies, sir. There’s been some mistake. This table is reserved.”

“I know,” Cole said in his refrigerator voice. “I reserved it.”

“But…I’m terribly sorry, sir, but this is Mr. Ashton’s table.”

“Good. I’m glad we agree.”

The poor waiter didn’t know what to say. Nothing Man was too bored and important to wrangle in public, and besides was busy pretending he didn’t see his son sitting there. The woman with him looked too uncomfortable to do anything to defuse the situation. She even took a small step away, maybe distancing herself from the looming scene, maybe ditching that possessive hand. And Cole wasn’t about to make anything easier for anyone, including himself.

So Dixie took over. She smiled at the waiter. “There’s a misunderstanding, but it’s easily cleared up. There are two Mr. Ashtons present. That, I believe, is Mr. Spencer Ashton.” She nodded at Cole’s father, eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you?”

He was faintly surprised, as if a chair had addressed him. “Yes, I am. And this is my assistant, Kerry Roarke. You are—?”

“Dixie McCord.” She turned her smile up a notch. “And this is your son, Cole Ashton.”

Cole choked and began coughing.

The manager came rushing up. “Idiot. Idiot.” That seemed to be addressed to the waiter. “Go away. I’ll handle this. I am so terribly sorry,” he said, spreading his hands to include both Mr. Ashtons in the apology. “We have your table, of course, Mr. Ashton.” A small nod indicated the older man. “It’s right over here. If you’ll follow me—?”

As soon as they were out of earshot Cole said, “If you think I’m going to thank you for that bit of interference—”

“I’m not that naive. I suppose you want to leave now that you’ve defended your territory.”

He stood and tossed his napkin on the table.

Dixie ached for him. Not one word had his father spoken to him. There hadn’t been even a glance—no curiosity, nothing. Nothing Man is a good name for him, she thought as Cole scattered a few bills on the table.

She knew better than to let Cole see how she hurt for him. Hold out a hand in sympathy right now and he’d snap it off. The walls he’d pulled behind were steep and silent—but then, he had a lot of anger for them to hold back.

It began spilling out when they got in his suvvy. “Did you see that bimbo with him? His assistant.” He made the word sound obscene. “Doesn’t look like he’s changed his habits.”

“I don’t think she’s a bimbo.” Dixie fastened her seat belt. It looked as if they were in for a rough ride.

“Bimbo, mistress, what’s the difference?” He backed out, slammed the car into Drive and stepped on the gas. “I wonder if Bimbo Number One knows about Bimbo Number Two.”

Bimbo Number One, she assumed, would be his stepmother, the woman Spencer Ashton had had an affair with. The one he’d married as soon as the divorce from Cole’s mother was final. The woman he’d raised a second family with—a family he hadn’t deserted. “There may be nothing to know. I don’t think that woman is his mistress,” Dixie repeated patiently. “The body language was wrong.”

“Oh, he’s staked a claim there, all right.” Cole swung out onto the street with barely a pause. “Trust me on that.”

“He may be staking a claim, but she hasn’t accepted it.”

“Don’t be naive. She was uncomfortable at being spotted with him by his son. Probably didn’t realize I’m from his other family—the one he doesn’t see, speak to or give two cents about.”

Dixie decided they had better things to fight about than a woman they’d never see again. “You are not like him, Cole.”

“Where did that come from?” He was cutting through traffic as if he needed to be somewhere, anywhere, other than where he was right now. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“You look like him. That doesn’t mean you’re like him.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. We’ll save it for when you aren’t driving.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my driving.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you want to argue, fine. But you don’t get to pick the subject.”

“And you do, I suppose?”

“Yes, because you’d have us fighting about all the wrong things. What you really need to fight about—”

“I told you I don’t want to talk about him.”

At least Cole had moved close enough to the real subject to say “him” instead of “it.” Dixie decided to let him hole up inside his turbulence until he wasn’t behind the wheel, so she said nothing.

Neither did he. The silence held until she noticed which way they were heading. “This is not the way to The Vines.”

“I need to drive for a while. It clears my head.”

“You have a destination in mind, or are we just going to dodge traffic?”

“My cabin.”

Chapter Six

Cole spent the drive to his cabin caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. When would he be old enough for it to stop mattering? So what if his father was a sorry sonofabitch? Millions of people had lousy fathers. He ought to be able to shrug off the bastard’s indifference by now.

Most of the time he could. He did. Today, though…there was just something about seeing Spencer with his newest side piece, pulling the same shit that had wrecked Cole’s life all those years ago. It rubbed him raw, too, that Dixie had been there. He didn’t know why. It just did.

If he hadn’t looked up to the man so much when he was a kid, tried so hard to win his approval…

The past was a closed book, he reminded himself, pulling to a stop in front of his cabin. Put it back on the shelf and leave it alone. “Go on inside,” he told Dixie, climbing out. “I’m going to chop some wood.”

“Oh, good idea,” she said, getting out and shutting her door. “Go play with an ax while you’re too mad too see straight. I’ll get the bandages and tourniquet ready.”

He flicked one glance at her then walked away, heading for the edge.

The cabin was surrounded on three sides by oak, pine and brush, but the strip along the front was clear all the way to the drop-off. There, the land fell away in dizzying folds. The view always opened him up, made him breathe easier.

It didn’t do a damn thing for him today. He stopped a pace back from the rocky edge and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Dixie had followed him, of course. “This would be easier if you really were Sheila. I can’t help you vent in the traditional male way, by getting into a fistfight.”

“I should have known all that silence was too good to last.”

“If you wanted silence, you should have come here alone.”

Why hadn’t he? He was in no mood for company, yet it hadn’t occurred to him to take her back to The Vines before heading here. “If you wanted me to drop you off, you should have said something.”

“I’m just putting you on notice. You brought me along. Now you have to put up with me.”

“I want to show you the cabin.” There. He knew he’d had a reason for bringing her. “But I need a minute to myself first.”

“You need to do something with all the stuff churning around inside you, all right. Try talking.”

“I’m not in the mood for amateur therapy.”

“You know, people were talking—sometimes even listening—for a few thousand years before Freud called it therapy.”

He gave her an ugly look. “You won’t let it be, will you? You have to poke and prod and try to fix me.”

“I used to do that. It was a mistake.”

His eyebrows went up. “You’re admitting it?”

“Astonishing, isn’t it? But I wasn’t the only one. We both tried to fix each other. Your technique was a little different, that’s all.” She shrugged. “Young and stupid sums it up, I guess. We fell hard and immediately started trying to change each other into people it would be safer to love.”

Love. The word scraped across places already raw. “You found plenty that needed fixing, didn’t you? There wasn’t that much that you liked about me back then.”

She winced. “I can see where you got that impression, but it isn’t true. There was plenty I liked. And,” she admitted, “one or two things I couldn’t live with.”

She’d made that plain. Restless, he started walking. “Why did you come back, Dixie?”

She fell into step with him. “You keep asking me that.”

He didn’t know what kind of answer he was looking for. Just that he hadn’t gotten it yet.

What was wrong with him, anyway? He’d planned to bring Dixie to his cabin after lunch—but he’d been hoping for a little afternoon delight, not a session mucking around in his least pleasant memories. Not to mention his least pleasant self. “I’m acting like an idiot, aren’t I? Sorry.” He made himself smile.

She stopped. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what? Be pleasant? Polite?”

“Don’t put on a happy face for me.”

“What if it isn’t for you?” he snapped. “Maybe I need to remind myself I can be civilized.”

She stood there, shoulders straight, eyes narrowed as she studied him. God, he used to love the way she faced off with him, not backing down an inch…Cole took a deep breath. Some things it was best not to remember too clearly. “Walk with me a bit, okay?”

“Okay.” And that was all she said.

Cole headed for one of his favorite paths, a deer trail that led to a small meadow that was green and pretty now. It would be spectacular in the spring, he thought. Dixie would love it when the wildflowers burst into bloom.

But she wouldn’t be here in the spring, would she?

Carpe the damn diem, then. If all he had was another week or so, he’d better make the most of them. “What did you think of my cabin? I realize you haven’t seen much of it yet.”

“I love it. But it wasn’t what I’d been expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

The path was too narrow for them to walk abreast, so she was following him. He couldn’t see her teasing smile, but he heard it in her voice. “Something more rustic. A lot more rustic. You did say you’d done a lot of the work yourself.”

“You lack confidence in my carpentry.”

“I didn’t think you knew one end of a saw from the other.”

“I didn’t, to start out with,” he admitted. “After the wall fell down, I took a couple courses.”

She laughed. “It really fell down? Which one?”

As he told her the story of his early, botched attempt at fixing up his place, a wave of relief swept through him. They’d be okay. As long as they kept it light, didn’t let things get intense, they’d be fine.

At the end of the tree-shrouded path lay his meadow. His heart lifted as he stepped from shade to sun. There was nothing vast or magnificent about this spot. The beauties here were small and common, but something about the shape of the pocket-size meadow seemed to cup the sunshine, to gather and soften it. He could have sworn the grass grew a little greener here, waving gently in a breeze the trees had blocked. Off to the west a towhee called its name—to-whee, to-whee.

“Oh…” Dixie stopped several paces behind him and turned in a slow circle. “A little piece of perfection, isn’t it?”

Her response pleased him. “This is the other reason I bought the place.”

“It’s lovely.” She stood motionless and smiling, glossed by sunshine. The breeze teased her hair and pressed her thin blue dress against a shape that was pure female.

Longing hit, a sweep of emotion that made him feel larger, lighter, full of air and dreams…then receded, leaving him mute and unsteady.

“Cole?” She tilted her head. “Is something wrong?”

“Probably.” He’d been wrong. Terribly wrong. He didn’t want a few days of friendly, keep-it-light sex from her. He wanted more. Much more.

He walked slowly up to her.

Nerves flickered in her eyes. She knew what was on his mind, oh yes. She didn’t back up—but she wanted to, he could see that. Instead she tilted her head back, frowning. “What flipped your switch?”

“You.” He put his hands on her arms and ran them up to her shoulders, letting the warmth of her seep into his palms. “You always have.”

“I don’t think this—”

“Good. Don’t think.” He crushed his mouth down on hers.

She jolted. He knew that, but only dimly—the ripe taste of her flooded him, a wine more heady than sweet. He pulled her tight against him, running his hands over her, feeding on the feel of her, the scent and taste and heat that was Dixie.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more—needed enough of her that she wouldn’t leave, couldn’t leave him again. His arms tightened around her.

And, dammit to hell, as soon as he did that, she started struggling. Pushing him away.

Cole had to drop his arms and let her go. Again. And it hurt, again.

Her mouth was wet, her hair wildly mussed and her eyes snapping with anger. “I won’t be forced.”

It was guilt that made him snap back. “Forced? It was a kiss!”

“You were going too fast. Pushing too hard.”

His mouth twisted. So did something inside, something that spilled out ugliness. “You’ve given me every reason to think you’d like to be kissed. Or was that all part of the game? Do you get a charge out of teasing men?”

“Where did that come from?” she snapped.

“You like men, don’t you? Eli, Russ, me—you flirt with us all. Am I just one of your men, Dixie?”

She spun around and started back toward the path.

“That’s right. Walk away. That’s your answer to everything.”

She paused. Slowly she turned. “People who leave aren’t exactly high on your list, are they, Cole? Or maybe they make the wrong list. Eleven years ago, I was the one to leave. We haven’t talked about that.”

“That’s right, I forgot. Talking is your other answer.”

She scowled. “I like yelling, too, sometimes.”

“I remember.” God, he did remember. Not the exact words of that last fight, but the feelings. She’d been furious, hurt—and the more angry she’d gotten, the colder he’d turned, until he’d thought he might never be warm again. “You yelled plenty when I forgot your birthday. Then you left me.”

She stared. “Tell me that isn’t the way you remember it.”

“It’s what happened! I messed up with the dates—”

“You refused to change a dinner with a client to another day!” She advanced, fists clenched at her sides. “We had a date, you and I, but you forgot and booked a dinner with a client for that night. I was hurt, yes, because you’d forgotten, but that wasn’t why I left!”

“Then why?” he demanded. “Tell me why, because I remember you screaming at me that if I wouldn’t take you out instead of my client, you were leaving—and you did!”

“You could have switched your client to another night instead of putting me off! I came last, like usual. Over and over you showed me where I stood—business came first, your family second, and I finished a poor third. Yet in spite of that, you couldn’t stand it if I so much as smiled at another man!”

His lip curled. “Half the time, you smiled at everyone but me. Is it any wonder I wasn’t sure of you?”

“You weren’t there for me to smile at! God, I’d be waiting for a phone call, then when it came you’d tell me you had to cancel lunch. Or dinner. By the last month we were together,” she finished bitterly, “you’d canceled pretty much everything except sex. That, you had time for.”

Her words struck him mute, inside and out. In the flash of mental silence that followed he heard his own words, past and present, echoing in his mind. After a moment he asked quietly, “Did you really think that? That all I wanted from you was sex?”

She gave her head a little shake, as if she were emerging from the fog, too. When she spoke there was a thread of humor in her voice. “Surely I must have screamed something along those lines.”

“By then we were accusing each other of everything short of abetting the Holocaust. I didn’t think you meant it.”

“I, on the other hand, believed you meant every word. You weren’t screaming, like me. You were deep in your chill zone, still speaking in complete, grammatically correct sentences…everything you said came out cold and deliberate.”

“I have no idea what I said. I was terrified.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You?”

“Oh, yeah. I was losing you and I knew it.” He’d never really believed he’d be able to hold on to her, so he’d held on too tightly, letting jealousy twist its knife in him. “I’d bought a ring.”

The words just slipped out. Dammit, he’d never wanted her to know that, never wanted anyone to realize how deep and complete a fool he’d been.

Her eyes went huge. “A ring?” she whispered.

“I was going to ask you to wear it on your birthday. Or,” he added wryly, “on whatever night I managed to make time to celebrate your birthday.”

Her eyes closed. She rubbed her chest as if it hurt. “Give me a minute. You…That’s a real leveler.” She paced away a few steps, then just stood there, her hand on her chest, looking away…pretty far away, he suspected. About eleven years. “If I’d known…”

“You might not have left. And that,” he added with painful honesty, “would probably have been a mistake. I wanted to keep you, but I had no intention of changing. I didn’t know how, back then. We’d have made each other miserable.”

She looked back at him. “I was sure you’d call. I waited for weeks for you to call and say you’d been wrong and wanted me back.”

“I was waiting for you to call and apologize. I gave you a month, being big on tests back then. You mentioned that.” He remembered only too well what she’d said. “Or shouted it. You were sick of the way I kept testing you, but as usual I didn’t listen. At the end of the month I decided you’d failed the test. I pitched the ring into the deepest canyon I could find. It was all very dramatic.”

She shook her head, a sad smile touching her mouth. “God have mercy on the young.”

“Young and stupid,” he agreed. “Both of us.”

Suddenly she laughed. “Pigheaded fits, too. Both of us waiting for the other one to call—”

“Confess their sins—”

“And come crawling back.” She grinned. “Admit it. The crawling part figured in your fantasies, too.”

“Absolutely.” Right up until he threw away the ring that had meant so much…and so little. After that, he’d made up his mind to forget her.

He’d failed.

For a moment they just looked at each other, letting the past settle back into place. Cole found that the shapes it fell into weren’t quite the ones it had held before. “I was out of line earlier,” he admitted. “Way out. I shouldn’t have accused you of being a tease, or…” He swallowed. “Or forced a kiss you didn’t want.”

“I wanted it,” she said, low voiced. “Then I got scared.”

“God, I never meant—”

“Of course not,” she said quickly. “If I’d let you know…but I don’t like to admit it when I’m frightened.”

But he knew of another time she’d been frightened, one she’d told him about. That knowledge hung between them.

She’d been eight when her father died, fifteen when her mother became engaged again. Helen McCord had believed she’d found the man who would take care of her and her daughter forever. Dixie hadn’t liked him, but she’d kept quiet about it for her mother’s sake. They’d just moved in together when Helen’s heart condition had grown suddenly worse. She’d gone in for surgery, comforted by the knowledge that the man she loved would be there to take care of her daughter.

The day after her surgery, that man had cornered Dixie in her bedroom. She’d gotten away. She’d even left her mark—the bastard probably bore a scar on his forehead to this day. And she hadn’t told her mother about it until Helen was home from rehab.

It was typical of Dixie. Admirable. And it provided a stark exclamation point to all the reasons he’d had for doubting she could ever commit completely to one man. Life had taught her not to trust men. To rely only on herself.

“It wasn’t you I was afraid of,” Dixie said at last. “Not you. That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for your comments,” she added with attempted lightness. “Some women may find jealousy attractive. I don’t.”

“Noted.” He nodded, grimly accepting that he’d given her a flashback moment. One more in a long series of mistakes he’d made with her. “You’ve seen my temper, my favorite spot and my least favorite side of myself. Can I show you my cabin now?”

She shook her head. “I do want to see it, but not today. Things are pretty charged between us right now. I don’t want to fall into your bed by accident.”

His pulse leaped. Down, boy, he told his most optimistic body part, and held out a hand. “Walk back with me?”

She smiled, came to him and took his hand. The connection felt good. After a moment he said, “I guess this means I’ll have to postpone my plans for an afternoon of hot sex.”

Her laugh was shaky. “Good guess.”

Postponed, he thought. What a wonderful word. For a few minutes it had looked as if he was going to lose her all over again. They walked back in a silence every bit as complete as when they’d walked out to the meadow…and wholly different.

Chapter Seven

It was surprisingly easy to keep the conversation light on the way back to The Vines. Maybe, Dixie thought, because of that stubborn rascal, hope. It was back, messing with her mind, making her think dangerous thoughts.

She reminded herself that they hadn’t really settled anything. Certainly nothing inside her felt settled. Cole had toppled several of her fixed ideas about the past, turning the present into unfamiliar territory.

He’d bought her a ring. He’d been planning to ask her to wear it.

Never, not once, had she dreamed that Cole had given any thought to marriage. He’d wanted more than one summer, yes. He’d urged her to take a job in San Francisco so they could continue their affair. She probably would have, too, even though the New York job she’d been offered was better for her professionally. If not for their last big fight she probably would have stayed in California to be close to him.

What if Cole had taken her out, as planned, on her birthday? What if he’d presented her with that ring? Would she have said yes?

She didn’t know. That unsettled Dixie more deeply than anything else she’d learned today. For years she’d thought of herself as the one deeply in love, the one most hurt when they couldn’t make their relationship work…now she learned that Cole had been ready to commit to her for life. And she wasn’t sure if she would have said yes.

Shouldn’t she know? If she’d been so deeply in love, why hadn’t she thought about marriage?

Dixie couldn’t find answers for those questions. Maybe it was impossible to see the past clearly through the lens of the present. After all, the woman who’d loved Cole for that short, mad summer was gone.

But the woman who remembered that summer was sitting beside a man who tempted her in ways the younger Cole hadn’t. Hope and humor were beguilements she didn’t know how to defend against.

Maybe she didn’t want to.

By the time they reached The Vines, the sky was grumbling to itself through stacked-up clouds dark with rain. Dixie was congratulating herself on arriving ahead of the storm when she noticed the two unfamiliar cars in front of the big house.

She groaned. “I forgot about the dinner tonight. Should I change? Cancel that,” she said with a glance at her watch. “There isn’t time.” She started digging in her purse, hoping she’d remembered her lipstick.

Cole grinned. “If I say you look fine, am I being supportive or insensitive?”

“Honest, I hope.” No lipstick. She grimaced and took out the little brush. At least she could get rid of the tangles.

He got out, came around to her side and opened her door. She finished with her hair, stashed the brush, stepped out—and he took her hands, both of them, carried them to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of each, in turn. “Fine doesn’t begin to cover it,” he said softly. “I’m not sure how to tell you how good you look.”

Her cheeks warmed with pleasure. “Try.”

He cocked one wicked eyebrow. “I could say you look like a wet dream.”

She laughed and pulled her hands back. “Not when I’m going to dinner with your folks, you can’t.” She slanted him a mischievous look. “But it’s okay if you think it.”

“I’m thinking,” he assured her as they headed for the door.

The living room lay past the foyer and the gallery with its curving staircase, and opened onto the covered lanai where Dixie had sketched Caroline. It was a cheerful blend of antiques and French country accents, with fabrics ranging from the drapes striped in poppy, grass and sunflower to the chairs covered in poppy-and-black toiles.

At the moment, it was full of tense people. One of them was the man Dixie had seen twice now. The Western Man.

She stopped three paces in, astonished and wary. Whatever he was doing here, no one looked very happy about it.

Mercedes stood near the sofa with her boyfriend du jour, Craig Bradford—who must have some virtues Dixie had failed to discover, since he’d lasted longer than most. Good looks alone weren’t enough to account for that, given her friend’s theories about relationships.

Merry looked stunned. Her sister, Jillian, sat on the couch, staring at the stranger and shaking her head slowly, as if she were denying some monstrous question. Across from them, standing nearest their visitor, was Eli.

Eli was furious.

It wasn’t obvious, but Dixie had studied that face. She saw the rigid control in the muscles along his jaw and the emotion seething in eyes that burned like green fire.

They all had green eyes, all of Spencer Ashton’s children, didn’t they?

Dixie’s mouth fell open at a sudden, impossible thought. Her gaze swung to the stranger.

“What’s going on?” Cole asked, his voice sharp.

Eli’s gaze swung to him. “Let me introduce you. This is Grant Ashton. Your oldest brother.”

“So he says.” Merry’s voice was flat.

Oh, yes, Dixie thought. Yes, the head shape was the same. The eyes. She’d seen the resemblance the morning she ran into him, but it hadn’t occurred to her…

“What the hell—?” Cole’s words were more question than curse. He looked from one to the other of them.

“I know this must be a shock. I’m sorry for that.” That was the stranger, Western Man…Grant Ashton.

Cole took a step forward, his face hard. “You’d better have some sort of proof.”

“He does.” Caroline Ashton stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her face pale but composed. “He showed me his parents’ marriage license.”

“You spoke to him?” Eli asked, scowling.

She nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have been here when he told you. I…he arrived half an hour ago. After I spoke with him, I went to call Lucas. He’s on his way back from the city and would have been here soon anyway, but I…I just wanted to talk to him. I should have been here,” she repeated. “I’m sorry.”

“Never mind that.” Jillian hurried to her mother’s side. “Are you all right?”

Caroline smiled. “Of course.”

“I wasn’t going to tell them until you returned,” Grant said. “But your daughter found me waiting for you in the lanai and insisted I join the family in here. She was trying to be hospitable to a guest, I suppose,” he said wryly. “Then your son asked my name. I wasn’t going to make one up.”

“No, of course not. And once you told them you were an Ashton, you had to tell them the rest.”

“What’s the rest?” Cole demanded.

Grant met his eyes levelly. “My parents married young—a shotgun wedding, you might say. People still do that where I come from, or did, back when my mother found out she was pregnant. Until a couple weeks ago, I thought my father died when I was a year old. Turns out he just took off, leaving my mother to raise me and my sister.” He paused. “My father’s name is Spencer Ashton.”

No one moved. No one spoke. Then Cole’s sharp bark of laughter broke the silence. “The bastard started young, didn’t he?”

Caroline insisted that Grant join them for dinner. It was an awkward meal.

Merry was withdrawn, mostly silent. Jillian was tense. Dixie had noticed that she was sensitive to others’ moods, and the overall mood at the table that night was not jolly. Eli barely spoke—and Cole spoke too much, considering that he substituted grilling their guest for polite conversation.

They learned that Grant was from Crawley, Nebraska; that he had a farm there, which his nephew was running while he was gone; that he’d never married, but had raised his niece and nephew; and that he’d tried repeatedly to speak to Spencer, but the man brushed him off.

“I saw you at Charley’s,” Cole said. “You were trying to talk to him then?”

Grant nodded and buttered a roll.

“I can see why you’d think he owes you something, and he has plenty of money. Are you hoping to—”

“Cole!” Caroline said sharply. “That is quite enough.”

“For the record,” Grant said levelly, “I do fine, financially. I don’t want anything from him. Or you.”

Dixie gave him an approving smile. “For the record, Cole isn’t always such an ass. It sneaks up on him occasionally.”

Mercedes stifled a giggle. Cole turned to Dixie. “Thank you,” he said, dry enough to suck the juice from a mummy, “for your unquestioning support.”

“Friends don’t let friends talk junk. Especially at their mother’s table. Why don’t we discuss something innocuous for a while, like religion or politics?”

Surprisingly, it was Craig who came to her rescue. “How about sports? I missed the game last Monday and have been hearing about the Patriots’ fumble all week.”

Lucas picked up that ball and ran with it, and they managed to stagger on through dessert. Dixie saw that Craig had at least one undeniable virtue—he was socially adroit. He helped her keep the conversation going more than once during the interminable meal. So that was why Merry kept him around—he made the perfect fashion accessory. Pretty to look at, great at small talk, no obvious vices.

Dixie promised herself to find time soon to have a little talk with Merry. But not tonight. They still had to navigate the postdinner shoals.

She was worried about Cole. He’d made an effort to be civil for the rest of the meal, but the anger simmering in him demanded some kind of outlet. There wasn’t much she could do about it right now, though.

When they adjourned to the living room, the atmosphere wasn’t as tense as it had been immediately following the big revelation. Caroline and Lucas had cornered Cole and were forcing him to discuss some business involving the new chardonnay. Eli was talking to Grant about farming with Mercedes listening in, and Jillian had stepped out of the room for the moment.

That left Dixie with Craig. Unfortunately, he chose that time to demonstrate why he was Mr. Right Now instead of Mr. Right.

They chatted lightly for a few minutes about generalities. Feeling the need to give credit where credit was due, she thanked him for helping out during dinner.

“Glad I could do it.” He moved closer and spoke low, as if confiding in her. “Mercedes has some issues about her father. I admired the way you smoothed things over.”

“Mmm.” The jerk was trying to look down her dress. She frowned and shifted away slightly. “All of them have issues about Spencer, and with reason.”

He nodded solemnly. “Learning that he had yet another family that he abandoned was bound to upset them.”

“It wasn’t Grant’s fault, of course, but it’s hard not to associate the messenger with the message.”

“I’m fortunate,” he said. “My father and I get along great. Are you planning to stay in California, Dixie? I hope so.”

Uh-oh. “Probably. Is your family from around here?”

“They’re in Frisco. But enough about families. I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I like your work.” His voice turned caressing. “Being an unimaginative business grunt, I admire artists. They’re so…unconventional. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Hints weren’t going to work. “Don’t you think it’s tacky to come on to me with Mercedes in the room?”

He just smiled and reached up to toy with her hair. “Mercedes and I have an understanding. She likes you. I like you. Where’s the harm?”

Dixie sighed. “Coming at you from three o’-clock.”

He blinked, confused. “What?”

Cole plucked Craig’s wineglass from his hand. “Sorry you have to leave so early, Bradford.” The glitter in his eyes did not resemble regret.

“I don’t have to—”

“Yes, you do.” Cole gripped Craig’s elbow with one hand and passed the glass to Dixie. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

March him to the door was more like it. Craig might not have been the brightest bulb on the tree, but he wasn’t stupid enough to protest or try to shrug off the hand propelling him to the front door.

Dixie caught Mercedes’ eye across the room. Merry shrugged apologetically, which annoyed Dixie no end. Her friend shouldn’t be apologizing for the jerk. She should be dumping him.

Definitely they needed to talk.

Cole came back alone. He didn’t look satisfied—more like a volcano ready to erupt. His eyes were hot when he snapped at her, “You ought to know better than to flirt with that idiot.”

“Hold on,” Eli said. “Dixie didn’t do anything.”

Cole swung around. “You stay out of this.”

“Okay,” Dixie said, taking Cole’s arm. “That’s enough. You tried. You made a valiant effort, but it isn’t working.” She sent a smile around the room. “Sorry to eat and run, but Cole and I need to go jog or chop wood or something.”

“It’s pouring down rain!” Lucas protested.

“So we’ll swim laps. Come on,” she said, pulling on Cole’s arm. “Your mother does not want you punching your brother in her living room. Either of your brothers. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Cole stared at her a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he nodded curtly, shook off her hand and headed for the door.

He opened it and looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

“Coats,” she said, delving into the closet. She didn’t have one with her, so she borrowed a raincoat of Merry’s. She tossed Cole his windbreaker.

He shrugged into it impatiently. Then they stepped out into the rain.

Chapter Eight

Somewhere to the west, unseen in the murk, the sun was setting. There was no wind; the rain fell straight and cold. Dixie buttoned her borrowed raincoat and resigned herself to wet hair and ruined shoes. Cole was headed for the vineyards.

They tramped along the strip of barley planted between the vines, not touching. Halfway to the grove of olive trees he spoke abruptly. “I’m sorry. You weren’t flirting.”

“No, I wasn’t. It isn’t me you’re mad at.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He stopped, jammed his hands in his pockets and tilted his face up, letting the rain wash it. Then he shook his head like a dog, scattering more drops, and started walking again. “I’ve been flying off the handle all day, and for no good reason.”

“You hate your father, and his existence has been shoved in your face today.”

“He’s old news.”

“He abandoned you.”

“I put all that out of my mind years ago. Lucas has been a father to me, and a good one.”

“The problem with stuffing everything into a compartment labeled ‘the past’ is that the lid can get jarred off.”

He gave a single harsh bark of a laugh. “True. Then the ugly spills out. And there’s a lot of ugly.”

“Whose ugliness are you talking about? Yours? Or your father’s?”

“There’s plenty to go around, but we’ll stick with his for now.” The rain had sleeked all the curl from Cole’s hair, laying it flat against his skull. He tilted his face up slightly and let the rain wash over it. “He stole my mother’s birthright.”

A theft that had made Spencer a rich man. Caroline’s father had been of the old school, unable to believe that a woman could run a major business. He’d left his shares of the Lattimer Corporation to his son-in-law, not his daughter. Less than a year later, Spencer had left Caroline. “I didn’t think you wanted any part of Lattimer Corporation.”

“Not now. Not when it’s been his so long. I don’t want a damned thing that’s his.”

Yet hate was just a deep, hard form of wanting. Cole wanted fiercely for his father to have been a different sort of person, or at least for Spencer to suffer as he’d caused others to suffer.

“It was during the divorce that he really put the screws to her,” Cole went on bitterly.

“What happened then?”

“He grabbed what was left. Money, properties—everything except The Vines.”

“But how? What judge would let him do that?”

“How else? Lies, threats and trickery. He told Mom he’d take us away from her if she fought him. He had people ready to testify that she used drugs.”

“God,” she murmured, rubbing her middle. “He does turn the stomach, doesn’t he?”

He didn’t say anything for several minutes, then burst out, “How does he do it? Are people like clothes to him? If you get tired of a shirt you throw it away. He gets tired of a family and he throws them away. They don’t exist for him after that.”

Dixie thought Spencer Ashton sounded like a classic narcissist. Other people weren’t real for him, except as echoes or reflections of his own ego. “What was he like when you were little?”

“I thought he liked me.” Cole snorted. “I was stupid, obviously, but…sometimes he was great. He used to ruffle my hair when I brought home a good report card and say, ‘Way to go, kid.’ But it was winning he liked, not me.”

“Was he hard to please?”

“More like hard to predict. If things were going badly for him, we all stayed away. He’d take it out on us. But sometimes he’d make a big deal about us. Birthdays, for example. He liked throwing parties. When I turned six he threw this big bash—clowns, balloons, pony rides for the kids, a catered picnic for their parents.”

The faint, wistful tone in his voice tugged at her. She swallowed. “Do you think parties were another way to enhance his own image?”

He shrugged. “They were more about him than me, but I didn’t see that as a kid. He didn’t come to school stuff, either, but back then I thought important people like him were always busy.”

He fell silent. Dixie walked with him, trying not to slide around too much in her slick-soled shoes. Her hair hung in wet rattails down her neck, dripping water beneath the collar of her raincoat. She tugged it to one side.

They reached the little grove of olive trees. It was darker here, but the trees offered some shelter. She stopped. “What about when he left? Kids often blame themselves when their parents break up.”

“I don’t remember blaming myself exactly, but…” He didn’t look at her. “You had it right when you said I hated him. But until he left, I’d tried to be like him.”

“You were a kid. You wanted to please your father, and the only thing that pleases a narcissist is his own reflection.”

“And I made myself into a damn good reflection, didn’t I?”

“No!” She seized his arm, making him turn and look at her. “Where did you get the idea you’re like him?”

“Aside from looking in the mirror, you mean?” Rain ran down the taut lines of his face as if the sky were weeping for him. “Come on, Dixie. You’re not dense. I’ve spent years building Louret up so I could prove to the bastard that we didn’t need him. That I’m better than he is in the one way that means anything to him—making money.”

“You’re ambitious, yes. But you don’t use people. You’d never discard someone the way he has.”

“You left me because I was like him.”

Dixie’s breath caught, hard and painful, in her chest. Was that what he’d thought? All these years had he believed, deep down, that her leaving proved he was like his father?

“Cole.” She reached up with both hands and cupped his hard, wet face between her hands, blinking back tears. “You idiot.”

He searched her face. He couldn’t have seen much in the dimness, but apparently he saw enough. He had no trouble finding her mouth with his.

His kiss was soft and slow and unbearably moving. He drifted his mouth over her cheek. “You’re cold.”

“No kidding.” But it wasn’t cold that made her shiver. It was his fingers playing along her throat.

He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. “Warmer?” he murmured next to her ear, then kissed it.

She was cold, wet, muddy, and her heart was knocking against the wall of her chest so hard it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it. From fear? Arousal? Sheer exhilaration?

Did it matter? She put her hands on his chest. “Not yet,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the shush-shush of the rain. “Try harder.”

This time his mouth meant business. He kissed, licked and sucked, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her hands were trapped against his chest. She couldn’t move—could only tip her head back and meet his tongue with hers. His breath was warm. His body was warm and hard, and she ached.

She wiggled her arms loose, needing to feel the planes and angles and muscle of him. Sliding her hands under his jacket, she found dry cloth heated by warm skin. She couldn’t get close enough, touch enough of him.

Cole must have felt the same. He fumbled with the buttons of her coat, making a low sound of frustration when they wouldn’t part fast enough to suit him. Using both hands he ripped it open, popping buttons off into the mud. Then his hands were all over her, too—stomach, waist, breasts.

It was a rough wooing. It made her wild.

He ran his hands up her back, then down to her butt, cupping her and pulling her up against him. But he was too tall. He rubbed against her stomach through their clothes—then, when she went up on tiptoe, rubbed lower.

But not low enough. Not quite.

When he pulled her down, she sank with him to the ground, shielded by trees and rain and the gathering darkness. If the earth below her was cold, the rain had made it giving, and the air was sweet with the scents of sage and rain and wet earth.

He held himself up on his hands, his legs tangled with hers and his pelvis pressing against hers. She moaned, the sound lost in the rush of the rain. He brought his face close to hers—then, instead of kissing her, he rubbed his cheek against hers, a sandpaper tenderness that made her breath hitch.

“Dixie,” he breathed against her cheek. Just that. Just her name. For a moment they lay tight and close in the damp and the darkness, unmoving. Holding on to each other.

But her body’s urgency wouldn’t be denied. Her hips lifted, rolled against him. He responded by raising up to gather the skirt of her dress with one hand, then slid his hand between her legs. She jolted at the first touch.

“Now?” he asked. “Now, Dixie?”

“Yes.” She pushed up with her feet, lifting her hips, and he yanked down her panties and tossed them away. When she reached for the zipper on his slacks, his hand was already there. Together they freed him. Then he was cupping her bottom with his hands and pushing inside.

The heat and length of him were perfect. But it had been a long time for her, long enough for the muscles to be tight, resistant. She moaned with frustration, in no mood for slow and easy, and thrust up hard. And he filled her.

He gasped out something, but the words were lost in the storms, inner and outer. Slowly he withdrew, and just as slowly returned. Her world narrowed to now—to this moment when the ground was soft and chill against her back, and the rain fell in a liquid rush on leaves, on earth and puddles, as Cole slid slowly back inside her.

She gripped his hips and held him there, held him tight against her, wanting to hold on to the moment. To somehow stop time and stay here, like this, with him.

But time and their bodies defeated her. The moment slipped away in a flood of urgency as he began to move—faster, harder, smacking himself into her with thrusts that shoved her into the ground, winding her tighter and tighter until she cried out, her nails digging into arms rigid with tension, her body bucking. She heard him call out as her mind spiraled off into a place where now was white and endless.

Slowly her thoughts reassembled. There was a stone digging into her left buttock. Cole lay on top of her, his chest heaving. He was heavy. Her skirt was up around her waist. She was wet, muddy and cold.

And smiling. A few seconds later, she was giggling.

He groaned and propped himself up on his elbows, frowning down at her. “What?”

In answer, she dug her fingers into a particularly squelchy spot of mud on her right side and painted a big stripe down his nose.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then he snorted—and then he rolled off her onto the cold, wet ground, laughing. “I can’t believe I…we…”

“In the mud!” Giggles wound up into laughter. “Both of us, in the mud!”

“Oh, yeah.” He was laughing hard now, holding his stomach. “Such romance, such…I swept you off your feet, didn’t I?”

“Right off them, and plopped me down in the mud.” She began to sing “Some Enchanted Evening” seriously off-key, the words interrupted by giggles.

Cole hummed along, propped up on one elbow, then bent over and kissed her. “I guess this proves I can get down and dirty.”

That sent her off into renewed laughter, more than the small joke warranted. But she felt so good.

“Come on, my muddy partner in lust.” He rolled to his feet, zipped his pants and held out a hand. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up.”

“My panties,” she said, taking his hand and letting him pull her up. “And my shoe,” she added when she noticed she was lopsided.

Fortunately, the shoe wasn’t far. Cole presented it to her with a bow. But it was almost completely dark now, though the rain had slowed to a drizzle. “I’m afraid the panties are lost in action,” he said.

“We have to find them,” she insisted, slipping the wet shoe back on. Yuck. It was cold. “Or someone else will.”

“No one will know who they belonged to.”

“Oh, now I feel better.” But when she looked around she knew he was right. She’d never find them in the dark. She slid an arm around his waist, he put his arm around her shoulders, and they started back. “I’m going to have to buy Merry a new raincoat. This one’s ruined.”

“You’re wearing my sister’s coat?” he asked, appalled. “I made love to you on my sister’s coat?”

She started giggling again.

They made it to the carriage house unobserved—or so she hoped. Surely no one else was idiotic enough to be out at night in this weather. There they left a trail of clothes on their way to the bathroom, where a warm shower chased away the goose bumps.

Steam, proximity and soap-slick skin had an inevitable effect. But this time they could linger over kisses, touch lightly here, tease a little there. She rediscovered the sensitive spot on his throat, and he remembered the place at the end of her spine where a light stroking made her crazy.

Not that he would indulge her, not until they were both dry and horizontal on a clean, warm bed. She had to admit he had a point—but she also had to pay him back for making her wait.

She knew just how to do that. With hands and lips and tongue she explained payback to him, and she showed no mercy.

Neither did he.

Dixie’s bedroom was in the loft, and she’d left the curtains open. By the time she lay lax and limp with sweat cooling on her skin, the sky had cleared. The room was awash in moonlight. The only sound was the quiet tick-tick-tick of her windup travel clock…and, from downstairs, a faint crunching as Hulk helped himself to a late-night snack.

Hulk…deserted by someone, claimed by her. Just as Cole had rescued an abandoned Tilly.

We’re so alike in some ways, so different in others, she thought, snuggling her head a little more cozily into his shoulder. His eyes were closed, but the half smile on his lips said he wasn’t sleeping. Just drifting.

She ran her fingers over his chest, loving his skin, his ribs, the small patch of hair right over his heart. Marveling at the fact that she was lying in Cole’s arms once more…and in love once more.

Or still? Who could say? she thought drowsily, her eyelids heavy. Life sure was strange.

Maybe there had been a little seed, deep in her heart, left behind by the time when she’d loved him before. A seed that had sprouted the day she saw him again, and flourished…nourished in part, she admitted, by lust. Not much doubt that the seed had burst into full, unmistakable bloom when they rolled around in the mud together.

Partners in lust, she thought, and smiled. She and Cole hadn’t truly been friends before. They’d been too young—afraid of being hurt, maybe, but also afraid of being fools. Afraid to trust. They’d loved, but with one foot out the door, ready for the moment when the other failed them.

The passion was still there, but this time there was also friendship. A surprising and very dear friendship. This time, they had a chance…if they were patient with each other, willing to be foolish…

Cole’s hand, stroking her hair, brought her back from a doze. Her eyelids lifted partway. “Mmm,” she said, to encourage him.

“You still with me?”

“Let’s see.” She wiggled a foot, fluttered the fingers of one hand. “All the parts seem to be in place, but I’ve misplaced my bones. Think overcooked spaghetti. Melted butter. Jell-O.”

“You sound hungry.” He was amused, but there was an ounce of hesitation in his next words. “But happy.”

“I am.” Her eyes were drifting shut again. “Very happy. I’m going to marry you.”

Her eyes popped open. She couldn’t believe she’d said that.

Neither could Cole, judging by the way he jolted. “What the…you’re joking, right?”

She’d never been more serious in her life. But if she said that, Cole would be back in his clothes and out the door in under two minutes. So she mustered a decent chuckle. “How about another bet? If I get you to propose, you have to be my sex slave for a month.”

He relaxed and tugged at a strand of her hair. “And if I don’t, you’re my sex slave? That’s an offer I can’t refuse. Be prepared to pay up.”

His obvious relief hurt. But she had an uphill road to climb, and she knew it. She’d left Cole once. That was the one unforgivable sin in his book. He had a tendency to shove people who left him into a mental box and leave them there, where they couldn’t hurt him again.

But as she’d told him, the problem with boxes was that their lids could pop off. Dixie meant to do anything and everything she could to break out of whatever mental compartment Cole had shoved her in. So she teased him, keeping things light, until he dozed off.

Then she plotted.

Words weren’t going to win Cole. Eleven years ago she’d told him she loved him, and she’d left him anyway. If you want to convince a man of something, she decided, you needed to use man-language. And man-language means actions, not words.

How would a man go about convincing a woman he was serious?

Dixie smiled, snuggled close to the man sleeping beside her, and laid her plans.

Chapter Nine

The sun was shining brightly through Cole’s office window three days later as he punched in a number he’d gotten from a friend. He glanced at his watch as a phone rang on the other end. He needed to get this taken care of before Dixie showed up. She was taking him to lunch today, and he didn’t want her to know about…

“Hampstead Investigations,” a female voice said in his ear.

“My name is Cole Ashton. I’d like to speak with Mr. Hampstead about an investigation.”

“I’d be happy to make an appointment for you, sir.”

“I prefer to speak with Mr. Hampstead first.”

“Very well. He’s on another line. Can you hold for a moment?”

Cole agreed, tapping his fingers on the desk. He caught sight of the orchid sitting on the corner of his desk and his lips curved unwillingly. It looked right there somehow.

Dixie had had it delivered the day after they made love. The next day she’d given him a box of chocolate-covered pecans, and yesterday she’d brought him a small, exquisitely wrapped box. That turned out to be cuff links—handmade, with turquoise set in heavy silver. They’d looked alarmingly expensive, but when he’d protested she’d laughed and said a friend of hers made them.

It was almost as if she was courting him.

Get real, he told himself, glancing at his watch again. This was Dixie. She was playing at role reversal and enjoying the game, that was all.

A pleasant tenor came on the line. “This is Frank Hampstead, Mr. Ashton. How may I help you?”

“I’ve a confidential family matter I need investigated. I prefer not to drive down to the city right now to see you in person.” Cole felt foolish enough about consulting a private investigator. He didn’t want to feel foolish in person. “I’m hoping we can arrange things over the phone.”

“I generally insist on meeting my clients, sir. You’d be amazed at what some people will do—using a fake name, for example, which complicates the billing process considerably.”

“Abe said you’d feel that way.” The friend Cole named was an attorney with a great many connections in this part of the state.

A spark of interest entered the other man’s voice. “Abe Rosenberg?”

“Yes, I got your name from him. He suggested you could call him to establish my bona fides.”

Hampstead put Cole on hold again while he called Abe. Cole drummed his fingers and looked at the orchid sitting there so bright and exotic.

He wasn’t going to take her seriously. That’s where he’d gone wrong before, thinking Dixie meant the love words she’d spoken. He supposed she had, at the time. But for Dixie, I love you didn’t mean I want to be with you forever.

He’d enjoy her, enjoy their affair and keep his heart out of it. When it ended, he’d wish her well…and maybe they could remain friends. He found that he really wanted that. If ending their affair meant losing her altogether again…

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Ashton,” Hampstead said. “Tell me about this family matter you need information about. Confidentiality,” he added, “is a given.”

“It’s complicated.” Cole paused. He hated discussing his father, but this was necessary. Briefly he explained about the recent advent of Grant “Ashton” into their lives. “I’ve no real reason to doubt him,” Cole finished. “But no reason to believe him, either, and I need to know the truth. The marriage license he showed us doesn’t prove anything. I don’t know how one goes about obtaining a fraudulent marriage license, but it must be possible.”

“And there is potentially a great deal of money involved,” Hampstead agreed. “You’re wise to be cautious.”

As far as Cole was concerned, if Grant wanted to try to swindle Spencer Ashton out of some part of his fortune, more power to him. Cole wouldn’t allow his family to be hurt by the man, however. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m having him investigated. My family has accepted Grant. They’d be upset if they knew I’d sicced a private eye on him.”

“No problem. I only report to my client, and there should be no need to ask questions of any of your family members.”

“So is this marriage something you can prove or disprove definitely?”

“Certainly. I’ll need a few more specifics from you, then we’ll go over my fees.”

They wrapped up the conversation and were going over the detective’s rates and expenses when something tapped on Cole’s window. He looked that way, puzzled.

The sky was completely clear, and he was on the second floor. He must have imagined it. “That’s acceptable,” he told Hampstead. “You have my number. When can I expect to hear from you?”

“Perhaps in a few days, but all sorts of things can complicate this sort of investigation. Many older records are not in computer databases. If I have to check courthouse records in person, for example, it will take longer.”

Plink. Plink-plink.

“And cost more, obviously,” Cole said, pushing his chair back. “Fine. Let me know when you learn something.” They exchanged obligatory goodbyes, and Cole disconnected. Frowning, he got up and went to the window.

Another pebble hit it as he arrived. And below, ready to toss more missiles his way, was Dixie…on the back of his mother’s horse, with his horse in tow. She wore jeans, a denim jacket with a hot pink T-shirt and a battered black cowboy hat.

Cole shook his head, grinning. God only knew where she’d gotten the hat. He opened the window and leaned out. “You don’t know how to ride.”

“And yet here I am, on a horse. I must have learned at some point.” Her face was tilted up to him, her grin as wide-open as the day. “Come along quietly now, and no one will get hurt. You’re being kidnapped.”

Dixie might be all play, but she was incredibly fun to play with. He shook his head. “Uh-uh. I want to be the bad guy. You can be the marshal and arrest me.”

“This is an abduction,” she told him severely. “Marshals do not abduct people. Besides, I’ve got the black hat. I get to be the outlaw.”

Cole was grinning as he took the stairs two at a time. He could faintly hear one of the girls in the tasting room giving her spiel, so he took the rear exit. They had a bad habit of introducing him to the tourists if he walked through at the wrong time, and he didn’t feel like making nice to the customers right now. He wanted to see Dixie.

“You look great,” he said as he came up to her, laying a hand on her knee. “Almost as if you knew what you were doing.”

“Of course I do. Riding’s easy. There’s no clutch to worry about.”

“Thank God.” Cole had vivid memories of trying to teach Dixie how to drive a standard transmission. He ran a hand over the girth. “Seems tight, but Trouble has a bad habit of holding his breath.” He went to his horse, who was trying to snatch a bite of grass.

“Don’t you trust me to get it right?” she demanded.

“Did you saddle them?” The girth was fine.

She flashed a dimple at him. “No.”

He laughed. “I didn’t think so.”

“So I’m not a cowgirl. I did make the picnic food. We’ve got a beef and sausage tart, marinated baby veggies and—hey!”

Tilly rounded the front corner of the building at a dead run. Trouble sidestepped, throwing his head back. Cole grabbed for the reins. “Damn that cat of yours! Let go before he pulls you off!”

But it wasn’t Dixie’s cat in pursuit this time. It was a Doberman.

Tilly made for Cole, who was trying to keep Trouble from trampling both of them. Cole hollered at the Doberman, hoping to scare him off—which scared Tilly, who yelped and retreated.

The Doberman slowed but was growling, hackles raised, looking as if he meant to rip out Tilly’s throat. Caroline’s mare was normally a placid creature, but this was too much for her. She reared. Dixie slid off just as the Doberman hurled himself at Tilly.

And Hulk launched himself at the Doberman.

The cat seemed to have come out of nowhere. He landed on the dog’s shoulders and rode him like a bronc buster—only with claws instead of a saddle for purchase. They served him well. The Doberman yelped and yelped again as he began running in circles.

Trouble was panicked, trying to get away. Cole didn’t dare let go, but he wanted desperately to check on Dixie, who was sitting up, cradling her arm. “Are you all right?” he called.

A man came around the corner—large, red faced and yelling. “Dammit, Mustard, I said—hey! Get your cat off my dog!”

Cole swung toward him. “You’re the owner of this animal?”

“Damn right I am, and if he’s hurt, you’ll be hearing from me!”

Hulk made his own dismount, a graceful leap to the ground followed by a bounce up to a high windowsill. Which was probably where he’d come from in the first place. The Doberman beat a quick retreat to his owner, tail between his legs.

Cole, still gripping Trouble’s reins, advanced on the red-faced man, who was checking his trembling dog for wounds. “That dog,” he said softly, “very nearly caused a disaster. What is your name, sir?”

“Ralph Endicott. But you can’t go blaming it all on my poor Mustard. He’s bleeding, dammit!”

Cole glanced down. The wounds weren’t serious, but puncture wounds did need to be treated properly. “Then you’ll take him to a vet.”

“Which you are going to pay for! That stupid mutt running around loose caused all this. Mustard wouldn’t have gotten away from me if—”

“My name,” Cole interrupted, his voice very soft and very cold, “is Cole Ashton. My dog is allowed to roam the grounds of my winery and vineyard. Yours is not. I require the name of your insurance company. And your lawyer, if you have one.”

The color drained from the man’s face. “Insurance? Lawyer? Now, see here, there’s no need for all that.”

“There damn sure is!” Dixie marched up, face glowing with wrath. “Your failure to control your animal is negligent, possibly criminal! I’ve sprained my wrist! I can’t paint with a sprained wrist. Do you know how much this delay is going to cost Louret? My time alone is worth several thousand, and if this messes up their ad schedule, the television time already purchased will run to—hey, come back here!”

But the man was in full flight, one hand gripping his dog’s collar as he hurried back around the building, heading for the parking lot, and escape.

“You’d better take care of your dog!” Dixie hollered after him.

That night, Cole and Dixie lay in a sweaty heap in the bed at the carriage house, talking about Tilly’s adventure. Dixie’s sprained wrist had forced them to be inventive in their lovemaking. The results had been memorable.

“I ought to have sued that man,” she grumbled. “This wrist is going to put me behind.”

Cole was just glad a sprained wrist was all the hurt she’d taken. When he’d seen her go sailing off the mare’s back…“You frightened him badly enough already,” he said soothingly.

“I was just following your lead. Did you see the way the blood drained from his face when you mentioned lawyers?”

“Some people only pay attention when money’s involved.” Like his father. Cole turned the subject. “Tilly’s change of heart is downright spooky.”

Dixie chuckled. “You think you’re spooked. Hulk really doesn’t know how to act.”

Ever since Hulk rescued Tilly from the Doberman, the dog had been following the cat with big, liquid, adoring eyes.

Cole shook his head. “I never saw a cat take on a big dog that way. Pretty smart, getting on his back where the dog couldn’t get to him.”

“That part’s instinct. Usually they only do it if they’re cornered, though. I guess Hulk didn’t want anyone else messing with his dog.”

Cole snorted. “He thought the Doberman was coming after him.”

“Cynic.” She yawned and snuggled closer.

He ran his hand down her hair. He loved having her close enough to pet this way. “There’s an art deco exhibition in Frisco this weekend. I hoped you could go with me.”

“Wish I could,” she said sleepily. “Weekends I stay with Aunt Jody.”

For some reason that surprised Cole. She’d moved back to help take care of her aunt, so of course she’d spend time there. Yet somehow he hadn’t thought of her giving up every weekend…that’s where she’d been last weekend, he realized. When he’d thought she was out playing with her current boyfriend.

He grimaced. His assumptions obviously needed adjusting. “Um…she needs round-the-clock care?”

“She can’t be left alone. Mom stays with her on weekdays—she’s retired now, and living with her fiancé, so she can do that. We’ve got a home health aide who stays with her at night during the week.”

That would add up fast. As delicately as possible he asked, “Is money an issue?”

“Right now we’re managing okay. Aunt Jody had accumulated a pretty good nest egg for retirement, and her insurance covers most of the medical stuff. Not long-term care, though.”

“I’ll go with you this weekend and help.” The offer slipped out unplanned, which made him uneasy. He wasn’t used to making impulsive decisions. But it was the right thing to do…wasn’t it?

Dixie lifted her head, then propped herself up with one arm to study his face. “Are you sure? It’s a lot like taking care of a child. A large, sometimes angry child.”

“I’m sure.” Of course it was the right thing to do. It was the sort of thing you did for a friend, after all. He wasn’t making any kind of commitment, just giving up a weekend. Big deal.

Her slow smile dawned. “Thanks, then,” she said, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Usually Aunt Jody went to bed early, in part because of her medication, but she’d been delighted to have a man around. By the time Dixie washed up in the upstairs bathroom and headed down the hall to the guest room where she and Cole were sleeping, she was exhausted.

Cole had been wonderful with Aunt Jody. When she’d come downstairs for dinner with lipstick smeared in fat circles on her cheeks in honor of his visit, he’d flirted with her gently.

Dixie had had to leave the room to cry. Jody had always been immaculate about her appearance. Elegant.

“Sorry I ducked out on you earlier,” she said as she padded up to the bed.

“I tagged along to help, not to issue demerits. You’re doing enough of that yourself.” He held the covers up invitingly, and she climbed in beside him. “You think you aren’t supposed to have feelings about what’s happening to your aunt?”

“Mama would have just smiled. It doesn’t get to her like it does me.” Dixie sighed and nestled close. “It’s not that she doesn’t care. She does, deeply. She just handles it better.”

Dixie had always loved her mother…but, she admitted, she hadn’t always respected her. Helen had depended on men for so much, and they’d let her down, over and over. Even Dixie’s father had let her down by dying.

Years ago, Dixie had decided she wanted to be like her aunt, bold and independent, not like her mother. She was being forced to see them both in a new light. And herself.

“Your mom handles it differently than you,” Cole said. “Different isn’t better. Maybe it doesn’t hurt her as much to see Jody being childish because she remembers her being a child. You don’t. The only Jody you knew was the adult.”

“Why does she have to lose that?” Dixie burst out. “She built the person she was, year by year, and now it’s all being taken away!”

“I don’t know, sugar.” He stroked her hair. “I don’t know.”

Dixie was silent a few moments. “I get scared. It could happen to me.”

“To any of us. And it is scary.”

Cole continued stroking, and it helped. He’d helped all weekend, just by being there. He’d offered to come here with her, and that meant so much…too much? The quick spurt of fear made her bite her lip. She was relying on him too much, wanting him to be there for her, like this, from now on. That wasn’t healthy…

No, she told herself. Hadn’t she learned anything? She was afraid of relying on others, yes. And maybe she had reason. But pure independence didn’t exist. People had to help others sometimes, but being willing to help wasn’t enough. Sometimes you had to be willing to accept help, and that was a lot harder.

For her, anyway. But watching her aunt had shown her that pure self-sufficiency was an illusion.

Her eyes began to drift shut. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m really tired.”

“Then sleep. You’re not my personal houri,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I’ll survive not having sex for one night.”

That stung, mostly because there was some truth in his assumption that she felt obliged to offer sex. She didn’t like seeing that about herself.

Eleven years ago, she’d believed he was mainly interested in her because of the sex, yet he’d been ready to propose. And she hadn’t had a clue…his fault, in part. He’d pulled back emotionally. But she’d screwed up, too. She’d begun to depend on him, and that had scared her even more than losing him. Leaving him had been incredibly painful, yet easier than staying and facing her fears.

Not this time, she promised herself as her eyes closed. She wouldn’t run away again.

Cole watched the woman sleeping in his arms. In the moon-washed darkness he could see the way sleep erased the troubles from her face. He thought he could even make out a few of the pale freckles on her nose.

Why was she so hard on herself? All weekend he’d seen a woman who found the strength to laugh with Cole at some of her aunt’s absurdities, such as her conviction that they had a king, not a governor, who lived in a castle in Hollywood. Dixie had been endlessly patient, letting the older woman tell the same story again and again, acting just as interested the fifth time as the first.

At one point Jody had grown angry because Dixie wouldn’t let her slice the tomatoes. She’d kicked her niece. Dixie had told her firmly that kicking wasn’t allowed and gone on fixing supper.

Cole had distracted Jody at that point, but how many times had Dixie had to deal with that sort of thing when no one was around to help? And all Dixie could think about was how much better she ought to be handling things.

Had she been like this before, and he’d failed to notice? Because this wasn’t the flighty, inconstant woman he’d remembered…that he’d been determined to remember, he thought with a strange ache beneath his breastbone. This was a woman who would stick by a man…if she truly loved him.

Apparently she hadn’t loved Cole enough.

That was past, he told himself fiercely. They were lovers again, but this time they weren’t in love. At least, she wasn’t.

Cole swallowed. He’d come close, painfully close, to falling for her all over again. He had to pull back. He didn’t want this affair to end with her out of his life completely—because it would end. She’d left him before, and she would leave him again.

Not because she was lacking. Because he was.

But she wanted him. He knew that very surely. And he would use it.

Chapter Ten

Cole was pulling back. Just as he had before.

“I’m still not sure about leaving those two alone together,” he said darkly as he signaled for the turn.

“Relax. Hulk has decided he likes having a groupie.”

“More like an acolyte. Your cat has stolen my dog.”

Dixie chuckled. “He’s never had a dog of his own before. I didn’t know he wanted one.”

She was imagining things, she told herself. Cole liked to keep things light and friendly, yes, but that was no change. Just because he hadn’t spent every one of the past five nights with her didn’t mean he’d lost interest. They were on the way to his cabin now, weren’t they? And he certainly hadn’t looked disinterested when he invited her. He’d promised her a tour, dinner and a fire in the fireplace, and had asked her to wear her blue sundress, the one with the full skirt and buttons all the way down. He had designs on her buttons, he’d said.

She had to be patient. Just because he wasn’t tumbling back into love as fast as she had didn’t mean he wouldn’t fall eventually. It would take time, that’s all. Trust wouldn’t come easily for him.

“You had your suitcase out when I picked you up,” Cole said casually. “You aren’t leaving yet, are you?”

“Hmm?” Dixie dragged her attention back. “No, not for another week or so. My wrist has delayed things. Didn’t your mom tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She asked Grant to stay awhile. He’s going to move into the carriage house, so I’m moving to your old room in the big house. We’d have to make other arrangements soon anyway, wouldn’t we?” she added when he didn’t respond. “I’ll be through with all the preliminary work soon.”

“And then?” he asked in an even voice.

“I’ll do the paintings at my studio.” Trying not to sound insecure she added, “I’m assuming you’re interested in more than a couple of weeks together.”

He hesitated a moment. “I’m up for a longer run if you are.”

It wasn’t the kind of response designed to lift her heart. Anxiety twisted in her gut, but she kept her voice dry. “Try not to overdo the hearts and flowers. You’ll embarrass me.”

In answer he reached out and took her hand. It helped…some.

They reached the cabin at dusk. Dixie was thinking of the other time she’d been here, without going inside. Maybe Cole was, too. He didn’t say much, just opened the door, turned on the light and gestured for her to go inside.

It was not what she’d expected. “But this is fabulous!” she said, turning in a slow circle.

“Thought I’d screwed it up when I said I did the work myself, didn’t you?”

“Partly.” She slanted him a mischievous glance. “And partly I thought you’d go for something safer, more traditional. This looks as if an upscale designer planned it.”

“Don’t insult me.” But he looked pleased. “I didn’t do it all myself—I needed the experts to replace a load-bearing wall with those wooden pillars, and remove part of the top floor over the living area.”

The entire downstairs, save for the bathroom in one corner, was one big room, with half of it two stories high. The stone fireplace was original, he said, but he’d put in the plank floors himself. He’d also replaced the Sheetrock and applied the Venetian plaster. It was a warm terra-cotta with golden undertones. “I’m impressed. I think you’ve invented a new style—European rustic.”

“I haven’t done much to the kitchen, I’m afraid.”

“I’d sort of guessed that,” she said dryly, looking at an avocado-green stove, a refrigerator that belonged in a museum and the single counter covered in worn Formica. “Did you ever learn how to cook?”

“Sure. I can scramble eggs with the best of them.”

“If I didn’t know we’d brought dinner with us, I’d be worried.”

They ate on a thick, faded Oriental carpet in front of the fire—enchiladas from one of Napa’s best Mexican restaurants, followed by strawberries dipped in chocolate.

And wine, of course. A rich merlot from Louret’s vineyards with dinner, and French champagne with dessert. “This did not come from your winery,” she pointed out.

“Nope. But I’ve a fondness for bubbles.” He topped off her glass—again.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Dixie asked, amused. She sipped. “You must be hoping to have your way with me.”

“You know, I believe I am.”

None of the lights were on. There was just the fire to warm his skin with its orange glow, and in the dimness, Cole’s eyes looked very dark, his smile secretive. “You’ve been having fun with your courting games. My turn now.” He reached forward and gently removed the glass he’d just filled. “I think we’ll get started. We’re doing things my way tonight, Dixie.”

Something in his voice tugged at her belly. “I can handle that.”

“Can you?” He leaned in and kissed her softly, lingering over it. “You like games,” he murmured against her lips.

“Mmm-hmm.” She drew a line along his bottom lip with her tongue.

“And you like being in charge.” He pulled back slightly, smiling. “In control.”

“Sometimes.” She threaded a hand into his hair to bring his mouth back.

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head, still smiling…not letting her have the kiss she wanted. “We’re playing a different game tonight. And you aren’t in charge.”

Her heartbeat kicked up. She raised one eyebrow. “No?”

“No.” He reached into the basket that had held their dinner and pulled out a long red scarf. He played with it, pulling it through his hands like a silky snake. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course.” But her mouth was dry.

“Good. Hold out your hands.”

She hesitated, eyeing that scarf. “What kind of game did you have in mind?”

He just smiled. And waited.

After a moment she shrugged. “In for a penny,” she said, and held out her hands.

He looped the scarf around them and tied it. The silk was cool against her skin…which was probably two degrees hotter than it had been a minute ago. “Bondage. I’ve never…” Her laugh came out nervous. “What do I do now?”

“Nothing.” He leaned in again and kissed her lightly, brushing his fingertips along her throat, light as a butterfly kiss. “I do it all. You aren’t in control tonight, Dixie.”

“I don’t think I’m good at that.”

“This isn’t about being good. Or being good at something.” He reached for her buttons. “I do like this dress,” he murmured, and slid the first button loose. Then the next.

He worked slowly, button by button, all the way down. She sat there with her hands bound in silk and watched him looking at what he revealed. His heavy eyelids lifted slightly to pass her a smile when he finished. Then he parted the dress.

She wasn’t wearing a bra. The way her hands were tied snugged her arms into her breasts, squeezing them together. Her breath was coming faster. “You like?” she asked, her voice husky.

“Oh, yeah.” This time when he leaned close, he bent. He laved one areola slowly with his tongue, then flicked it over the nipple. She squirmed. “Hold still,” he told her, and put his mouth on her other nipple, sucking lightly. “There.” He sat back. “I like the way they look, wet and shiny from my mouth.”

She liked the look on his face. But he was going too slowly, and she wanted to touch him. “I’m getting a little overheated.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “The fire too hot?”

“Something is.”

“Maybe you’re overdressed for the occasion.”

“We could take off the scarf.”

He shook his head. “My game,” he said softly, and drifted his fingertips down the slopes of both breasts to their tips. He took them between his fingers and squeezed rhythmically. “But we can make you a little more comfortable. Why don’t you lie down?”

He was playing with her mind as well as her breasts. And winning. The ache between her legs pulsed along with his fingers. “I…” Am finding it hard to breathe. “You’ll have to let go first. And my hands…lying down is awkward without hands.”

“Oh,” he said, as if surprised. “Of course. I’ll help you.” And at last he looked at her face again—and in his eyes was pure heat. When he leaned close and took her mouth this time, he wasn’t slow and careful.

She kissed him back, half-frantic with the need to touch, yet it was incredibly erotic to be able to touch him only with her lips, her tongue. She felt his hands at her shoulders, lowering her to the floor.

But he didn’t follow her down and cover her with his body the way she craved. When he pulled away, she cried out in frustration.

“Easy,” he said soothingly, stroking her legs, pushing the dress completely apart so that it puddled on the floor on either side of her. “Easy,” he told her again, and put his mouth on her, right through her panties.

She jolted, so aroused that the damp warmth almost immediately brought her to the edge.

Then he stopped.

“I’m going to…” she sputtered, but couldn’t think of the right threat. Maybe because she couldn’t think, period. “Dammit, Cole!”

“You’re not used to this. You aren’t in control at all. I am.” He tugged on her panties, pulling them down an inch at a time.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Briefly his grin flashed. “Define ‘too much.’ I am for damn sure enjoying myself.”

That glimpse of his grin relaxed her, reminding her that this was a game. But she was finding it harder and harder to play. “I’m not sure I like feeling this vulnerable.”

He tossed her panties aside. “How does this feel? Is it exciting?”

He put one finger inside her—and yes, it was exciting. Beyond exciting. She couldn’t keep from moving. Two fingers…“Cole.”

“Soon, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Let me play a little more.” Three fingers, in and out, the rhythm driving her crazy. Then his thumb pressed lightly on her, and she exploded.

Aftershocks pinged through her. She lay motionless, her eyes closed, trying to catch her breath, her muscles wasted…and she ached. Ached fiercely. After a moment she felt him, smooth and blunt, probing at her entrance, and lifted heavy eyelids. He’d scrambled out of his clothes while her eyes were closed, and at last was as naked as she.

“The scarf,” she whispered, holding up her bound hands. “Take it off.” She needed to be able to touch as well as be touched. Needed more than pleasure.

He paused. The arms he propped himself up with were so rigid they shook. There was no play left in his eyes, only hunger and something akin to desperation.

He shoved inside. His face spasmed, and he groaned. And then, with shaky hands, he untied the scarf.

She gasped with relief and reached for him, and they made the last part of the journey together. It was a quick, rough climb, and if her second climax didn’t hit with the force of the first, this one satisfied.

And afterward, with his weight heavy and limp on top of her, she lay there for a long while in the dying firelight, stroking him. Feeling the need to soothe him. As if he were the one who’d been pushed to the limit and beyond.

And she didn’t know why. She didn’t understand at all.

Chapter Eleven

Sweat rolled down Cole’s forehead, stinging his eyes, as his feet thudded on the path near his cabin. He’d forgotten the sweatband—had pulled on his shorts and a T-shirt, shoved his feet into his running shoes and taken off.

The morning was barely broken, the sun a sliver at the horizon. The air was chilly—or had been, before he started running.

Too late echoed in his head with every footfall. He pushed himself a little faster.

It was amazing what a fool he’d been, thinking he could just enjoy Dixie. Thinking love was a decision, or something he could avoid, like stepping out of the way of a speeding car. Nope, no thanks, don’t want to get hit today.

Too late.

Or that love could be made into play. That’s all he’d meant by that game with the scarf—some sexy game. With, maybe, a whiff of the need to keep her interested, make her want to continue the affair.

Somewhere along the line it had taken a serious turn. He’d wanted her tied and bound to him. Forever.

Too late.

This morning he’d woken up reaching for her. She hadn’t been there, of course. He’d taken her back to The Vines last night—a move born of panic, he admitted. She’d be sleeping now, sleeping in the room he’d moved out of years ago.

Too late, he thought, his feet dragging to a stop. He stood with his head down, his hands on his thighs, dragging in air. Maybe it had been too late from the moment she walked into his office again after an eleven-year absence.

He was in love with Dixie. Desperately in love. He was running because that’s what he wanted to do—run away from the feeling. From her. It was impossible, of course. He couldn’t escape what he felt. Not the love. Not the fear, either.

Or maybe he could—the fear, anyway. If he left her.

Cole had been terrified of going to the dentist as a child. When he was ten, he’d realized that the fear was as bad as the event, maybe worse. He hadn’t conquered it, but he had stopped putting it off. It would happen whether he delayed or not, so why wait, dragging out the fear?

But dental visits truly couldn’t be avoided. Was losing Dixie just as inevitable?

He’d been telling himself he knew she would leave. Maybe not for months, but eventually she would go. But now, faced with the prospect of living with the fear of losing her or walking away himself, he discovered a stubborn core of hope.

There were the gifts she’d given him, the orchid and chocolates, the cufflinks. Just yesterday she’d given him a goofy card, telling him sternly, “Take note. Women love to get cards. You get extra points for a blank card that you write in yourself.”

He’d told himself they were part of the game for her, but they’d gotten to him underneath, where words don’t reach.

There was the way they laughed together, too, and the sheer comfort he felt with her sometimes. And sometimes, when she was looking at him, her face seemed to glow—not with the blazing heat of desire, but a gentler warmth, like a welcoming candle. Was that just friendship? And when she’d reached for him last night as he entered her…that had felt very like love.

If only he could know, one way or the other!

Cole ran his forearm over his forehead, wiping off the sweat that was chilling him as it dried. He’d better keep moving. He’d stiffen up if he just stood here.

Slowly he started back to the cabin. He could ask her what she felt for him. That was as logical as it was terrifying. But what would it prove? Even if she said she was passionately in love, could he believe her? She’d spoken of love before. It hadn’t kept her from leaving.

He had to be sure of her. One way or the other, he had to know.

Moving faster now, he laid his plans.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Cole said, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. “This came up unexpectedly, and I can’t get out of it.”

Silence.

This wasn’t part of his plan. He’d put off seeing her for two days, citing work—he’d been spending a lot of time with her, he’d said, and had to catch up. It was halfway true, but the real reason was that he needed to see if she’d take off.

Having a genuine business emergency hadn’t been part of his plan. “I’ll make it up to you for canceling tonight. We’ll go out Friday. Maybe to that new club—”

“I’ll be at my aunt’s on Friday night.”

Right. “Okay, Thursday. We’ll do whatever you want.”

More silence, then: “Are you getting that déjà vu feeling? I used to hear that a lot. Or maybe you aren’t feeling anything at all. That would be safer, wouldn’t it?”

“Dammit, Dixie, I didn’t conjure this guy out of thin air. He’s the rep for a major distributor, and if he wants to talk about carrying our new chardonnay, I’m for damn sure going to talk to him. He’s only in town for this one day.”

“And no one else can handle this?”

“Lucas is down with a stomach bug. Mercedes and Jillian don’t know enough about the production end, or where else we’re committed. And Eli wouldn’t know what kind of volume discount to agree to. Besides, he’s lousy at this sort of thing.”

“You’re doing it again. Hiding behind work, finding excuses to pull back.”

“Don’t be childish,” he snapped. “I can’t dance attendance on you every minute.”

The sudden dial tone in his ear made him wince. Way to go, Ashton. But it was the thickness he’d heard in her voice that haunted him as he got ready for his meeting. It had sounded a lot like tears.

“Dixie?” Mercedes paused in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Furious at being caught crying, she wiped away the evidence.

“Right,” Merry said dryly, coming into Dixie’s room—the one that used to be Cole’s. “I know. You’re feeling sentimental because it’s National Oatmeal Month.”

“Always gets to me.” Dixie sniffed. “National Opposites Day is coming up, too.”

“And Ben Franklin’s birthday. Another big occasion.”

This was a game they’d played back in college, when any excuse to shop, eat chocolate or sleep in late was a good excuse. Congress was always making special days that no one paid any attention to, Dixie had told Merry. It was their solemn duty to see that no occasion went unobserved.

“Is it National Hugging Day yet?” Dixie’s smile was a tad watery, but she did feel better.

“Close enough.” Merry honored the almost-occasion by giving Dixie a hug. “So what’s up? Your work going okay?”

Dixie flopped her hand in a so-so gesture. In fact, work was going fine—so well that she was dragging out the last sketches so she’d have an excuse to stay at The Vines a little longer.

Merry sat on the bed beside her. “Your aunt?”

“Not this time. Your brother.”

“Uh-oh. I thought things were going great with you two. Tell me what’s wrong. As long as it doesn’t involve sex,” she added hastily. “I do not want to hear about your sex life when it’s my brother you’re having sex with.”

“Oh, no. The sexual part of our relationship makes me scream with joy, not cry.”

Merry looked pained.

Dixie’s grin hardly wobbled at all. “Okay, okay. No sex talk. The thing is…oh, I don’t know what the thing is.”

She shoved to her feet and started pacing. “He’s giving me these mixed signals. I’m trying not to mention sex, but that is part of it. When we’re together that way, it feels important. Like I truly matter to him. But if I so much as mention the future, he turns vague. Casual.”

I’m up for a longer run if you are. She sniffed again, but more in scorn than sorrow this time. Even if they’d been having a purely casual affair, that comment lacked grace.

“Lots of men have trouble committing,” Merry offered. “It takes them longer to admit what they’re feeling. You two haven’t been back together very long, Dixie.”

“I know, but…oh, everything I could mention sounds trivial. I haven’t seen him for two days, and he just canceled our dinner tonight. That shouldn’t be a big deal, and yet…it’s not what he does, but the way he does it. I feel like it’s happening all over again,” she finished sadly. “Just like eleven years ago. I can feel his walls going up.”

And she wasn’t sure she could handle it. All the pep talks in the world didn’t stop the hurt. Or the doubts. How could she make herself believe she could count on Cole when, for no reason she could see, he suddenly started tacking up Keep Out signs?

Merry didn’t say anything for several moments. “Cole’s got walls,” she admitted. “Big, high, scary ones. Half the time you seem to slip in under them easier than anyone. The other half, you trigger them.”

“Yeah.” Dixie plopped down on the bed again. “I’m scared.”

“Goes with the territory, unless you’re sensible enough to be like me and just date losers. No gain, no pain, I always say.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Craig,” Dixie began.

“Uh-uh. No. Not today. You can give me advice after you get your love life straightened out.”

“When I’m seventy, you mean?”

“If you’re lucky.”

Dixie sighed. Cole had promised they’d get together tomorrow night. Maybe she should press him for some frank talk. Or would that be pushing for too much, too soon?

Never mind. She’d think of something. “How about a girls’ night out tonight?”

“Sorry.” Merry carefully removed a piece of fuzz from her slacks. “Wednesdays I have supper with Jared. Used to be the three of us, but…” She shrugged. “We’ve kept it up since Chloe died. It seemed to help him, especially at first, to have someone to talk with about her. We’ve become good friends.”

Dixie slid her a curious glance. Chloe had been a friend of theirs in college. She and Merry had stayed close afterward, since they lived nearby. But a standing dinner date with Chloe’s widower six years after Chloe’s death? That sounded like more than friendship…but then, who was she to say?

Merry was right. Dixie needed to get her own life figured out before she tried to straighten out anyone else’s.

“I need to paint,” she said suddenly. “Or go mess with paint, anyway.”

An art therapy session might tell her what she needed to know—even if she wasn’t sure she wanted to learn it.

Thursday afternoon Cole stared at the faxed report in his hand. His brain felt numb. Fuzzy. Rain beat against the office window. The only light came from his desk lamp. All else had faded into gloom with the arrival of the storm.

He shook his head. This couldn’t be right. There had to be some mistake. He reached for the phone and punched in the number of the detective who’d investigated Grant Ashton.

Fifteen minutes later the numbness was gone. Rage gathered in its place, questions ping-ponged around in his head—and beneath all lay a vast bewilderment.

The detective would bill him. How was he supposed to sign the check? Cole Ashton…that’s who he was, who he had been all his life.

He could have become Cole Sheppard when he was ten. Lucas had wanted to adopt them, but Spencer had refused to relinquish his rights. He hadn’t wanted his children, but he hadn’t wanted anyone else to claim them, either.

And now he’d made Cole’s entire life into a lie.

Cole slammed his fist down on the desk. “Damn him!” He jerked to his feet, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. And didn’t notice that his jacket had brushed against the delicate orchid sitting on one corner of his desk, sending it crashing to the floor.

Chapter Twelve

Cole drove for hours. Drove through the rage and into bitterness. Passed from that to bewilderment and questions, many of which couldn’t be answered from behind the wheel of his Suburban. But they could be listed mentally, ordered, given consideration and assigned priorities. He drove until, finally, he had to pull over at a motel and sleep before he killed himself and maybe others.

Hours later, he woke to the sound of traffic. Light streamed through the cracks between the wall and the fiberglass drapes. He was fully dressed, the bed beneath him was hard, and there was a water stain on the ceiling.

For a moment he had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there. Slowly memory seeped back. With it came another fact.

Today was Friday. The day that regularly arrived right after Thursday—which was when he’d promised to take Dixie out.

He groaned. Could his timing have possibly been worse?

She’d understand, he told himself as he rushed through a shower. There wasn’t much hot water, but he didn’t see anything with too many legs crawling around, which was a relief, given the condition of his accommodations.

Which were where, exactly? He wasn’t even sure what part of the state he was in. No, wait—he dimly remembered crossing the state line shortly before he decided to pull over. He was in Nevada. Somewhere in Nevada. They’d know at the front desk.

As he scrambled into yesterday’s clothes, he assured himself that once he told Dixie what he’d learned, she’d understand why everything else had been blasted clean out of his mind.

Dressed, somewhat damp and more than a little desperate, he tried to call her. But the phone by the bed didn’t work, and he’d forgotten his cell phone. He’d rushed out the door without anything but his jacket and what he’d had in his pockets.

He’d run off without calling Dixie.

She was going to ask why. She probably would understand that he’d been badly shaken. She was a compassionate person. But she’d wonder why it had never once occurred to him to turn to her.

So did he.

Cole gassed up, grabbed a breakfast burrito and a large coffee, and left the tiny town of Basalt, Nevada, behind. He didn’t stop again until he pulled up in front of his parents’ house five endless hours later.

He’d driven longer last night, but last night he’d lacked any kind of destination. Time hadn’t mattered. It did now.

Tilly rushed up to greet him as soon as he stepped out, and he was smitten by guilt. Someone would have fed her when it was obvious he’d taken off, but he must have worried everyone. Including his dog.

He took a moment to pet and reassure Tilly, then headed into the house. It was two in the afternoon, so Dixie would be working—which meant she might be anywhere. But she’d set her easel up in the lanai, so he checked there first.

No sign of her. Or anyone else, for that matter. No one seemed to be home at all.

He’d check her room anyway, just to make sure. He took the stairs two at a time.

She wasn’t there, but Mercedes was. She was packing Dixie’s things.

Cole stood in the doorway, frozen. Faint and faraway, he heard the echo that had haunted him on his morning run three days ago: too late, too late, too late…

Mercedes finished folding a pair of slacks, laid them carefully in Dixie’s suitcase and straightened, scowling at him. “It’s about time you showed up! Where in the world have you been?”

“I’ll tell you later.” He would have to. They’d all have to know. But right now his lips were numb and there wasn’t enough air. He could barely get the next words out. “Where is she?”

“Gone, obviously,” Mercedes snapped.

“Mercy.” The childhood nickname slipped out as he crossed to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I have to find her. I have to. Where did she go?”

Mercedes searched his face. Her expression softened into worry. “She didn’t leave because you’re a jerk. You are, but that isn’t why she left.”

The quick stab of anxiety made him tense. “Then why?”

“Her mother had a heart attack yesterday.”

“Oh, no.” Cole closed his eyes for a second. “Is she—?”

“It was a mild one, apparently. She’s in the hospital now, but they say she’ll be okay. But that isn’t all. She called the ambulance herself when she realized what was happening. Only…” She swallowed. “She was taking care of Jody at the time. And in all the confusion, Jody wandered off.”

“Oh, God.” Cole thought about the storm last night. “Tell me she isn’t still missing.”

“I can’t. She’s been gone almost a full day now.”

Dixie sat at the table in her aunt’s kitchen with her head in her hands. The table was covered by maps—a large topographic map, a city map, a county map. She couldn’t think of anything else to do, anywhere to look that they hadn’t already checked. How far could a confused sixty-year-old woman go?

The phone rang. She’d been carrying it from room to room with her, so she grabbed it immediately. “Yes?”

It was Jillian, checking in. Everyone had been so good. They’d practically shut Louret down for the day in order to look for Jody. The authorities were looking, too, of course. It just wasn’t doing much good.

Everyone was looking…except Cole. Who had vanished as completely as her aunt.

His mother had told her not to worry too much about him. “He does this sometimes,” she’d said gently. “When Cole has a personal snarl he needs to work through, he drives.”

Dixie knew what snarl he was working on. Her. Apparently she was a huge snarl, too, since he’d not only stood her up, but had stayed gone all night. Somewhere around midnight, up at the hospital, she’d decided she’d take care of that tangle for him. If it was that hard to decide whether he even wanted to go out to dinner with her…

When the back door opened she looked up dully, expecting one of the searchers.

It was Cole.

She went hot, then cold, the fluctuation hitting as abruptly as if a switch had been thrown. For a second she wondered if she might faint, which would be too mortifying to bear. She looked away.

“No word?” he asked softly.

She shook her head and looked at the table. She’d had too little sleep, that was all. A couple hours snatched on a hard couch in the waiting room at the hospital. She didn’t need Cole, not after he’d shown her how true all her doubts had been.

But her aunt might. There were colored buttons on the topo map, each representing a searcher or group of searchers. She cleared her throat. “If you’re here to help look for Aunt Jody, fine. I’ll assign you an area. If you’re here for anything else, go away.”

“I’ll search. But I want to know how you’re holding up.”

“I’m fine.” Her stupid, traitorous eyes chose that moment to water. “I’ll be fine. This area, here, by Waters Street.” She tapped the city map. “It’s been searched already, but they might have missed her. Or she could have wandered back after they looked. There’s a coffee shop there. It’s…it was…one of her favorite…” Her voice broke as her eyes filled, and she finished in a whisper. “She might find her way there.”

“Ah, hell, sweetheart.” He crossed to her quickly, pulled her out of the chair and folded his arms around her.

She hit him in the chest with both fists. “Don’t you call me sweetheart! Damn you, where did you—where—” But the tears were winning, her words broken apart by sobs. “I wanted you last night! I needed you, and you pulled a vanishing act!”

“I know, honey. I’m sorry. So sorry. Cry it out. You can hit me later. Hate me later.”

At first she tried to break loose, but he held her too closely. Or maybe she just gave up. It felt too good to have his arms around her, his strength to lean on. So she cried.

It didn’t last long. Dixie didn’t understand how some people could cry for hours—when tears hit her, they hit hard and fast. And left just as fast, like a storm in the desert.

Once she was through crying, she pulled away. She didn’t want to, which infuriated her. She wiped her face, sniffed, and looked around for the tissues. Crying always made her nose run.

Cole handed her the box.

“Thanks,” she said, making it as cold as she could. She blew her nose.

“Have you had any sleep?”

“A little. And before you ask, I’m not going to go lie down. Later I’ll have to. I don’t have to yet.”

He studied her face a moment. “All right. I’ll tell you what happened last night, but later. How’s your mom? I could take over here for a bit so you could go see her.”

“She’d just send me back here. Or tell me to sleep—as if I could.” Dixie sniffed one last time and tossed the tissue in the trash. “It’s ridiculous! She blames herself, as if she could have timed her heart attack better!”

He nodded. “I should’ve known you came by that tendency honestly.”

She scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me you aren’t convinced you should have somehow kept this from happening. Maybe you think you should have stayed with Jody last night. You had no idea you would be needed, but you ought to have guessed. Or maybe you should have intuitively known that your mother’s heart was going to act up. Or—”

“I get the point.” She even felt the ghost of a smile touch her lips. “It’s not my fault. I know that, and yet…” She rubbed her forehead wearily. “It’s just so awful to think of Jody out there somewhere. She must be so frightened. Maybe she’s hurt, or…”

“And hard to stop thinking about it. Come on,” he said, taking her arm. “Sit down. Have you eaten?”

She let him steer her to a chair. “Your mother force-fed me a sandwich a couple hours ago.” There. That was a real smile this time. “I don’t know how she can speak so softly, be so gentle and polite and be utterly immovable at the same time.”

“That’s my mom.” He was rummaging in the cabinets. “How about some coffee? It won’t make you feel better, but you can worry more alertly.”

Coffee actually sounded good. “Okay.” She wasn’t forgiving him. She just didn’t have the energy to hate him right now. “It’s in the cabinet by the sink. Make plenty,” she added. “People come and go a lot.”

Neither of them spoke as he prepared the pot. When it was ready, he sat down with her and his own cup and had her tell him who was searching, where they all were, what areas had already been searched. It steadied her, reminding her that they were doing all they could.

Over the next hour one of the police officers stopped by and had a cup of coffee. He briefed them on what the official searchers were doing. The phone rang a couple of times—Mercedes called to say she was on her way back, then a telemarketer gave Dixie a chance to snarl at someone.

Cole didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He seemed to have an instinct for when to speak and distract her, when to remain silent. She was pacing again when she decided she couldn’t let him hang around and coddle her. “The cops took another look on Waters Street, but you could check out that gully by the supermarket.”

“I’ll do that.” He took another sip of coffee. “Just as soon as Mercedes gets here.”

She wanted him to stay. The longing was as stupid as it was selfish, when she ought to be pushing him out the door—for her own sake as well as Aunt Jody’s. “I don’t need to be baby-sat.”

“You don’t need to be alone right now, either.”

She was mustering up the anger to snap at him when the phone rang again. She glanced at it and grimaced. “If that’s another telemarketer—”

“I’ll get it.” He snaked out an arm and snagged it before she could. “Hello?”

His face told the story before he spoke. “That’s wonderful. Yes…of course. We’ll be right there.” He put the phone down and stood, his smile wide. “She’s at the newspaper office in Napa. God only knows how she got there, but she’s okay. They’re feeding her doughnuts. She’s tired and grouchy and she doesn’t want to leave,” he added wryly. “She thinks she works there.”

Dixie’s eyes closed. Her knees all but buckled beneath the wave of relief. “She did,” she managed to say. “Thirty years ago.”

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