Valentine’s Day

Her Valentine Blind Date

Raye Morgan

How to Get Over Your Ex

Nikki Logan

Redeeming Dr Riccardi

Leah Martyn

Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride!\Valentine Bride

Raye Morgan\Christine Rimmer

A Match Made by Cupid

Tracy Madison

Once Upon a Valentine

Allison Leigh

Romance for Cynics

Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Her Valentine Blind Date

Praise

Dear Reader

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

How to Get Over Your Ex

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

Extract

Redeeming Dr Riccardi

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride!/Valentine Bride

Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride!

Dear Reader

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Valentine Bride

Dear Reader

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

A Match Made by Cupid

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Fourteen

Once Upon a Valentine

Introduction

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Extract

Romance for Cynics

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

Her Valentine Blind Date

Raye Morgan

Mills & Boon® Romance brings you another page-turning romance from

Raye Morgan

Get swept up in Raye Morgan’s captivating world of feel-good fantasy stories that will touch your heart and keep you smiling from beginning to end!

Praise for the author:

“Raye Morgan [delivers] a wonderfully romantic story that proves love is truly worth fighting for… with sharp wit and keen insight into the human heart. Readers will remember [her] novel [s] long after turning the final page.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

RAYE MORGAN has been a nursery school teacher, a travel agent, a clerk and a business editor, but her best job ever has been writing romances—and fostering romance in her own family at the same time. Current score: two boys married, two more to go. Raye has published over seventy romances, and claims to have many more waiting in the wings. She lives in Southern California, with her husband and whichever son happens to be staying at home at that moment.

Dear Reader

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Marilyn Monroe taught us that little gem many years ago, and some believe it’s true to this day. Not romance readers, though. We put our trust in relationships. The old man-woman thing. The eyes meeting across a crowded room. The quickening pulse as you catch sight of that gorgeous guy in your doorway. The soft, exciting crush of his lips on yours. The swell of his hard biceps under your fingers… Whoops—where was I?

Oh, yes—diamonds.

We may not rely on diamonds as the life support Marilyn was singing about, but they are special. We love them for their beauty, and for what they represent: commitment, eternal love and faithfulness. Funny thing—these are all elements of our fascination with romantic fiction.

Read a lot of romances—and here’s hoping there are more diamonds in your future.

Celebrate!

Raye Morgan

CHAPTER ONE

BAD timing.

Max Angeli shoved the single red rose he was carrying into his pocket as he flipped open his mobile and barked a greeting, resigned to the certainty that whatever he was about to be told was going to create a new level of chaos in his life. First problem—the dance club he’d just walked into was too noisy. Lights swirled and the heavy drumbeat of sensual rhythms pounded. The brittle clink of crystal liquor glasses vied with high-pitched feminine laughter to fill the air with a sort of desperate frivolity. He already despised the place.

“Hold on, Tito,” he said into the phone. “Let me get to a spot where I can hear you.”

He could tell it was his assistant on the other end of the call, but he couldn’t understand a word he was saying. A quick scan of the crowded lounge located the powder room and he headed for it. The sound level improved only marginally, but enough to let him hear what Tito was saying.

“We found her.”

Max felt as though he’d touched a live electric wire. Everything in him was shocked. Closing his eyes, he tried to take it in. They’d been searching for weeks, with no apparent leads, until this last tip that his brother’s ex-girlfriend, Sheila Bern, might have traveled by bus to Dallas.

His brother, Gino, had died just months before. Sheila hadn’t surfaced at the time, but she’d contacted Max months later to say she’d had Gino’s baby. When he’d asked for proof that the baby was indeed his brother’s, she’d vanished again. He’d almost given up hope. And now, to hear that she’d been found…

“You found her?” he repeated hoarsely. “Are you sure?”

“Well, yes and no.”

His grip hardened on the mobile. “Damn it, Tito…”

“Just get over here, Max. You’ll see what I mean.” He rattled off an address.

Max closed his eyes again and memorized the information. “Okay,” he said. “Sit tight. I’ve got to get out of this blind date thing I got myself involved in. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. Hey, boss? Hurry.”

Max nodded. “You got it.” He snapped the phone shut and turned back to the noisy room, tempted to head straight for his car and forget the woman who was waiting for him somewhere in all this annoying crush of revelers. But even he couldn’t be quite that rude. Besides, his mother would make him pay. She might be sitting in a terraced penthouse in Venice at the moment, but she had ways of reaching across the ocean to Dallas and turning on the guilt machine. Even though she was American, he was the Italian son, and he’d been raised to value keeping his mother happy.

Hesitating on the threshold, he scanned the room and searched for a woman holding a red rose—the match to the poor, straggly item he’d belatedly retrieved from his suit pocket. All he needed to do was find her and let her know something had come up. Simple. It should only take a minute.

Cari Christensen bit her lip and wished she could drown her red rose in the glass of wine that sat untouched in front of her.

“Five more minutes,” she promised herself. “And then, if he’s not here, I’m going to drop that rose into a trash basket and melt into the crowd. Without that, he’ll never know who I am.”

He was almost half an hour late. One half hour. That ought to be good enough. She’d promised her best friend, Mara, that she would go through with this, but she hadn’t promised to spend all night at it. She sighed, carefully avoiding eye contact with any of the interested males shouldering their way past the bar, wishing with all her heart that she was home snuggled up with a good book. Mara meant well, but couldn’t understand that Cari wasn’t looking for Mr. Right. She wasn’t looking for mister anyone at all. She didn’t want a man. She didn’t want a relationship. She didn’t even want a husband. She’d done that once already and it had turned her life into a living hell. “Once bitten, twice shy,” was her motto. She had no intention of going through that sort of heartbreak again.

But how could Mara understand that? She’d married her childhood sweetheart, settled down in a cute little ranch house and had two adorable kids. Her life was full of piano recitals and pictures on the refrigerator and picnics and kittens. Cari’s marriage hadn’t turned out that way. They were two very different people, despite the fact that they had been best friends forever.

“Some people find the golden ring swimming in their cereal in the morning, slip it on their finger, and go skipping through life,” was how Cari tried to explain it to Mara. “And others drop it in the sand at the beach and spend the rest of their life digging to get it back.”

“That’s just silly,” Mara had retorted. “Do you think my life is perfect or something?”

“Yes, Mara, I do. Compared to mine, it is.”

“Oh, Cari.” Mara had taken her hand and held it tightly. “What happened with Brian and…and the baby…well, it was just horrible. It shouldn’t have happened to anyone, much less someone like you who deserves so much better.” She blinked rapidly as tears filled her dark eyes. “But you’ve got to try again. There’s someone out there for you. I just know it. And once you find the right man…”

The right man. Was there such a creature? Even Mara didn’t know the details of what her marriage had really been like. If she did, she might not be so quick to try to throw her back into the deep end of the pool.

“Mara, will you please give it up? I’m perfectly satisfied with my life the way it is now.”

“Oh, Cari!” She sighed tragically. “I can’t bear the thought of you sitting at home sniffing over old movies on one more Valentine’s Day.”

Was that what this was all about?

“Wait! Hold it. I don’t give a darn about Valentine’s Day. It’s a made-up holiday. Who cares?”

“Don’t try to fool me, Cari Christensen. I know you better than that.”

“Mara, no!”

“You need a man.”

Mara looked so fierce, Cari had to laugh. “I don’t know why I let you be my friend.”

“Because you know I’m looking out for what’s best for you.”

Cari sighed. She knew she was beat. But she had to pretend to fight on. “I don’t need anyone looking out for me.”

“You do, too. I’m your assigned fairy godmother. Get used to it.”

“No.”

Mara, of course, wouldn’t give up at all, and that was why Cari was sitting here in the Longhorn Lounge, holding a sad little red rose and waiting for a man named Randy who Mara had assured her was the exact match for her.

“Just wait. He’s special. You’ll be surprised.”

So she was doing this for her friend. She planned to smile a lot and act interested in Randy’s tales of male world conquests, eat a nice dinner in the dining room here at the lounge, get a headache about time for ordering dessert, make a nice apology and head for home. From then on, her answering machine could take care of things for her. And maybe Mara would give up. After all, she’d tried.

The door opened and a man entered, opening his cell phone as he came. Tall and dark and dressed in a beautifully cut suit instead of the jeans and casual shirts most of the men here wore, he grabbed the attention of a lot of onlookers. Something about the way he held himself drew the eye. Or it might just have been the fact that he was the most ruggedly handsome man she’d ever seen this side of the cinema. His thick, dark hair was exquisitely cut and yet managed to give the impression of being a bit long and a bit careless—as though it had just been ruffled by a renegade breeze or a lover’s fingers. His broad shoulders strained the silk suit as he turned, and the knife-sharp crease in his slacks only served to emphasize the muscularity of his thighs. A Greek statue brought to life and disguised in a modern business suit.

She shivered, and then had to smile to herself. One thing was certain, this couldn’t possibly be her man Randy. And she was glad of that. In her experience, high-powered, incredibly handsome men were the worst kind. But she had to admit he had his attractions.

Eye candy, they called it. Lucky she was on a diet.

She pulled her attention away and looked at her gold watch. One more minute and she would be free.

“Sorry, Mara,” she would say on the phone to her friend tomorrow. “He didn’t show. Consider it a sign. And don’t think you’re going to get me to do this again.”

A shadow fell over her and she looked up to find a rather beefy-looking man in a Stetson and tight jeans grinning down at her.

“Hey, little lady, why don’t you let me buy you one of them fancy drinks with the umbrellas and fruit and such?” he suggested, all swagger and no appeal.

Inwardly she groaned, but she had enough control not to let it show. “No, thank you, cowboy,” she said, trying to remain pleasant as she slid down off the bar stool and turned toward the door. “I was just leaving.”

“No need to rush off,” he said, effectively blocking her exit route. “Why, you’re as pretty as a cactus flower, ain’t ya’?”

She flashed him a tight smile and lifted her chin, letting him know she was no pushover. “And just as prickly, honey. Better stand back. You don’t want to get stuck.”

His face darkened. “Now you listen here…”

But just as suddenly as the cowboy had appeared in her line of sight, he now faded away, because someone bigger and more impressive had come into the picture, and everything else seemed to melt around them. She felt his presence before she saw him and she pulled in a quick breath, almost a gasp. Slowly, she raised her eyes.

Sure enough, it was the man she’d seen coming in the doorway a few minutes before—the man she’d been so sure could not have anything to do with her or her life. He was standing before her, holding out a bedraggled red rose, and asking her a question. Her mind seemed to go blank. She swayed. And she couldn’t hear a word he was saying.

“What?” she asked numbly, looking up at him as though she were blinking into the sun.

Max was caught between interest and annoyance. He wanted to get this over with and get out of here, but he’d already bungled things. He’d managed fairly easily to find this pretty lady with the head full of blond curls and a frilly little black dress. Her attire revealed a figure that was full and rounded in all the right places and legs that made looking worthwhile.

But the problem was, he couldn’t remember her name. His mother had said it often enough, over and over, whenever she told the old story of how the Triple M Ranch had been swindled from her family. This was the daughter of the woman who had done his mother dirty—but what was her name again? Something-something Kerry, wasn’t it?

“Miss Kerry?” he repeated when she didn’t hear him the first time.

“Oh!” she said, looking shell-shocked. “You can’t be— I mean— Are…are you…?”

“Exactly.” He waved the rose at her and nodded toward the one she held. “I was hoping we would have some time to get to know each other tonight,” he said smoothly. “However, sadly, it is not to be. Sorry to do this to you, but something has just come up and I’m going to have to take a rain check.”

“Oh.”

He stopped, nonplussed. She seemed rather sweet and she was definitely embarrassed. Not what he was expecting. Was she taking this as a sort of rejection? Well, he supposed that made sense from her point of view. But instead of the arrogant siren he’d imagined from the tales his mother told, a woman whose ego probably had too hard a shell to be bruised in any way, she took this personally. Did she think he’d taken one look and decided she wasn’t worth wasting time on? Despite everything, he didn’t want to hurt the woman.

“My mother sends her best wishes,” he said, his gaze flickering appreciatively over her pretty face. Interestingly, she wasn’t his usual type. He tended to favor fashion models—long, cool ladies who were decorative and yet mature enough to know the score. Young innocents wanted to fall in love all the time. That sort of clingy attachment was neither in his nature nor in the cards. He’d spent a lifetime observing the human condition. In his opinion, falling in love was for suckers who were in denial and hoping for a fairy tale. He considered himself too hard-nosed to fall for such nonsense.

But there was something appealing about this young woman just the same. She looked intelligent and quick, even though she was gaping a bit. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of blue, framed by thick, dark lashes and accented by a pert nose that seemed to have a dusting of freckles just for spice. Her hair, the color of spring sunshine, was a stylishly tangled mass that kept falling over her eyes, making her reach up to push a way through in order to see him clearly.

Hardly what he’d expected. From what his mother had told him, he’d been sure he was going to dislike her intensely. Now he wasn’t so certain.

“I’m hoping we’ll be able to do this another time,” he said, actually meaning it. “May I call you tomorrow?”

“Oh,” she said again, her lovely crystal eyes enormous as she stared at him. “I…I guess so.”

Her vocabulary wasn’t extensive. Or maybe he’d been a bit too brusque. His friends and employees had accused him of that more than once, and he regretted it. He didn’t mean to be rude.

But he had no time for this. Shrugging, he gave her a cool smile and turned for the exit. He was almost out the door when he remembered the stupid rose in his hand. She might as well have it. After all, what was he going to do with it?

Turning back, he found her still watching him, wide-eyed. Something about the look in those huge blue eyes…

“Oh, what the hell,” he said impetuously. Leaving her behind would be like telling a puppy you didn’t want him to follow you home. “Why don’t you come along? We’ll stop and grab something to eat somewhere else.”

He congratulated himself right away. It was a good idea. Yes, that way he had the original obligation out of the way and yet didn’t do any damage to the hope of a future relationship. At the same time, he wouldn’t feel quite so guilty when he called his mother later. Brilliant!

“I…well, maybe…” Cari cleared her throat.

She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t seem to get a full sentence out. This wasn’t like her. But the fact that the man was so diametrically different from what she’d pictured had completely thrown her for a loop and she was taking some time to get over her shock. For the moment, she seemed to be putty in his hands, and the next thing she knew, she was hurrying out of the club with one of those same hands planted squarely between her shoulder blades. She was going with him, or so it seemed. She glanced back, not sure of the wisdom of heading into the dark of night with a stranger.

But he was Mara’s husband’s cousin. At least, that was what her friend had claimed.

The funny thing was, as she looked back at the noisy club, she thought she’d caught a flashing glimpse of a red rose being carried by a tall, sandy-haired young man with glasses. But everything was happening so quickly, she hardly registered that sight. And her companion tended to fill up her attention. So she went along with him, half skipping in her wobbly high heels to keep up, as they hurried to his long, low and very flashy car.

“Oh, my gosh,” she said as he opened the door to the passenger’s seat for her.

“It’s a Ferrari,” he said, frowning slightly. “Surely you’ve seen Ferraris around town. I thought Dallas was crawling with them.”

She nodded as she sank into the luxurious leather. “Of course. I’ve just never been in one before,” she told him, then winced. Maybe she should have kept that to herself.

He lowered himself into the driver’s seat and leaned forward to punch the address they were aiming at into the GPS, then turned to look at her with one slick eyebrow raised. “From what I’ve heard of your background, I would have thought fast cars and living in luxury were right down your alley.”

She frowned at him, puzzled. Did he have her mixed up with some other blind date? “Who would have told you a thing like that?”

He gazed at her for a moment, then shrugged, looking reasonably adorable in his faux bewilderment. “Texas,” he muttered, starting the car. “This place always surprises me.”

And that statement surprised her. She was about to mention that Mara had said he’d grown up outside of Galveston, but her power of speech got lost as she noticed again just how incredibly good-looking this man was. Everything about him screamed wealth and power. His suit had probably cost more than her secondhand car. His gorgeous black hair, his wonderful tanned skin, the way his thighs swelled against the fabric of his slacks, all created a picture guaranteed to set off the female heart rate. His shirt was open at the neck, revealing more tanned skin and just a hint of crispy, crinkly chest hair. If she were the swooning type, she’d be out cold by now.

But she wasn’t, she reminded herself sharply. Not her style at all. And there was another thing. All this embarrassment of hunky male riches didn’t add up somehow. Mara’s husband was basically a cutie, but to think that he had someone like this in his family boggled the mind.

But it was too late to say anything, anyway, because the low, slinky sports car had taken off like a rocket. As her body slammed back against the soft leather seat, she felt as though she had to hold on for dear life, her heart in her throat.

The car came to a stop at a light. She gulped in a mouthful of air and turned sharply toward him, letting him know she hadn’t loved it.

“Wow. Do you always drive like this?” she asked a bit testily, pushing her hair back with one hand. “If so, you must have a permanent seat named after you at traffic court.”

He seemed surprised by her strong voice and point of view, but laughed.

“I’m just trying this baby out. I picked her up at the showroom earlier today and I wanted to see what she can handle.” He grimaced. “But I don’t know the streets around here very well, so I think that will do it. Sorry. I should have warned you.”

He gave her a lopsided grin, feeling no chagrin at all over the pleasure that surge of power had given him. But his grin faded as he looked at her.

That crazy, curly hair kept falling down over her eye and he had the oddest impulse to reach out and brush it back for her. The thought made his fingers tingle. He found himself looking at where her tiny, shell-like ear was peeking out from among the curls, and then staring at the smooth, creamy skin of her neck and imagining his lips there and his tongue…

The car behind them honked and he realized the light had turned green. He turned his attention back to his driving. But his mind was on the woman next to him in the car. Something about her tickled his fancy in a strange and unfamiliar way.

And suddenly her name came back to him. Celinia Jade Kerry. How could he have forgotten a name like that? Celinia Jade. Rather a mouthful, wasn’t it?

“Mind if I call you C.J.?” he asked her a bit sardonically.

She blinked, truly puzzled. “Why would you do that?”

“For short. It’s easier to remember.”

She frowned, her nose wrinkling. “But…”

He turned the car onto the freeway and they were off again. Her words disappeared in the roar of the engine, and he had to merge with a tangle of speeding traffic, which didn’t leave him time to ask her to repeat them.

Funny, but now that he thought about it, his mother had told him Celinia Jade Kerry would fit right in with the type of woman he usually dated—the sort his mother, Paula Angeli, actually tended to roll her eyes at.

Not that she knew C.J. very well, but she did know the woman’s mother. Or had, years ago.

“Betty Jean Martin was her name before she married Neal Kerry, the man who stole my family’s ranch,” his mother had told him over morning cappuccino just days ago. They’d been sitting on the terrace of her Italian home, overlooking the Venice canals. “She was my best friend, but when she married Neal behind my back, she became my worst enemy.”

He’d nodded, having heard the story so often, it was a family legend. He had a sneaking suspicion that his mother had thought she was going to marry the man—before her friend Betty Jean had whisked him to the altar—and that in that way she would have been able to get her ranch back. All things considered, he couldn’t be too sorry that hadn’t happened at the time. Besides, his mother had met his father, Carlo Angeli, shortly after, and her life had changed for the better, at least monetarily. That often happened when one married a millionaire.

Still, Max knew the marriage hadn’t been a happy one. His father had rarely been around, and his affairs with the wives of his best friends were legendary. His mother’s life had been wrapped up in her two sons—and in bittersweet memories of a childhood on the Triple M Ranch outside of Dallas, Texas.

“I’m sure Celinia Jade will be just what you’re used to,” his mother went on, waving the letter that had come from the daughter of her old friend. “I still keep in touch with enough old Texans to know what’s going on. She’s a clotheshorse with nothing on her mind deeper than the latest hemlines and whether her newest shade of lip gloss makes her mouth more kissable. Sound familiar?”

“Have you been listening in on my phone conversations again?” he’d teased her.

And that was when she’d rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you get it, Mama?” he told her with loving humor. “I don’t date women for their conversation.”

“Then you’ll probably get along perfectly with the young Miss Kerry.” Paula had frowned, looking at the letter again. “It’s odd to hear from her after all these years. And to have her ask to come visit us.”

“And just lucky timing that I’m leaving for Dallas in a few days and can check out the situation.” He looked at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes. She’d been looking more frail lately. Ever since Gino had died. It broke his heart to see her this way.

“What do you suppose she wants?” he’d asked casually, though he was pretty sure he knew.

“Money.” His mother sighed, shaking her head of graying curls. “The word is she’s in deep financial trouble. Her parents are both gone now and she’s spent her way through what little they left her. She’s looking at you as one big old ATM machine, I have no doubt.”

“Interesting,” he’d murmured, a plan developing in his head. “You’re sure she still has the Triple M Ranch?”

“Oh, yes. She’ll never give that up. Who would?” She winced and he knew she was remembering that her own family had done exactly that—something she could never forgive. “But she probably needs funds to keep it running.”

“A loan?”

Paula laughed. “Hardly. She’d never be able to pay it back. My guess?” She smiled at her son. “She asks a lot of questions about you in her letter. I think she’ll try to get you to marry her.”

“Many have tried,” he noted dryly, only half joking.

“But no one has come close yet,” she agreed with a sigh.

He’d grunted noncommittally, thinking it over. “Call her,” he suggested. “Put her off about her coming here, but tell her I’ll be in town and would like to meet her. Set up a rendezvous.”

She nodded reluctantly. “What are you planning?” she asked.

He smiled at her. “Mama, you know property acquisition is my specialty. I plan to talk her into selling us that ranch you loved so much.”

Her eyes sparkled for just a moment, but she shook her head. “She’ll never do it.”

He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“Oh, Max, do be careful. Don’t let her charm you. If she’s anything like her mother was…”

He’d dropped a kiss on the top of her head as he started for the door. “I’ll give her that old famous Texas sweet talkin’ you taught me all about when I was a whippersnapper. She’ll be begging to turn the ranch over to us in no time.”

Looking back at her as he reached the door, he could see a sad, faraway look in her eyes and knew she was thinking about Gino, his older brother who had died a few months before. That look on her face brought a catch to his throat. He would do anything to bring the joy back for her. Anything.

And that was the mission that had brought him to Dallas.

CHAPTER TWO

“SO, TELL me, C.J.,” Max said, looking sideways at Cari as they exited the freeway and turned into a dark, spooky-looking industrial area. A quick flash of lightning lit up the horizon, then disappeared as quickly as it came. The air was electric with possibilities. “How’s life out on the ranch these days?”

She eyed him and shook her head. His conversation was becoming more incomprehensible to her. Her little house could be called ranch-style, but she certainly wasn’t running any cattle in the yard.

“What ranch?”

The ranch your family stole from mine, he thought cynically, his mouth twisting. Are you going to pretend that never happened?

But aloud he said, “The ranch you live on, of course.”

She shook her head. What in the world had Mara told this man in order to get him to spend an evening with her? She knew her friend was subject to occasional flights of imagination, gilding the lily, so to speak, but this was ridiculous.

“I don’t live on a ranch,” she told him firmly. He might as well know the truth.

“Ah. I suppose you’re just a normal, everyday Texas girl.” His voice belied his words. His sarcasm was showing.

But she nodded vigorously, becoming exasperated. “Yes, I am.”

He chuckled. “What is it with you Texans? The popular myth is that you’re all such big talkers, but all the Texans I meet are always trying to pretend they’re just average folks, no matter how filthy rich they are or how much land they own.”

She was at a loss. Surely Mara hadn’t pretended she was from a wealthy family—a wealthy ranching family. Mara knew better.

“But we are mostly just average folks,” she said defensively.

“Hah. Se non è vero, è ben trovato.”

The things he was saying were odd enough, but even odder was the fact that she was beginning to detect what sounded like a faint Italian accent, and that last outburst seemed to seal the deal.

“You know something?” she said accusingly. “You don’t sound like a Texan.”

“Grazie,” he replied with a casual shrug. “I’m only half-Texan, after all. I hope you can forgive my mistakes.”

“Oh.” Half-Texan! And the other half was evidently Italian. How had Mara missed that tiny detail? She bit her lip, wondering if she’d offended him.

“So what did it mean, what you said a minute ago?”

He smiled at her. “I said it’s a good story, even if it isn’t true.”

Before she could express fresh outrage, his phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

“It’s my mother,” he said, sounding surprised as he pulled over to the side of the road. “She’s calling from Venice.” He flipped his mobile open.

“Your mother?” Cari gaped at him. She’d heard Italian men were attached to their mothers, but this was ridiculous.

“Sì, Mama.”

He said something into the phone in what she assumed was Italian. It sounded like Italian. It even looked like Italian. Cari couldn’t catch anything she recognized, but she watched the whole thing, fascinated. There was a lot of near-shouting and gesticulating, and suddenly he pulled the phone away from his ear and said, “Would you like to speak to my mother?”

She gazed at him in horror. His mother? Why on earth would she want to speak to his mother? What would she say?

“Not really,” she said, shaking her head vehemently.

He said something else in Italian and clicked the phone shut. Turning, he eyed her narrowly.

“So the old resentments still live, do they?” he noted, his gaze pinning her to the back of the seat with its dark, stormy intensity.

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact that you wouldn’t speak to my mother.”

Oh, this was just too rich. She’d signed on for a few hours of hopefully friendly conversation with a strange man, meal included, and that was about it. There had been no extended-family privileges implied in the deal. Now she was getting annoyed. Really annoyed.

“What am I supposed to talk to your mother about?” she asked heatedly, then waved a hand in the air. “I suppose I could give her a critique of how her son handles blind dates. But I’d hate to be insulting at this early stage of the evening.”

He laughed, his gaze traveling over her face appreciatively. She glared at him.

“But listen,” he said, his grin changing to a thoughtful frown. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. She says someone called and left a message that I was late to meet you.” He shrugged, making a face and looking at her for confirmation. “I wasn’t late. I was early.”

She held his gaze. “You were late.”

His frown deepened. “So you were already calling people and complaining that I wasn’t there as early as you were?”

“I didn’t call anyone.” She couldn’t have called anyone. She had a sudden picture of her phone, attached to the battery charger, still sitting on her kitchen counter where she’d left it. Darn. That made her feel naked and unprotected. A girl needed a good phone, especially when she was on a crazy and confusing blind date like this one.

“Well, somebody knew about it and called my mother.”

Cari began to feel as though she were on a rapidly moving merry-go-round with oddly formed horses and scary faces leering at her out of the shadows. This entire date was becoming more and more surreal.

“Let me get this straight. Your mother’s in Italy. Why does she care about whether you were on time to meet me or not?”

He gave her a slow smile and a long look, one that made her feel strangely languorous. Funny, despite how annoyed she was, she had to admit this was one sexy man. Given a chance, he could turn on the charm and wipe away most of her irritation.

“Because she’s a caring person,” he said smoothly. “And she wants us to get along well. For old-time’s sake.”

As she puzzled that over, his phone rang again. Max saw that it was Tito and barked, “Go,” into the receiver.

“Where are you?”

“About a block away. I’ll be there in a minute.” He glanced at Cari. She seemed absorbed in the view outside her window. “Does Sheila know I’m coming?” he asked softly.

“Well, no.”

“Why haven’t you told her?”

“Well…”

“Have you filled her in on the parameters of the situation?”

“Actually, no.”

“Why not?”

“Listen, boss, like I told you, she’s not exactly here.”

“But you said…”

“The baby’s here.”

That struck him like a thunderbolt. The whole point of this operation had been to find the baby. Gino’s baby. Finding Sheila was secondary, but he hadn’t expected them to be separated.

“I’m almost there,” he said, signing off and dropping the mobile into the center bay. He turned to look at Cari. Why had he brought her along again? Hmm.

“Where are we going?” she asked, thinking maybe she should have established things like this before she’d agreed to go along with him.

“To take care of some…personal concerns.” He put the car in gear. He’d thought he was going to be confronting his brother’s ex-girlfriend, trying to get the truth out of her as to whether she’d had a baby with Gino. Now he knew she wasn’t there. But a baby was. What did that mean? He was going to assume the baby was Gino’s until someone proved different.

Turning to check for traffic, he pulled the car back into action.

“It should be right around this next corner. Ah, here it is.”

“This is it?” Cari gazed at the run-down apartment building and frowned. Loud music was coming from an upper bank of windows. A dog was rummaging in a pile of papers near the entryway. One of the streetlights was broken, casting a pall on the area. She thought she saw someone withdrawing into the shadows across the street. This was not a neighborhood she would have ventured into if she’d been doing the driving.

“I thought we were going to get something to eat,” she mentioned hopefully, thinking a nice bright restaurant on a busy street would be better than this gloomy place.

“We will.” Leaning forward, he looked up at the ugly building and frowned. “I just have a little business to take care of here. I’ll make it quick. Wait here.”

No way. Cari looked at the empty street and shivered. “Actually, I think I’d rather go where you’re going.”

“Your choice.” He shrugged. “Come along, then.”

As he got out of the car and looked at the neighborhood, he couldn’t really blame her. He didn’t know Dallas well, but he was pretty sure nice neighborhoods didn’t look like this. He couldn’t leave her on her own out here, no matter how well he locked up his fancy car.

On the other hand, he didn’t want her intimately involved in his family business. There was already too much family mixed into all this. Maybe it hadn’t been such a brilliant move to bring her along after all.

He gazed at her speculatively as she came to join him, noting again how her riotous hair spun a magical frame around her appealing face. The ruffles of her bodice shimmered, giving her movements a fluid look, and her short, filmy black skirt followed suit with a flirty tantalizing style. There wasn’t a hint of slick sophistication about her, just down-home, sexy woman. The sort of woman who made you think of crisp clean sheets on a big, wide bed. Was he allowed to think about her that way?

That made him laugh a little. What would his mother say?

Oh, Max, do be careful. Don’t let her charm you. If she’s anything like her mother was…

That was what she’d said, but he knew she didn’t really think he would do anything hasty. Oh, she was serious about getting the Triple M Ranch back, but what she really wanted was for him to charm C.J., bewitch her, work on her emotions and manipulate her into selling it back to his family.

He’d been confident. From what he’d heard of her, he’d assumed this daughter of his mother’s old rival would be just the sort of woman he was used to, beautiful and spoiled, born and bred to the flashy nightlife and the party scene where those with money tended to play. From what he’d seen so far, his read had been way off. Could he handle a woman like this? Was a little charm going to do the trick? Looking down into her clear, intelligent eyes, he had to admit this wasn’t going to be as easy as it had seemed from across the Atlantic.

And what would happen if he let her follow him into the apartment he was planning to visit? The last thing in the world he wanted was a witness to his pending interview with whatever he would find there. A cool gust of a breeze chased leaves from between the buildings and brought the smell of pending rain. She shivered and he glanced up the driveway, noting where Tito had parked his white rental sedan.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, giving her his most winning smile. “Things aren’t working out quite the way I’d thought they would. More complications have arisen than I expected. I’m going to have my assistant drive you back to the club. You can wait for me there. Tito will take good care of you.”

She flashed him a look and raised her chin. “Forget it. I’m not switching partners at this late date.”

His head went back as though she’d hit him. Was she implying…? That floored him. He came off as throwing his weight around sometimes, but he didn’t like being taken for a jerk. “No, wait, you’ve got the wrong idea.”

“Listen,” she said frankly, tossing her hair. “I’m not accusing you of anything. But this has been one weird blind date so far. I like to keep my feet on the ground and my head out of the clouds. I think I’ll just stick with you until you take me home.”

“Ah. Better the devil you know, is that it?” He tried to act in his usual debonair fashion, but at the same time, he gazed at her uneasily. This was the woman he’d thought he was going to manipulate? Obviously, those plans were due for a rethink. But that would come later. Right now, he had other problems on his hands.

“This might not be pleasant,” he warned her. “I’m not sure what we’re facing here. So be prepared for anything.”

She shrugged, wondering if he had noticed how her fingers were trembling. She was nowhere near as sure of herself as she tried to sound. When she’d said this date was weird, she’d been soft-pedaling the circumstances. She’d been bowled over at first by his presence, his confidence, his obvious savoir faire, and she’d been intimidated. But that was then.

Now, with the calls from the mother and the visits to slum neighborhoods, she had a bad feeling about this whole situation. He might be Mara’s husband’s cousin, but he was not your usual Texas boy. She’d have to keep this man in her sights and stay on her toes.

“If there’s a problem, maybe I can help,” she suggested. “I don’t want to drag your assistant away when you need him most.” She managed a stilted smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t get in the way. But I’ll be in the background the whole time, ready to help if you need me. In the meantime, you won’t even know I’m there.”

His gaze was skeptical. “Right.” He grimaced, but decided to play this one by ear. He ran a hand through his thick hair and sighed.

“Okay. If you’re up for this, let’s go on in and see what Tito has gotten me into now.”

The building was dirty and smelled like day-old food. They found the apartment quickly enough. Max knocked and the door opened. A short, stocky man built like a fireplug greeted them nervously, nodding when Cari was introduced, his mind obviously on the business at hand and not on her.

“Let’s see it,” Max said, and Tito stood back to let them in.

Cari followed. She walked into the room totally unprepared for what she would find. The two men went quickly to the far end of the room, and at first she couldn’t see where they were headed. When she caught sight of the baby crib, she froze.

No! Not a baby. Oh please, not a baby. Her breath caught and panic fluttered in her chest. Memories of her own four-month-old baby, Michelle, flooded her senses, hitting her unexpectedly. She wasn’t prepared to deal with this. Cringing, she almost whimpered aloud.

It had been almost two years since the car accident that had taken the lives of her husband, Brian, and Michelle, their much-adored infant. Two years where she’d avoided every possibility of coming face-to-face with a real, live baby. She turned blindly, her impulse to rush out into the hallway and then away, as far away as she could get. Anything to escape the pain that seeing a baby like this represented.

Just as she hit the doorway, the baby began to cry. She stopped, unable to take another step. There were little gurgling sobs at first, then full-fledged piercing screams.

Turning, she looked back. A baby was crying. A baby needed comfort. Everything in her, every instinct, began to pull her back. Babies were tiny, helpless things with little waving arms and tiny kicking feet. They needed help. She was a woman, naturally equipped with the talent and emotions custom made for doing that. And yet…

She stood where she was, unable to take those steps that would bring her back to the baby’s crib, unable to take steps out the door. Closing her eyes, she tried to catch her breath and still the wild beating of her heart. The look, the feel, the smell of her own lost baby filled her head. And the pain was almost too intense to bear.

Max’s entire focus was on the baby. As he looked down at the dark-haired infant, his heart swelled with bittersweet anticipation. Was there a hint of Gino in that little face? Did the hands look like his brother’s? Was this child all that was left of his brother’s life? That was very possibly the situation. He would move heaven and earth to find out. And if it turned out to be the case, there was no way he would let this baby go.

“Boy or girl?” he asked the stalwart assistant standing beside him.

“Boy.”

He supposed he should have known. The gown, the blanket, everything was blue. Despite the cluttered, messy condition of the room, things inside the crib looked clean enough.

“Name?”

“The babysitter says his name is Jamie.”

“Babysitter?” For the first time since he’d come in the room, he raised his gaze from his study of the baby. “There’s a babysitter?”

Tito nodded. “I told her to wait in the bedroom.”

Max nodded back, then his eyes narrowed. “Where’s Sheila?” he asked, naming his brother’s girlfriend.

He’d only met her once. She was pretty, of course, and nice enough in her way, but her way tended to be a ditzy combination of brainless chatter and limitless desire for luxurious things. She and Gino were no longer an item when he was killed in the crash of a small plane. No one seemed to know what had happened to her. It was only months later that she began calling, claiming she’d had Gino’s child, demanding money.

Tito’s shrug was all encompassing. “The babysitter doesn’t know. She says she was hired three days ago, and Sheila was supposed to be back in twenty-four hours. She has no contact number and Sheila hasn’t called.”

“Have you searched the place for phone numbers or addresses?”

“Of course. I haven’t found anything relevant.”

“Damn. Well, we can’t just wait here.”

“The babysitter said she was getting pretty scared herself. She was about on the point of calling the police when I got here.”

“But she didn’t?”

“No. At least, that’s what she claims.”

“Good.” Max nodded again. “We’ll get a local lawyer to handle this before we speak to the authorities.”

Tito looked at him intently. “So you plan to take the baby?”

“Of course.”

Tito nodded, but as if on cue, the baby began to fuss.

Max stared down at it. So did Tito. The fussing got more serious.

“It’s crying,” Tito said at last.

“Yes. So it seems.” Max backed away a bit. Crying babies were not within his sphere of experience and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know more.

Tito tried wiggling his fingers in front of the baby’s face, but he only cried louder.

“It won’t stop,” he noted, beginning to look worried.

Max frowned, uneasy as well. “No.” He looked at his assistant. “Was it crying before?”

Tito shook his head. “It’s been asleep, I think. I know it wasn’t making this kind of noise.”

“It is now.” Max winced as the decibel level increased.

“Well, what do you do when they cry?” Tito asked his boss, seemingly at a loss.

Max’s frown grew fiercer. “How the hell should I know?”

The two men looked at each other, then back down at the baby. The mood was grim.

By now, Cari had managed to cross the room and was right behind them. She could just barely see the baby. He was crying as though his heart would break, holding nothing back. Her fear, her panic, was gone now. Her heart thumped in her chest, but she had things under a fair modicum of control. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her way between the men.

“Don’t knock yourselves out looking for the off switch,” she advised tartly. “They don’t have one.”

Max stepped back, seeming relieved as she reached the crib and curled her fingers around the bar. Steeling herself, she looked down, bracing for the sight. A mass of dark hair, fat cheeks red with crying, eyes squinted shut, two little fists waving in the air—this child looked nothing like hers. Relief flooded her and she closed her eyes for two seconds, then glanced down again and spoke to him.

“Hey little fellow,” she crooned. “What’s all this about? Don’t you worry. You’re going to be okay.”

The sound of a feminine voice stopped the last cry in his throat and he opened his dark brown eyes and looked up at her. A remnant sob shook him, but he stared at her curiously as though she were something brand-new and possibly very interesting.

She smiled. He was adorable. Reaching down, she gathered him up and took him into her arms. And then she closed her eyes and let the feeling wash over her. She had a baby close against her. That special sort of enchantment had been her daily experience for such a short time before it was taken from her. And now, for the first time in two years, she could feel it again. Tears welled in her eyes.

“You can handle this, then?” the man who’d brought her here was saying.

She nodded without looking at him. She didn’t want him to see that her eyes were wet.

Max stared at her. He wasn’t always as sensitive as he should be to women’s feelings, but he could tell something was going on here. He just wasn’t quite sure what it was, and Tito beckoned from the door to the bedroom. He hesitated only a moment before he decided she was okay, and he turned and went into the side room to question the babysitter.

Cari held the baby gently and cooed, rocking the tiny body, until all whimpering quieted. The little eyes closed, long, dark lashes fluttering against rounded cheeks, and then he was still. She kissed his head and hummed softly. It seemed so natural. Her own baby had trained her well, though she didn’t want to think about that. Blocking out the past was a part of accepting the present for her right now. She’d done a lot of time in her own personal agony and she couldn’t live that way forever. But she’d spent much too long trying to avoid all contact with babies, hoping to avoid the pain memories brought with them. Now that she’d been thrust into this situation and forced to deal with it, she found she was in a special sort of heaven and she didn’t even look up when the men came back into the room. She was floating on feelings and ignoring everything else.

When she heard the woman’s voice she looked up in surprise, but hardly paid attention as the older lady left the room, Tito leaving close behind her. Vaguely, she was aware that this had been the babysitter and that Tito was driving the woman home, but it seemed to have nothing much to do with her enjoyment of this wonderful baby.

Max watched her for a moment, surprised to see how quickly she’d adapted to a style of nurturing he didn’t remotely understand.

“So, what do you think of him?” he asked.

“He’s a duck,” she murmured, smiling wistfully as she hugged him close and rocked him. “A sweet little baby duck. I don’t ever want to put him down.”

He nodded. “He looks pretty good to me, too. As long as he’s not crying.”

She flashed a startled look at the tall man beside her. She’d had dealings with a man who was irrationally bothered by a baby crying. It wasn’t a good thing. But she calmed down immediately. After all, what he’d said was probably a common complaint.

“Who is he?” she asked, stroking the hair on his little head. “What’s the connection?”

He hesitated, then decided he might as well tell the truth. “He’s my brother’s child,” he said. “At least, that’s the assumption. We’ll find out after DNA testing is done.”

She drew back. Something didn’t sit well with her. All the sense of well-being brought on by holding this baby seemed to melt away quickly.

“He’s your brother’s baby and you’ve never seen him before?” She frowned, searching his face for clues.

He shrugged. “I’ve been in Italy,” he said, as though that explained everything.

She made a face. “Where’s your brother? Or the baby’s mother, for that matter?”

“Good question.” He decided to ignore the part about his brother. “We don’t know. She seems to have disappeared. The babysitter said she should have been back days ago.”

She nodded, taking that in. “So I guess you’re going to call the police?”

Without missing a beat, he said firmly, “No. Not yet.”

“But…”

He moved impatiently. “Listen C.J., this is really none of your affair. I’ve been involved in the search for this baby for weeks now. We’ve finally found him and we’ll do what we think necessary.”

She shook her head, exasperated. “Why do you keep calling me that?” she asked. “My name is Cari. It’s a fine name and it doesn’t need shortening to C.J.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “A little formal, isn’t it? You actually want me to call you Miss Kerry all the time?”

“No.” He was such an annoying man. “Drop the ‘miss’. I’m not a Southern belle.”

He looked puzzled. “Let me get this straight. You want to be called by your last name?”

“Cari isn’t my last name,” she interjected quickly. “I don’t know where you got that idea. It’s my given name. Just plain Cari. And there’s no J involved at all.”

He shook his head, bewildered by that. “Your name is Celinia Jade Kerry, right?”

“No.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the silly name he was trying to pin on her. “My name is Cari Christensen. That’s been my name for quite some time now. In fact, it’s official, and I’ve got proof. Want to see my driver’s license?”

He stared into her clear blue eyes for a long moment. She certainly looked like a woman telling the absolute truth. The light began to dawn. Something had been a little off about this entire operation from the start. She hadn’t fit the profile he was expecting. He should have trusted his instincts. And now—what the hell had he done? This was the wrong woman.

“Uh-oh,” he said at last.

CHAPTER THREE

CARI sighed, impatience building ever higher as she hugged the baby to her chest. This date had been strange from the start, but it was getting stranger.

First this man had turned out to be so incredibly different from what she’d expected. Then there was the Italian element—not to mention the accent. The mother on the phone. Abandoned babies in dirty apartments. An assistant named Tito. If she hadn’t known better, she might think she’d landed in the middle of a scene from a bad B movie and was caught up in some really crazy dialogue. Mara had not forewarned her of all of this.

“Listen, Randy,” she began, eyes flashing as she prepared to read him the riot act.

His own eyes widened and his head went back. “Who the hell is Randy?” he demanded.

Shock jolted through her. This man wasn’t Randy? This man wasn’t the one she’d been waiting for, the one her friend had set her up with? This wasn’t her blind date?

But of course he wasn’t. Hadn’t she suspected that all along? The scales fell from her eyes—so to speak. This wasn’t Mara’s husband’s cousin after all. And that just about explained everything.

“Aren’t you Randy Jeffington?” she asked, though by now she knew darn well he wasn’t.

He shook his head, looking like a man who expected all things in his path to snap into place and had been sorely disappointed once again—a man who was planning to make sure someone paid for this.

“Never heard of him,” he growled at her.

“Uh-oh,” she echoed softly, swaying and feeling just a bit unsteady on her feet.

Suddenly she had a clear and shining picture of a tall, sandy-haired man in glasses carrying a red rose. She’d seen him just as they were leaving the club and she now had an epiphany. That, no doubt, was Randy. Poor guy.

But something in the back of her mind had known all along, hadn’t it? This handsome figure standing before her was just too good to be true. Or too bad, as the case might be.

And poor Randy Jeffington. Was he still wandering around the Longhorn Lounge looking for her? Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes huge.

“Omigosh. We’ve got to go back.”

He nodded grimly. “You’ve got that right. We’ve got the wrong dates.”

“There must be a woman named… whatever that weird name you said was… waiting for you back there.”

“Holding a red rose.”

“Oh, no.” She grimaced tragically. “Too bad we all picked the same color, isn’t it?”

He was still glowering at her. “Too bad we didn’t get identities straight from the beginning,” he said curtly.

She frowned, shifting the baby from one hip to the other and trying to remember how it had happened. “You called me Miss Cari. My name is Cari, with a C. I thought—”

“I called you Miss Kerry with a K.”

“Oh. Well, it was hard to know that at the time.”

“It was perfectly straightforward. You should have guessed.”

“I should have guessed? What about you? You acted like you were sure I was the one. I sort of just… followed along—like a dummy.” She frowned, remembering how she’d almost been in a trance. She could hardly believe that a man like this was the Randy she was waiting for. And it turned out she was right. She sighed plaintively.

“Oh, well. What’s done is done. Now we have to do our best to undo it.”

“Exactly.” He glanced down at the sleeping baby in her arms, then around the simple room. “Let’s get out of here.”

She looked down at the baby. “Are we taking him with us?”

“Well, we’re not going to leave him here.”

“No, I suppose not.” She bit her lip. This didn’t seem right, but she didn’t know what else they could do.

From the crib, she picked up a blanket and wrapped it around the baby while he picked up the diaper bag. Looking up, she sighed as her gaze traveled over the handsome man who’d brought her here. He was like a mythic figure, so tall and strong with matinee-idol looks. When something seemed too good to be true, you had to know it was likely to be so. Oh well, this had been interesting.

“So what is your name, anyway?” she asked as they looked around the apartment to make sure they weren’t forgetting anything.

“Max,” he said grimly. “Max Angeli.”

“And I’m Cari Christensen.”

He looked down at her and almost had to smile. She seemed to be able to maintain a sunny personality despite all odds against it. In contrast to what he was feeling himself, which was dour indeed. “You said that.”

“I thought you might not have caught it in the heat of the moment.”

He nodded, mouth twisting. “I wish you’d mentioned it while we were still at the club,” he said. “There you were waving at me with that damn red rose.”

“Oh!” She stopped and glared at him. “You’re not going to blame this whole catastrophe on me.”

He liked the fire in her eyes. She wasn’t his type and he would never have picked her out of a crowd, but there was something appealing about her just the same. He liked the liveliness of her reactions and he couldn’t resist teasing her a bit.

“Why not?” he said with a careless shrug. “If you’d been on your toes, this wouldn’t have happened. You made me stand up the woman I was supposed to be with. You may have killed that relationship.”

“And you messed up my date with Randy,” she reminded him, though she was beginning to realize he wasn’t really serious.

“Wasn’t it a blind date?” he asked her as they headed out of the apartment. He turned back to make sure the door was locked. “And you know what they say about love.”

“I know they say love is blind, but I think you have to give it a chance to grow before you can kill it.”

“Murderess,” he muttered, choking back a smile.

She sighed, glancing at him sideways. “You’re not exactly the Lone Ranger, my friend,” she chided, teasing him back now. “For all you know, you may have destroyed a great love affair.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You and Randy?”

“Sure. Why not?” She made a face at him. “Romeo and Juliet. Anthony and Cleopatra. Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher.” She struck a pose. “The names Cari and Randy might have belonged right up there with them all.”

“All doomed to tragedy,” he noted helpfully. “If a great passion is meant to be it’ll take more than a missed connection to destroy it.”

“Perhaps.” She flashed him a smile. “And yours, too.”

His laugh was short and humorless. “C.J. and I aren’t meant for love,” he said cynically. “But we are destined to make beautiful music together.”

She looked at him with bewilderment. “How can you know that when you don’t even know who she is?”

He knew enough about C.J. to know she was meant—unfortunately—to be very important in his life. He might not know what she looked like, but he had her number, just the same. His smile was bittersweet as he shrugged, pushing open the outer door to the building for her.

“Destiny is relentless.”

“Destiny. Such a strong word.”

But all that was forgotten as she looked at what they were heading into.

“It’s starting to rain,” she said with dismay, just as they stepped outside and the door clicked shut behind them.

“Yes,” Max said, wondering what else could go wrong. Just another layer of bad luck he supposed. But this was getting monotonous.

“Where’s the car?” she asked.

“The car?”

He looked where he’d parked it. The space was empty. His first thought was—did Tito take it? But no. He glanced at the driveway. Tito’s rental car was gone. He looked back at the place where he’d left his newly minted beauty. Sure enough, it was gone, too. His heart sank. And now he knew what else could go wrong.

He swore coldly and obscenely, and she pulled the baby closer, frowning at him, even though the words were in Italian. Reaching into his pocket, he realized he’d left his mobile in the car, which had now been stolen. He swore again.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked curtly.

She shook her head. “I forgot to bring it,” she said.

He stared at her, unable to believe this string of bad luck wasn’t over yet.

“My car’s been stolen. You have no phone. I have no phone. We just locked ourselves out of the building and it’s starting to rain.”

She sighed, shoulders sagging. That was quite a litany of woes. “We’re also stuck in the middle of a rather bad neighborhood,” she reminded him, looking around at the menacing shadows.

“Not for long.” He picked up the diaper bag and glanced down the street. The lights from downtown were visible in the sky. It was quite evident which way they needed to travel. “We’re going to have to walk, at least until we can flag down a cab. Let’s go. The sooner we start out, the sooner we’ll get there.”

Cari looked down at her three-inch heels. “Okay,” she said sadly, trying to smile.

He looked down at them, too. “Those shoes aren’t made for walking,” he noted dryly.

That was certainly a fact, but her feet sure were cute in them, and what that angle did to her beautiful legs was beyond mentioning. He swallowed hard as the thought came and nestled into his senses. Raising his gaze to her clear blue eyes, he got another jolt of erotic sensation and he shook his head, trying to stave it off. This was no time to let his libido go wild.

“I could carry you,” he said gruffly, still holding her gaze with his own. “But with the baby and all…”

“You will not!” she retorted, taking a step away from him. “I can walk. Believe me, I’ve done it for years.” She started off down the street, just to prove it. “I’ll carry the baby. You get the diaper bag. It’s heavier.”

They set off into the dark neighborhood, trying to ignore the drizzle. Most of the buildings seemed to be industrial and there was no sign of life coming from any that lined the street they were hurrying down. It was downright spooky.

Max pushed all thought about his beautiful Ferrari out of his mind. There was no point in mourning over a car when he had so many other things to worry about. An occasional driver went by, driving too fast to be flagged down, and there were no people out on the street—at least, none that made their presence known. But there was an eerie feeling, a sort of vague menace. This was not the sort of neighborhood either one of them would have wandered into voluntarily. Bad things tended to happen at night in areas like this.

Cari was feeling the creepiness as well, and instinctively she held the baby closer. Looking down, she felt a quick surge of tenderness for the child. Babies should be protected from harm and that was what adults where there for. But just as she had that thought, a flash of pain sliced through her. If only she’d been able to protect her own baby from harm. If only Brian had been more careful. If only…

No. She shook the regrets away. She’d been down that road so many times. Right after the accident that took her husband and her baby, she’d spent months almost drowning in recriminations, all the old “if only” cries of the heart. It had taken time and a bit of counseling to help her pull out of that downward spiral and she never wanted to take a plunge like that again. You could either immerse yourself in the past and die bit by bit, or reach out to the future and make a new life. Slowly, painfully, she was trying to do the latter.

But for now the past was useful in the training she’d had with her own baby. She seemed to bond naturally with this one, and that felt better than she had any right to expect.

So she looked over her shoulder, wishing they were in a better neighborhood.

“Do you have a weapon with you?” she asked Max, not really expecting him to answer in the affirmative, just expressing trepidation.

“Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my Glock,” he quipped, but she noticed he took a quick look over his shoulder as well. “If only I’d known I’d need it.”

“There you go,” she said lightly. “I guess you were never a Boy Scout.”

He gave her a long sideways look. “What would that have done for me?”

She shrugged her free shoulder and pulled the baby more closely to the other one. “You’d have known about their motto. Be Prepared.”

“Oh, I’m prepared.”

“Still, you’re not a real Texan, are you?” She sighed, pretending it was such a pity.

That was meant to get his goat and it did the job.

“I’m Italian,” he said with quick native pride. “That’s just as good, you know.” He grunted. “On second thought, it’s better.”

“Is it?” She gave him a mockingly taunting look. “From what I hear, Italians are pretty emotional, compared to Texans. They talk real fast, yell a lot, say outlandish things.”

“Sort of like Texans?” He got the joke, but he grinned and played along. “Why not? We enjoy life more than most people do. What’s more, we’re warm, loyal and generous to a fault.” His voice dropped in a husky way that was meant to make her senses quiver. “And we’re the most passionate lovers on earth.”

She was glad the darkness hid how hot her cheeks suddenly became. The surge of warmth surprised her. She’d fallen for this guy’s good looks and masculinity from the first, but in a reserved way, the way she dealt with most of life. She usually didn’t let emotions—or even attractions—down into her inner core. Her heart was protected by a thick wall of experience, not much of it good. Had she actually allowed this handsome Italian to get to her? She couldn’t let that happen.

“Well, good for you,” she said as lightly as she could manage. “I guess Miss C. J. Kerry will be glad to hear it.”

He frowned, not pleased to be reminded of the mess this evening had turned into. He wasn’t happy that he’d done anything to put Celinia Jade Kerry in a hostile mood. He needed her happy and compliant. The woman might be short on cash, but to a female, a sense of having been overlooked and ignored for another could blot all that out. He was going to have to be very tactful with the lady—tactful and apologetic.

Still, the night wasn’t a total loss at all. They had found Gino’s baby. Just an hour before, he hadn’t been sure there really was a baby. And now Jamie was in Cari’s arms and on his way to a complete medical checkup and a DNA test.

The fact that baby Jamie’s mother was missing disturbed him, and yet it made things easier in the short run. Eventually, he had no doubt they would find her. For just a moment he imagined what it would be like for his mother when he returned to Venice with Gino’s baby in tow—and hopefully, the deed to her family ranch in hand. Maybe that would erase some of the sadness from her eyes and bring back just a touch of joy to her life. That had been his goal from the start of this adventure. His mother’s happiness meant a lot to him.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the small group of nasty neighborhood thugs until they stepped out in front of them, blocking their way. The effect on his danger radar was immediate, though. He stopped Cari and the baby with an outstretched arm, putting his body between her and the three gang-bangers.

“What do you want?” he barked at them.

“I don’t know, man,” one of them sneered. Tall and thin, he wore a red bandanna tied tightly around his head. “What you got?”

“Nothing that will do you any good,” he said. “Let us pass.”

The one who had spoken before gave an ugly laugh. “No way,” he said, and suddenly there was the flash of a knife in his hand.

Max stared at the knife, knowing this was not good. What a night. This, on top of all the rest, just about did it for him. How much bad luck could one night bring? Fed up, he let his inner Italian take over. Moving toward the men in an aggressive rather than a defensive manner, he began to curse loud and long, in Italian, shouting at the men, shaking his fist at them for good measure. Instead of allowing himself to be the victim, he was threatening them.

Cari watched, her heart in her throat, fear sizzling through her. From every advice column she’d ever read, this seemed to be exactly the wrong way to go about this and she knew it. This could end very badly. But in the meantime, what could she do? Should she run? Not in these shoes. There was no chance. Everything in her wanted to protect the baby. But the way Max was acting, she was very much afraid she was going to see the knife slashing into his chest any moment.

And then what?

Still, it didn’t seem to be playing out quite the way she’d expected. To her surprise, the shortest of the men was pulling on the arm of the one with the knife.

“Hold on,” he was saying. “Just hold up, dude. Look at the guy.”

“Hey, get a load of that suit,” the third was saying nervously. “And listen to the way he talks. I think he’s Mafia, dude. You don’t want to screw with those guys.”

“Mafia?” The three of them stared hard at Max who was still cursing. “Hey, they can mess you up bad.”

“It’s not worth it, dude,” the one with the knife said at last, backing away. “Let’s get out of here.”

And they vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.

Max and Cari both stood very still, letting the adrenaline slow down, getting their breathing back to normal.

“Is that it?” she said at last.

“It seems to be,” he responded. He turned and came back quickly, taking her by the shoulders and staring down into her eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked intensely.

She nodded, still too shaken to say much. Being almost mugged by thugs was enough to ruin a perfectly good evening walk, but watching Max explode like a smoldering volcano had been almost as shocking. She’d never seen a man do that before.

“Good.” He let out a long breath. “We’re lucky they gave up so easily.”

She nodded, finally finding her voice. “Wow, I guess you don’t need a weapon after all,” she said, looking at him with reluctant admiration.

He brushed it off. He knew how to handle himself and he’d been pretty confident, even with three men opposing him, until he’d seen the knife. That could change everything. Luckily, they had weighed the odds and decided not to risk annoying the mob.

Though that made him want to smile. Some people thought anyone Italian had ties to gangsters. That was an ignorant assumption, but it had come in handy this time.

“Okay, let’s go. We’ve got to get out of this neighborhood. Places like this seem to breed thugs like rats thriving in the shadows. Let’s head for streets that are better lit. That way I think.” He pointed down another street and they headed in that direction, moving quickly.

Her feet were aching, but she ignored it. She’d go barefoot if she had to. Anything to get out of this part of town.

“Hold tight to the baby,” Max ordered suddenly, slinging the diaper bag up over his shoulder.

She looked up, startled, and the next thing she knew, he’d bent to slide support under her legs and was swinging her up into his arms, baby and all. She squeaked in protest, but he ignored her.

“You’re going to trip in those shoes,” he told her. “I can handle it. Just hold on.”

She held on and somehow, it worked. He cradled them both in a warm, muscular embrace and walked firmly along the wet sidewalk. She clung to the space just above his chest and beneath his chin and closed her eyes, reveling in the sense of his masculine strength. His heart was beating against her shoulder. She let herself fall into a sort of daze, listening to the rhythm and soaking up the whole of him.

He moved quickly, wondering how he’d let himself get into this insane situation. She was light as a feather, despite the added weight of the baby, and she smelled like a garden in sunshine. Strands of her blond hair flew up and tickled his nose, which he found tantalizing rather than annoying. All in all, she was warm and soft and round and he felt like a Neanderthal. He wanted to take her home and keep her—preferably in his bed.

This wasn’t right. She wasn’t meant for him. In fact, he had other fish to fry, and he was late for the barbecue. But she seemed so small and vulnerable in his arms and he couldn’t resist filling his head with her fresh, intoxicating scent.

A few steps more and they were around the corner, and suddenly cars were whizzing past and the streetlights actually lit up the street instead of just muddying the atmosphere.

“Civilization,” Max muttered, lowering Cari to the ground carefully and looking up and down the road. “But still no cabs.”

And more rain. Thunder rolled and the heavens opened up.

“This way, quickly,” he shouted, pulling her and the baby along until he got them under the limited protection of an empty bus stop shelter. They dashed inside and quickly clung together, trying to stay out of the spray, as water poured off the rounded roof of the tiny kiosk, shooting all around them. After the first moment or two, Cari looked up and realized just how close they were standing. Her nose almost touched his chin.

“Oh,” she said, thinking she should pull back. Being this close when she was being carried was one thing, but this was ridiculous.

“No.” Reaching out, he held the two of them against his chest. “You’ll just get wet.”

“But…” She bit her lip, not sure what to say or where to look.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice so low she could hardly hear it over the rain. “I don’t bite.”

“Don’t you?” She heard herself say the words and winced, knowing they sounded almost as though she were flirting. She hadn’t meant to do that.

The way his mouth twisted in a half grin let her know he’d heard it that way, too. “I suppose I could be convinced,” he said softly.

She gazed into his dark eyes and somehow couldn’t look anywhere else. The sound of the rain, the momentary isolation, the way they were pressed so closely, all blended together to weave an enchantment around them. He was going to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes. And if she didn’t watch out, she was going to end up kissing him back.

“No,” she murmured, trying to dredge up the strength to resist.

“Yes,” he countered, lowering his lips to hers.

“No,” she said again, shaking her head.

“Why not?” he asked, so close to her.

“The baby…”

“The baby’s asleep. He can’t see a thing.”

“This is all wrong.” Looking up, she searched his eyes. “We’re not even supposed to be on this date.”

“This isn’t a date,” he said, his own eyes deep and smoky with something nameless that set her pulse pounding. “It’s an encounter. A moment in time.” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “A bit of magic. You’ll forget all about it by morning.”

“I don’t think so,” she said with a sigh. “You really shouldn’t…”

“But I want to,” he said huskily. “And you taste so good.”

And then he took her mouth with his and kissed her like she’d never been kissed before.

CHAPTER FOUR

IN THE harsh and revealing sunlight of morning, it all looked a bit fantastical. Cari buried her face in her pillow and wished she’d done a better job pulling together the drapes on her tall windows before she’d gone to sleep. She wasn’t ready to face reality yet. Did last night really happen? Impossible.

The phone rang, but she let the answering machine take it. Her heart thumped as she waited for the voice she knew was coming.

“Cari?”

Yes. It was Max. His deep baritone sent chills all through her system. She drew in a shuddering breath.

“Go away,” she whispered into the empty air.

“Cari? Surely you are there. I wouldn’t bother you so early, but I need a bit of advice. If you could pick up…”

She knew she shouldn’t pick up. In her sleepy, morning state, she imagined herself standing at a fork in the road. Her life could go one way or the other, depending on what she did in the next few moments.

She knew what she should do. She should mark the whole experience from the night before as lessons learned and move on. She had to ignore him. Go back to real life and not fool around with fairy-tale princes who came breezing in from Italy with a knowing smile and a boatload of hunkiness. She shouldn’t pick up. She knew better. She wasn’t going to do it.

“Cari? Please?”

She writhed beneath her covers. Don’t do it, Cari!

“Cari, it’s about the baby.”

The baby? Well, if it was about the baby…

“Cari?”

With a sigh she reached out and picked up.

“Hello,” she said somewhat mournfully.

“Buongiorno,” he responded.

There was a long pause while neither of them said anything. Cari wondered if he was as hesitant about this as she was. After all, last night it had been assumed they would probably never see each other again. Hadn’t it?

He’d kissed her and she’d swooned. Yes, there was no way to deny it. She’d gone all gaga on him. Luckily a cab had come cruising up before she’d made a complete fool out of herself, and they’d piled in and raced back to the Longhorn Lounge where they’d found Tito waiting anxiously. The two dates they should have been with were long gone, of course. That was only natural. Tito then left for the hotel with the baby while Max headed for the police station to make a stolen car report. And Cari had slipped into her own car and turned toward home, still tingling. Still swooning. Still out of her mind!

But pretty darn sure she would never see or hear from him again. After all, their little—what had he called it? Their encounter? Whatever it was, it had been illegitimate in the first place. Time to wipe it out of her life and her mind.

Only, here he was on the telephone.

“How did you find my number?” she asked at last.

“I have people on my staff who can find these things for me.”

“Oh.”

She supposed he meant Tito. Or were there others? Hmm. She wasn’t sure she liked that.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Who? The baby?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Has his mother shown up?”

“No. I’ve got someone monitoring the apartment periodically, just in case.”

“Good.” She couldn’t imagine what could have kept a mother away from that beautiful baby. “But you said there was some sort of problem?” she asked quickly. That was what she’d picked up for, after all.

“Not exactly a real problem,” he said. “But…I’ve hired a live-in nanny.”

“Oh. Well, good. You checked her references?”

“Of course.”

She let out a long breath. She didn’t let herself think a lot about the baby she’d held so closely the night before. That was all a part of that other fork in the road she wasn’t going to take—even if she had picked up the phone.

“Okay, then.”

She waited. He had something else to say, but he was having trouble getting it out. She could picture him looking thoughtful, brow furrowed, then she blinked that image away. If she kept doing that sort of thing, she would be swooning again.

“Max, what is it?”

“Nothing, really, it’s just that…” He sighed. “Listen, I’m just not sure about this nanny thing. I did the regular vetting, but what the hell do I know about nannies? Or babies, for that matter. And you seem to know a lot. So I thought maybe you could come over and see if you think she knows what she’s doing.”

Wow. He needed her. That was almost enough to get those tingles started again. Everything in her wanted to say yes. She cared about the baby, but there was more. To see him again, be with him doing something important, wouldn’t that be ideal? But no, that would be wrong—on so many levels. So she didn’t say yes.

“No,” she said instead. Then she waited for the rush of self-congratulations that would surely follow. Funny, but that didn’t happen. “I’m sorry, Max,” she went on, falling back on the honest truth. “I’ve got to go to work.”

“Work? You work?”

It almost made her smile to realize how little they knew about each other. They’d shared a night of intense emotions and setbacks, more in one night than she’d had in months. She felt as if she’d glimpsed a clear picture of his character, his personality. And yet she didn’t know much about him, what he’d done with his life, what he cared about, and he didn’t know those things about her, either. But they were going to leave it that way for the most part. At least, she knew they should.

“Of course I work. What do you think I live on? Air?”

“What do you do?”

He sounded candidly surprised and interested. What the heck? Didn’t he know any women who actually had real jobs? She licked her lips and stuck to the facts.

“I’m a waitress.”

“At a supper club?”

“No. In a local coffee shop.”

There. That ought to be guaranteed to turn him off. She was just a waitress. Not one of those high-falutin’, jet-settin’ fashion models he was surely used to.

She was also the assistant manager and studying for her real estate license, but he didn’t need to know all that. After all, she wasn’t trying to impress him. She was trying to get rid of him.

“Take a day off,” he said bluntly.

“I can’t do that. People are counting on me.”

“And I’m counting on you, too.”

“Yes, but you don’t pay the bills.”

“I could do that,” he said, as though it was a new idea and he rather liked it. “That’s it. I’ll pay you a salary. I’ll hire you.”

“Nonsense.” Her voice was quivering a bit and she bit down on her lip. No! She was not going to give in to that sort of crazy temptation.

“But it would be perfect.”

“For you, not for me.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Consider it, at least.”

“No.” She was firm. And darn proud of herself, too. “You’ll be fine with this nanny person.”

He hesitated, then said skeptically, “I hope you’re right.”

There was another long pause.

“Everything is all right, then?” she prodded. “I mean, everything else?”

“Oh, yes. Going great. I had the baby checked out by a pediatrician first thing, and we’ve put in a request for a DNA test. I’ve arranged for the delivery of the relevant charts from Italy. It will all take time, but everything is moving along.”

“Good.”

Why was he still hanging on? She was torn, wanting him gone, yet enjoying this more than she ought to. “Well, have you gotten in touch with your date from last night yet?” she asked, suddenly remembering there was still that issue to be dealt with.

There was yet another hesitation, then he answered, “Not yet. How about you?”

She sighed. Apologizing to Randy wasn’t something she was looking forward to. “No, not yet. But it’s early. I wouldn’t want to wake him up.”

Something in the pause this time was electric, and finally he said softly, “Did I wake you?”

Warmth flooded her body. How did he manage to make one simple question imply a wealth of intimate contact? Something in his tone, the low, husky quality of his voice, conjured up a picture of the way he might awaken her, his hand sliding down beneath the sheets, his lips leaving a trail of hot kisses. She suppressed a gasp.

This was ridiculous. She wasn’t a schoolgirl. She was a grown woman. She’d been married, for heaven’s sake! She knew what it was like to have a man in her bed.

But not this man. Oh, my!

She wasn’t going to answer his provocative question. She had to think of something else, quick. Something to break the mood and put an end to this.

“I’ve been up for hours,” she lied shamelessly. “I’ve got a life, you know. Things to do. Places to go.”

“And you’d like to get back to it,” he said softly, taking the hint. He sighed. “All right, Cari. I’ll let you go.”

Her fingers were so tight on the receiver, they were beginning to ache. “Thanks.”

“So that’s it, then.”

She blinked, suddenly feeling almost weepy. “It seems to be.”

“It was nice knowing you, Cari.”

“Yes. Same here.” Now her eyes were definitely stinging. Ridiculous! “Goodbye.”

“Ciao.”

She hung up, said a word she hardly ever said, and threw a stuffed animal against the wall.

Cari was just finishing up a bowl of morning cereal when Mara called.

“So,” said Mara brightly. “How was it?”

“How was what?” Cari answered, her mind still stuck on mulling over her conversation with Max.

“The date with Randy.”

“Oh. Uh…” She grimaced, putting her spoon into the bowl and pushing it away across the counter. “Well, actually, we didn’t have it.”

“What do you mean you didn’t have it? Don’t tell me you chickened out?”

Mara’s voice was sharp with what was fast working into a sense of outrage. Cari tried to nip that in the bud.

“No, Mara, I did not chicken out. I was there with bells on. And I waited for quite some time. But then…” She sighed. This really wasn’t all that easy to explain. “Well, I kind of went off with the wrong man.”

“What?” There was still an edge to Mara’s voice. “How did you do that, exactly?”

“Believe me, it was not that hard. Not when he came up carrying a red rose, just like you told me to do for Randy, and he seemed to call me by my name and…and…” She sighed. “It’s kind of hard to explain. Listen, I’ve got the lunch shift. I’ll swing by on my way to work. We’ll talk.”

“I guess. Okay.”

Mara sounded grumpy. Cari knew she was disappointed. She thought she’d planned the perfect date for a good friend and it had all gone wrong. Who wouldn’t be disappointed? And Mara had been so excited. She groaned internally. But she would take care of things when she stopped by her friend’s house. Face-to-face it might actually be possible to give her a better picture of exactly what had happened.

“In the meantime, uh, do you have Randy’s number?”

She was tempted to put it off for a while, but she steeled herself and called the man. Once she had him on the phone and explained who she was, he reacted well. Instead of demanding an explanation, he was apologetic that he’d been a little late.

Which only made her feel more guilty. It was hard to explain why she’d dumped him for some suave Italian guy. There was no good excuse for it, actually. One look into Max’s deep dark eyes had mesmerized her and she’d been ready to follow him anywhere. But how could she tell Randy that?

“Well, it was certainly an interesting evening,” he said. “I haven’t had many like that.”

He sounded just as likable as Mara had said. She was impressed that he didn’t seem at all disgruntled. She had a quick flashback to how her husband, Brian, would have reacted to what had happened, and the memory of his volatile temper made her cringe.

“Did you wait for long?”

“Only for an hour or so.” He chuckled. “Actually, I met the woman who was supposed to be dating the man you ran off with.”

“Ran off with” seemed a bit harsh, but she let it go. After all, the man deserved a little dig here and there, didn’t he? He’d paid his dues.

“Oh. C.J.?”

“Celinia Jade. Do you know her?”

“No, I don’t, but Max told me something about her.”

“Well, she’s somethin’ else.”

His voice conveyed a sense of awe. Cari tensed a bit.

“Is she?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s dynamite.”

For some reason, that didn’t make her smile. She chewed on her lip and wondered if Max was going to be as impressed with the woman once they got together. But what did that matter, anyway? Grimacing, she avoided the impulse to slap herself.

“We were both wandering around with red roses,” Randy went on. “So we started talking. It didn’t take us long to figure out what must have happened. So we hung out for a while, sort of commiserated, so to speak.” He chuckled again. “She had some funny stories to tell. That passed the time for a while. But when y’all didn’t come back, we called it a night and headed home.”

She nodded. It sounded like he’d enjoyed the evening with C.J. as much as he might have with her. Maybe more. She frowned at the trend in her own thoughts.

“So it wasn’t a total waste,” she said quickly.

“Oh, no, not at all.”

“Well, would you like to try it again tonight?” she said, knowing she pretty much had to suggest it. “I sort of promised Mara I would.”

“I guess we both promised Mara, didn’t we?”

“She can be persuasive.”

“Oh, yes.” He chuckled again. He seemed a happy sort. “Let’s do it,” he agreed. “Only this time, why don’t I pick you up at your place? I’m not sure that red rose thing works very well.”

She hesitated. The rationale for meeting at the club had been to avoid letting a strange man know where she lived. She was wary these days. She didn’t want to risk any man getting the upper hand in a relationship. But he seemed so genuinely nice, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to give him her address.

Maybe all would go great. Maybe she and Randy would get along so well, the crazy night with Max would be forgotten, a relic of history, a strange interlude in what she was hoping to turn into a sensible, placid life. Maybe.

Max was restless. He’d spent the afternoon hovering over the nanny, second-guessing everything she did. She’d snapped at him once, and he’d almost fired her. But he’d quickly realized that he had no replacement lined up. If she left, he would be on his own. And what he knew about taking care of babies could be blurted out in one quick epithet.

Tito was no help. Every time the baby cried, he stuffed cotton in his ears and went out on the hotel room balcony, plunked himself down into a plastic chair and tried to sleep. But Max couldn’t sleep. His existence was caught up in this baby for now, and that was all he could think about.

That, and Cari Christensen. She was the one person he knew who could help solve a lot of his problems. But he had to forget about her.

He’d come to Dallas with two clear goals in mind. First, he’d wanted to find Sheila and discover if the baby she claimed she had was really Gino’s. That was pretty much in the works. He had no idea where Sheila was, but when you came right down to it, that didn’t matter. He had the baby. And he would soon know the truth about the baby’s parentage.

He’d never been a baby person, never been around the little things. And he hadn’t expected to feel much of anything for this one. Babies were nothing but potential people—little blobs of flesh and noise. Puppies had more personality.

But the funny thing was, he’d felt something of an instant connection when he’d seen baby Jamie. One look at that little face had torn a hole in his heart. He was as sure of this as anything—this baby was his brother’s.

When word had come that Gino had died in the crash of the plane he was testing out, Max had felt his world tilt on its axis. His big brother had been his guiding star all his life. For a long time, he’d thought he might never feel joy again.

But he’d had to suppress any overt mourning, because his mother’s despair had been so deep and so complete it had taken all his effort to pull her out of what he was afraid could have developed into a suicidal impulse at any moment. And now, to think he might be able to bring her Gino’s baby—the thought took his breath away. He couldn’t allow himself to get too invested in this until the tests proved the connection. But he was pretty sure what the results would be.

His other goal had been to find a way to wrest the Triple M Ranch from the daughter of his mother’s old rival. That wasn’t going so well. But he hadn’t really concentrated on it as yet, so there was plenty of time to figure out ways to succeed there, too. He’d contacted Celinia Jade, or C.J. as he preferred to call her—and she didn’t seem to mind—who came across as something of an airhead at first. But in no time at all, he’d noticed a sharp turn of mind that sent up warning flags. The woman might talk like she had nothing in her mind but fluff, but underneath there was a steely sense of purpose. She knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t going to be easy to snow. He might have more trouble there than he’d anticipated.

They had made plans to try to meet again tonight, same time, same place. This time he was going to make damn sure he had the right woman. No more screwups. He was going to be pure Mediterranean charm and solicitude. The woman wouldn’t know what hit her.

He knew what he was doing. His life for the past ten years had been immersed in real estate—big real estate, big deals. This was nothing. It should be a piece of cake. C.J. was in financial trouble and he planned to make a very nice offer for the ranch. He was prepared to be fair, generous, even. He wasn’t out to cheat anyone. His mother seemed to think emotional ties would make it hard for her to sell, but he had his doubts. When faced with the facts, he was pretty sure he would be able to make her see the light.

If he could return to Italy with the deed to the ranch in one hand and Gino’s baby in the other, some of the heartbreak that shadowed his mother’s eyes might fade a bit. That was his hope.

The baby was crying again. He paced the floor for a few minutes, then gave in to the urge to go into the nursery they had rigged up in the smallest bedroom of this lavish hotel suite and see what was going on. Mrs. Turner, the nanny, was sitting in the rocking chair, reading a mystery novel. Meanwhile, Jamie was turning bright red as he cried his little heart out.

“The baby’s crying,” he pointed out sharply.

Mrs. Turner looked up and nodded, glaring at him. “It’s good for him to cry. It develops his lungs.”

He was nothing if not skeptical, but he hesitated. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” She gave him the supercilious smirk he was growing to hate. “Why else would they have that ability?”

He gritted his teeth. “I thought it was so they could let people know they needed help.”

She smiled as though he were a poor fool who knew nothing about children. “That’s only part of it. You can’t baby them, you know. You mustn’t spoil them, even at the infant stage. It’s best to encourage them to grow and stretch themselves. You wouldn’t want the poor dear to fall behind in development, now would you?”

He wanted to argue, but he had no ammunition. What did he know about this, anyway?

“I suppose you know best,” he grumbled, turning away. But the picture of Jamie’s little tragic face, all twisted with grief, staying in his mind.

Back out in the living room, he went to the folder where he was keeping his papers and pulled out the certificate that was meant to guarantee the expertise of the nanny. Maybe he should give the school that issued it a call. He frowned. Or maybe he should just call Cari and see what she thought.

His hand was already on the telephone receiver when he stopped himself. No, he couldn’t do that. He had to break all ties with the woman. That was the only way he would ever get her out of his head. He couldn’t let himself think about Cari and her sweet, pretty face. He’d set his sights on charming C.J. and that was where they had to stay. Swearing, he reached for the cotton to put in his ear and started out to join Tito on the balcony.

The Copper Penny where Cari worked was just off the interstate. A mix of locals and tourists patronized the trim little café. She liked the early afternoon when the hectic lunch crowd had dwindled down to a few housewives lingering over coffee and the assorted cowboys who came in from riding fences at some of the nearby ranches. The easy camaraderie was what she liked best about her job. It was pretty much the same group of cowhands that came in every day. One by one, most had tried to hit on her, but in a relaxed, friendly way that never got serious. She could swat their propositions aside like a mama dog controlling her puppies. Few took offense, and those that did were easily joked out of it.

Today Cari wasn’t doing any joking. Her mind was on other things and she poured coffee and took orders with a distracted air. The men she served were a blur to her. Her thoughts were full of Max.

“I’ve just got to think about him as much as I can now, so I can be done with him and get him out of my head,” she told herself impatiently. It was a plan, but she wasn’t at all sure it was a plan that was going to work.

She’d known from the moment he’d walked into the club that he was absolutely the wrong man for her. Too tall, too handsome, too arrogant, too sure of his right to command the attention of everyone there.

Her husband had been like that in a way. Well, not so tall, not so handsome, and not so full of self-confidence. But he’d had the arrogance down pat. Brian had mostly been frustrated in his attempts to take charge of the rest of the world. He’d had a bit more success in boxing her in with his small life and visions. And he’d managed to make her life miserable because of it.

The autocratic husband was the worst kind, as far as she was concerned. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted another man in her life at all, but if she did decide to try another relationship, it sure wouldn’t be with a man like Brian. Or Max, for that matter.

“That’s why Randy is so perfect for you,” Mara had pointed out when she’d stopped by to see her and try to explain how she’d ended up on a date with the wrong man. “You’ve really got to get to know him. You’ll have to date him more than once to really give him a chance.”

“Oh, Mara, I don’t know. After what happened last night…”

“Listen, you owe it to him. The poor guy spent hours waiting for you at the club.”

“No he didn’t. Not from what he told me. And anyway, he should have left after half an hour or so. I would have.”

“In fact, you did.” Mara gave her an exasperated sigh. “He was so excited about meeting you, of course. And now he’s got to be wondering what all that meant. You’ve got to be nice to him and really give him a chance.”

Cari had to hold back a smile. Mara was pushing a little too hard for this. That meant she’d begun to doubt it was going to work out. Oh, well. Cari would give it a shot. That was all she could do.

A new customer had come in and was about to seat himself at the counter. When she turned and saw it was Max, she gasped and almost dropped the coffee urn she was carrying. He gave her a halfhearted grin and shrugged. She put down the coffee and caught her breath. She’d never imagined he might show up here.

He was wearing slacks that fit his muscular body like a glove, bulging in all the right places, and a silky white shirt open low at the neck. He hadn’t shaved and his face looked stunningly sexy with a day’s worth of dark beard.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a voice just above a whisper. She didn’t bother to ask how he’d found out which of the city’s hundreds of coffee shops she worked in. She knew his answer to that one. His people knew how to find these things out. Something told her he would always find her if he wanted to, and she wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a threat.

Max looked at her in wonder. She had her thick blond hair tied back, but little curls were breaking free all around her face. She wore a stiff, starched uniform, baby-blue with white lacy trim and a white lacy apron, sensible white shoes and a perky little hat. She looked for all the world like an exceptionally adorable matron in a fantasy children’s ward. He half expected to see friendly cartoon characters bouncing along behind her.

“I came because I need to talk to you,” he said. “You’re the only person I know who knows anything about babies.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked quickly, a tiny flare of alarm shivering through her. “Has something happened?”

“No, nothing. Jamie’s fine. Just fine.” Max hesitated. He knew he sounded defensive and that made him frown more fiercely.

“Then what’s wrong?” She shook her head in bewilderment.

“Nothing. Well, something.”

He shook his own head, trying to figure out how to express the discomfort he felt with the childcare he’d arranged without sounding like a candidate for a mental clinic. Maybe what he’d seen was normal. Maybe he was being a crank. But maybe, just maybe, Mrs. Turner was a lousy nanny. He just didn’t know the answer.

He sank down into the stool at the counter and turned up the cup. She moved automatically, filling it with coffee.

“Explain,” she demanded impatiently. “What are the symptoms?”

His beautiful hands with their long, tapered fingers curled around the cup. She watched him do it, fascinated. Everything about him seemed better, even the way he held a cup. But she didn’t have time for any swooning this afternoon. This was all about the baby.

“Well?” she said.

“It’s just…oh, hell.” He looked up, appealing to her supposed expertise. “He’s crying a lot.”

Cari froze and looked at him quickly. Brian had hated it when their baby had cried. In fact, it seemed to drive him a bit crazy when it happened. Her heart beat a little faster, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Max wasn’t Brian. He hadn’t said he couldn’t stand it, just that it worried him.

Okay, start over again.

She nodded a little stiffly. A baby crying wasn’t really unusual. But if it was happening to the point where Max was worried, she was going to delve into it a bit.

“No fever?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Gas?”

He made a face. “I don’t know.”

“Does the nanny hold him against her shoulder and pat or rub his back?”

He thought for a minute, then nodded. “I’ve seen her do that a time or two. But not for long.” He frowned. “I don’t trust the nanny. She’s obsessed with making sure she doesn’t spoil him. It’s like she thinks we’re raising a Spartan kid or something. She doesn’t want to make him too comfortable, as if he’ll get too soft if he’s happy.” He grimaced. “So she lets him cry.”

Cari was sure he was exaggerating, so she didn’t take him too seriously. She closed her eyes, thinking, then opened them again and shook her head.

“You know what it probably is? He misses his mom.”

Max searched her eyes. To his relief, Cari was taking his worries seriously. She was frowning, thinking over her instant diagnosis. She looked down at him.

“Did you get in a good supply of formula?”

“Of course.”

She nodded again, then her eyes widened. “Oh, maybe he was being breast fed. The formula might not agree with him. Maybe that’s why he’s crying.”

He groaned, looking miserable. “But Cari, there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Of course not. He’ll just have to get used to the formula.”

“How long will that take?”

She had a hard time holding back a smile. His face was a picture of tragic helplessness. He was a man of action. He wanted to do something to make everything better. But he was being told there was nothing he could do, and that was maddening to him.

“Of course, the best thing would be if the baby’s mother came back. You haven’t found her yet?” she asked, knowing it wouldn’t be a welcome question at all.

He gave her a baleful look. “Why would I want to do that?”

She stared at him, hoping he was just being flip. “You know darn well you have to do that.”

His sigh was impatient. “Yes, I know. I’ve got people looking into it. We’ll find her.”

She frowned. His “people” had been pretty good at finding out where she lived and worked, but she was pretty easy. A woman who went off without telling anyone where she was going was probably going to be a tougher case.

“I hope you really mean that. It’s important. What if she comes back and her baby’s not in the apartment? Can you imagine how frightened she’ll be?”

He looked at her as though she’d lost her bearings. “Cari, this is a mother who walked out and never looked back. What makes you think she’ll care that much?”

“She’s a mother. I know what that’s like.”

To think a woman could walk out on her baby was incomprehensible to her. She’d lost a baby once herself. It had almost destroyed her life. “You don’t know why she disappeared. Maybe something happened.” She shrugged, getting into her speculative mode.

“Maybe she was kidnapped. Maybe she’s unconscious in some hospital somewhere. Maybe she bumped her head and has amnesia.”

He grimaced, not buying a bit of it. “Or maybe she went on a hot date and forgot she had a baby waiting at home.”

She swallowed hard, shocked he would say such a thing. The cynicism reminded her of some of the terrible things Brian would say, and she didn’t want to think he might be anything like her husband.

“You don’t have a very high opinion of women, do you?” she challenged.

He looked up as though surprised she was taking his offhanded remark seriously. “That’s not the point. And yes, I have a very high opinion of women. Some women.”

His mother. Whoopee. She was appalled.

“No matter what kept her away, when she comes back to her senses, she’ll want to know where her baby is.”

“That’s probably true. For what it’s worth.” His wide mouth tilted at the corners, but there was no humor in his dark eyes as he looked up at her. “You forget. I know Sheila. I never understood what Gino saw in her, and I was glad when they broke up. And I was the one who took her phone call when she tried to shake us down for money. I’m afraid that experience has made me a little cynical where Sheila is concerned.”

There was certainly no point in arguing about this. He knew the woman. She didn’t. But the baby needed to be protected. At the same moment she had that thought, so did he.

“Listen,” he said, rising from the stool and moving toward her. “I can pay you double whatever you’re making here. I could really use the help.”

She shook her head with vigor. She couldn’t even allow herself to imagine such a thing.

“No,” she said firmly. “Never.”

“Cari…” He took her hand in his and she stared down at those wonderful fingers. The nails were so even, so beautiful. He had hands like an artist. She could hardly breathe.

“Cari, listen. It wouldn’t be for long. Just until the DNA testing is completed. Then I’ll be taking him to Venice with me and I won’t need you anymore.”

Her gaze jerked up and met his. Did he have any idea what he’d just said? But she supposed he didn’t look at it quite the way she did. She yanked her hand out of his and turned away.

I won’t need you anymore.

Wasn’t that just like a man? Oh!

“Max, you’d better leave. I’ve got work to do.”

“Cari…”

“I’m serious. Go. I’m not going to work for you. Not ever.”

“Not ever.” He repeated it as though he couldn’t believe she’d said that and turned to go, then looked back. “By the way, the police found my car. It was only a few blocks from where it was stolen and they didn’t damage anything. So that’s okay.”

“I’m glad.”

He nodded, then shrugged and turned to leave again.

“But Max.”

He turned back, one eyebrow raised.

“Max, please take care of the baby. And find his mother. It’s really important.”

He was on the verge of pointing out that she could help make all that happen, but he bit his tongue, knowing it would be too much like begging.

“Okay, I’ll take that under advisement.”

“Good.”

Their gazes caught and held. For a moment she was afraid he was going to come back and grab her and carry her out, just like he’d carried her the night before. But the moment passed and he gave a half shrug.

“I’d better go back and see what the nanny’s up to,” he said at last. “If she’s trying to get Jamie to make his own bed, I’m throwing her out on her ear.”

And then he turned and was gone.

CHAPTER FIVE

RANDY was the perfect match for Cari, just as Mara had insisted all along. He was good-looking in a salt-of-the-earth kind of way, tall with a slender build, friendly, with sandy hair neatly cut and combed, steady gray eyes, a nice smile and a warm attitude. Cari liked him and immediately found herself thinking of women she knew she could set him up with. Seemingly, he was perfect for a lot of people.

“Why didn’t you say something when Max called you C.J.?” he asked, after she’d gone over exactly what had happened the night before.

“I had no idea what he was talking about. For all I knew, he was calling me Calamity Jane. That’s pretty much what I felt like once I realized what we’d done.”

He laughed. They had just been seated at a comfortable booth in the main dining room at the Longhorn Lounge. The atmosphere was pleasant, the servers attentive, and drinks were on the way. The scene was set for a lovely evening, and a lovely evening they would have. But that was all.

She’d gone on this date to make a friend happy, and that was as far as her commitment went. Shortly after the dinner was consumed, she would thank the man, shake his hand and go off into the sunset—alone. In the meantime, she was determined to be nice to Randy, if only to make up for the night before.

But she had to mentally kick herself to stop looking toward the door, hoping Max would make a sudden appearance. She’d already seen him once today, and that was one time too many.

“Well, it was all my fault,” Randy was saying graciously. “When I got there I knew I was half an hour late. I was afraid you’d have gotten disgusted and left me flat. So when I saw a gal coming in with a red rose, I was thrilled. Only, I took one look and I just really couldn’t believe it could be you.”

Déjà vu all over again.

“Really? What was she like?”

“Gorgeous.”

He said it like a man smitten, and she had to recoil, just a little. So he’d thought the woman he saw was too good to be true, had he? Funny. That was exactly what she’d thought when she saw Max for the first time. What a coincidence.

“Well, thank you very much,” she said a bit tartly, pretending to take offense. He hurried, a bit clumsily, to reassure her.

“No, I mean, you’re beautiful. Of course you’re beautiful.”

She knew she was actually looking pretty good tonight. She’d worn an electric-blue number with spaghetti straps and more cleavage showing than usual, and she’d topped it off with a cute little fake fur shrug that didn’t cover much of anything. Then she’d let her hair tumble free around her shoulders. But from the look shining in Randy’s eyes, she had a feeling her “pretty good” was nothing compared to C.J.’s “gorgeous.”

“You’re a lovely woman,” he was saying. “But in a totally different way. This gal looked like one of those heiresses with the big hair and the fancy clothes and diamonds and all that. Like the Dallas of the old TV show rather than the Dallas I usually live in.”

His gaze grew dreamy as he thought of her. Cari had to laugh, shaking her head.

“I must be quite a disappointment after all that,” she noted dryly.

Randy was surely planning on coming back with more reassurances, but he didn’t get the chance, as visitors were stopping by their table. Cari looked up right into Max’s intense gaze. Her heart leaped and the room seemed to tilt, and for just a moment she wondered if she was imagining things.

I could get lost in those eyes, was the thought running through her mind. Lost and bewitched. Again.

At the same time, his gaze made a quick trip along the line of her low-cut dress, and he gave every indication of liking what he saw there. Suddenly she realized she’d worn it for just such a reaction from him. And only him. And that only made her more light-headed.

It took her a beat too long to realize there was someone with him. Someone with a head of sumptuous red hair and a rather annoyed look on her beautiful face.

“So I guess we got it right this time,” Max was saying, nodding to Randy. “Max Angeli,” he said shortly, shaking hands with the other man. “And this is C.J. Kerry.”

“We’ve met,” C.J. noted, making an exasperated face at Randy before she favored Cari with a slight smile. “So nice to meet you, date stealer,” she said, making it obvious she was joking, but letting the edge to her tone shine through all the same. “I’m glad we’ve got things straightened out at last.”

Flustered, Cari wasn’t sure what she said in return. Before she knew what was happening, Max was sliding in to sit beside her in the well-padded booth.

“Listen, Cari, I need some advice,” he said, looking serious. “Do you mind?”

“Oh.” Cari knew this had to be about the baby. “No, of course not.” She turned toward him feeling a bit anxious.

“Hey,” C.J. complained, still standing in the aisle, one hand on her hip. With her flaming hair and the tiny shimmering dress that just barely covered up her generous assets, she had heads turning all over the restaurant.

“You can sit down, too,” Max told her in an offhanded manner. He nodded toward the seat beside Randy, who grinned and moved over eagerly, his eyes shining.

“Come on,” Randy said to C.J., noting her outraged face. “I’m not so bad.”

“Hah,” she harrumphed, flouncing the ruffles of her glittering skirt, but she joined him willingly enough.

Max ignored her and leaned toward Cari. He was back in his Italian silk suit with the white shirt open at the throat, looking very sleek and continental. He’d shaved, which was a shame, really. But he still looked lethally sexy.

“The nanny was trying to get him to drink his evening bottle just before I left,” he began. “He wouldn’t touch it, wouldn’t even let it into his mouth.”

Cari frowned, growing a bit concerned. “Was he crying?”

He hesitated. “Not really. Just sort of whimpering.” He thought for a minute. “But he did cry a lot earlier in the afternoon. It was enough to set your teeth on edge.”

“And you’re sure he wasn’t in pain?”

Max shook his head, looking tortured. “You know, that’s really hard to say. Just looking at him, I would say no. I didn’t see any sign of that. But it’s kind of hard to be sure when you don’t speak their language, you know?”

Cari bit her lip, nodding. She could remember many long nights walking the floor with Michelle, wondering whether or not to call the doctor. Barring overt signs of illness, injury or distress, that was always a wrenching decision, especially at two in the morning.

“So here’s what I want to know,” he went on, gazing hard into her eyes, taking up all her attention. “Should I fire the nanny?”

Cari stared back at him. A part of her knew he had no business asking her to give him this sort of advice. What was she to him? She had no responsibility, no ties to this child. Why would he ask her?

But another part wanted to make sure baby Jamie was safe just as much as he did. The thought of a baby left to the winds of chance horrified her any time she came across such a situation. Babies needed protection at all times.

“Do you have someone else you can call?” she asked.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

She could see how much this was bothering him, and it completely surprised her. She never would have pegged him for the sensitive type. That was the good thing. But he sure couldn’t seem to handle a crying child. That was the bad thing—a warning flag to her. Brian had been totally intolerant of baby noises. That had been exactly what had triggered what had happened the nightmare night of the accident.

But she couldn’t think about that. This was completely different. Max wasn’t Brian. And listening to babies cry could be very frustrating, especially when you didn’t really know the child. But babies did cry. Sometimes it was nothing more than being unfamiliar with their new surroundings.

“Give it until morning,” she suggested. “By then you’ll have enough experience with the woman to know if you want her to stay or not.”

He seemed to wince and looked away. It was obvious he wanted to be told his instincts were right and he should fire the woman.

C.J. had been watching their exchange, her gaze going back and forth between them as though it were a Ping-Pong match. “So, let me get this straight. You two have a baby together?”

They both looked at her and cried in unison “No!”

“No, no, no,” Max amplified, looking impatient with the interruption. “This is my brother’s baby.”

“Oh.” C.J. looked surprised. “I didn’t know Gino had a baby.”

They stared at her.

“You knew Gino?” Max demanded.

“Sure.” She smiled, looking pleased that the attention was back where—in her mind—it belonged. “I met him when he was here last year.”

Max looked incredulous. “Gino was here? What for?”

She shrugged. “Pretty much the same thing you’re here for,” she noted, giving him a sly look. “He wanted to buy the ranch.”

Max’s head went back. This was news to him. He and his brother had been close in many ways, including the family real estate development business they had taken over from their father and ran together. Why would Gino have come to Texas without telling him? It didn’t make a lot of sense. Unless he’d been as intent on doing something to make their mother happy as he was himself.

“You know that he recently died in a plane crash, don’t you?” he asked her, grimacing at the effort it took to talk casually about him when the pain was still so raw.

“Yes, I know, and I’m so sorry about that.” She nodded her sympathy and actually looked as though she meant it. “He seemed like a great guy. Though I didn’t care much for the woman he had with him.”

“Sheila?” Max frowned.

“Yes, I think that was her name.” C.J. made a face. “Shifty looking.” Then her face changed as though she’d just remembered something. “Actually, funny thing. I heard from her the other day. She was on my answering machine. I didn’t call her back. She said she was here in town, and I could tell she was going to be asking for money.”

“You were probably right. She’s been doing a lot of that lately.” Max was staring at her hard, as though he was seeing something new in her, something that gave him pause. “So Gino couldn’t talk you into selling,” he said softly.

“Of course not.” Her chin came up and her huge green eyes were glittering with resolve. “I’m not selling the ranch. Ever. It’s my heritage. It’s all I’ve got now that all my family is gone.”

Max’s dark eyes narrowed speculatively as he gazed at the woman, but the server arrived with the drinks before he could make a comment on what she’d said.

“We should go get ourselves a table, honey,” C.J. said to him, raising an eyebrow for emphasis.

He looked around as though surprised to find they weren’t where they belonged. Then he decided to do something about it. “There’s plenty of room at this table,” he said. “Let’s eat here.”

“What?” the other three cried, staring at him.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, looking from person to person. There was no sense of give to his attitude, and the others were the ones to back down. One by one, each reluctantly shook his or her head, as he looked at them.

“No. Of course not.”

“Well, then.” He shrugged and looked at the server. “I’ll have a Scotch, neat. And you?” He nodded toward C.J.

C.J. ordered, but Cari wasn’t listening any longer. This evening was turning out almost as surreal as the last one had been. If only Mara had left well enough alone in the first place, she would be home right now with some soft music playing and a nice novel in her hand. If only!

As they ordered their meals and the first course came, Randy and C.J. seemed to be doing all the talking. They were bantering back and forth about things they’d done the night before and what it was like to have been dumped by their respective blind dates. They’d started out using it as a way to tweak Cari and Max, but as things went along, they seemed to be wrapped up in their own little joke, leaving the other two behind.

Not that she cared. Her attention was full of the man beside her and didn’t have much room left for the other two at the table. Max was quiet, almost morose, as though he were pondering life and all its unpleasant pitfalls and annoying blind alleys, and feeling glum about the prospects for happiness in general.

And Cari felt some sympathy for that point of view. She was wondering how she could have chosen the right path at her mythical fork in the road and yet have wound up on the wrong leg of the journey, anyway. Surely there had to be a shortcut to sanity somewhere. She had to get back where she belonged. But every minute she spent in the company of this man only made things worse. Just sitting here in his presence seemed to solidify the extraordinary attraction she felt for him. There was no getting around it—he was hot!

And that was bad. Sexual attraction was an illusion that clouded the mind and made you do stupid things. She had to guard against it. Experience suggested she was susceptible to the influence of strong men, and she had to fight the temptation to succumb. It wasn’t easy.

Every time his gaze accidentally met hers, every time his hand brushed her arm, every time he spoke and his voice seemed to resonate in her soul, all she could think about was the way that full, luscious mouth had felt on hers the night before. This was making her nervous. It took all her control to keep from shaking like a leaf.

At one point, she almost knocked over her wineglass and Max reached out to steady it for her, leaning in close to do it. His crisp, clean scent filled her head, and the sense of his pure masculinity swept over her like a tantalizing breeze.

“Stop it,” she thought to herself, feeling a bit desperate. “Just stop doing that.”

“Stop what?” he murmured as he drew back, looking at her in that heavy-lidded way that caught at the breath in her throat. “I’m not doing anything.”

She stared at him, aghast. She’d only thought the words, surely. How could he have heard her? Had she actually said them aloud—or was she going crazy?

Okay, the votes were in. She was going crazy. Here she was, sitting beside a man who could never be for her, but could ruin her for all the other men in the world if she didn’t watch her step. And what was she doing? Gulping down wine like it was high noon in the Gobi Desert.

Smart, Cari, my dear. Very smart.

Ooops. She looked up quickly, wondering if she’d said that aloud, too. But no one was paying any attention to her. What a relief. Putting her head down, she began to eat automatically. If she cleaned her plate, maybe she would be allowed to go home to that book.

Max was pushing the food around on his own plate. Eating was the last thing he felt like doing right now. His usual calm sense of confidence seemed to be fraying a bit around the edges tonight. Things weren’t going his way. In the first place he was disturbed by C.J.’s attitude. Her bony little feet seemed to be encased in concrete, where holding on to the ranch was concerned. He could tell she thought she was going to scam him. She was just as set on her path as he was on his. He hated to think what that might mean for his long-term prospects of success.

But most of all, he was worried about the baby. What did he know from babies? He was desperately determined to do right by this one, but doubts kept nagging at him. He looked at his watch, wondering how soon he would be able to bid C.J. adieu so he could go back and make sure Mrs. Turner hadn’t fallen asleep in the comfortable chair, leaving Jamie to cry his little heart out.

He looked at Cari, wishing she’d agreed to let him hire her for the job. Instinctively he knew he could trust her with the baby. He’d already seen her in action on that score.

She was acting very jumpy at the moment. Every time he caught her eye, she looked away quickly, as though she was afraid he’d think she liked him or something. Hell, he didn’t like anybody. He had a couple of things to accomplish and “liking” had nothing to do with either thing.

Still, he had to admit he was drawn to her in a way that was unusual for him. He kept thinking about her, even when she was across town working in that funny little café full of cowboys. But mostly he was sure that was because she could be the answer to some of his biggest problems if she would only agree to help him. Though maybe there was a bit more to it than that. After all, he was human, and for a woman who was not really his type, she looked darn appealing tonight. Her little blue dress revealed some very delectable skin that hadn’t seen the light of day for a while. But he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that.

“You know what?” she said suddenly, leaning toward him and speaking quietly. “I’ve been thinking. If you want, I could come by after dinner, just for a few minutes, and sort of scope out the situation. See what I think of the nanny.”

He stared at her. She was not only the most beautiful woman in the world, how was it he had never noticed that shiny gold halo that hovered over her head? Or those big gorgeous white wings fluttering off her back? There was actually a lump in his throat. He didn’t trust his voice, and he nodded.

“Great,” he managed at last, though it sounded creaky. “Great.”

She must have seen the abject relief and gratitude in his eyes, because she looked startled and drew back as though she was already regretting the offer.

“Excuse me,” she said, gathering her little purse and gesturing toward the way out. “I’m going to go powder my nose.”

“Me too,” said C.J., sliding out right behind her.

Max rose and let her out, amazed at the peace she’d given him with her suggestion to come by and take a look at the nanny. He hated having things hanging over his head this way. When there was a problem, he was used to dealing with it so it would go away. This nanny thing had been like a bad toothache gnawing away at him all day. And now he was going to be able to do something about it. Thanks to Cari.

Sliding back into his seat, he smiled at Randy. “Wonderful woman, isn’t she?” he noted.

And Randy nodded. “Sure is,” he said, though he wasn’t really sure which woman they were talking about.

Cari had groaned inside the moment she realized C.J. was really going to accompany her to the restroom, but she didn’t let it show. The last thing she wanted was company. That was exactly what she was trying to get away from. Nevertheless, C.J. came along, chatting incessantly as they moved through the dining room and headed into the ladies’ lounge. Inside, huge mirrors lined the walls with low vanities and comfortable chairs facing them. Cari sank into one of the chairs and pretended to freshen her makeup. C.J. chattered on.

“That Randy is so funny,” she said, draping herself across the neighboring chair and fluffing her brilliant hair as she watched herself in the mirror. “He keeps me in stitches.”

“He said pretty much the same about you.”

“Did he? Aw, that’s sweet.”

Cari looked into C.J.’s face. She’d already realized the woman was smarter than she seemed at first glance. So what was her purpose here? Surely she’d come along for a reason.

“So what do you do, C.J.?” Max had said something about a ranch, but the woman didn’t look like a working rancher. “For a living, I mean.”

“Well, that’s a question, isn’t it?” C.J. flipped her hair back behind her ears and made a face at herself in the mirror. “I tried college. Didn’t like it. Did some modeling. That was sooo boring. Worked for a while in my friend’s boutique, but that didn’t pay enough to keep a parakeet alive.”

Turning, she leaned toward Cari, who tensed, pretty sure the point was about to be made.

“So I looked around to see what I could do to keep myself in high-fashion lingerie and late-model luxury cars, and I finally realized marrying a rich man seemed to be the best match for my talents.”

“Oh.” Cari almost laughed aloud. What incredible nerve the woman had! “It’s a blessing to know yourself, I guess.”

“It sure is. Saves a lot of unnecessary heartache.” She slicked on some lipstick, pursed her lips, and then looked straight at Cari. “Which reminds me. Just to let you know. I consider Max my territory. I went and planted my little flag in his big ole chest and I mean to bring him in alive.”

Cari choked, amazed at the woman’s candor. She looked at her in wonder. “Does he have anything to say about this?”

C.J. shrugged, smiling smugly. “Not much. You see, I’ve got an ace in the hole.”

“Do you?”

“Sure enough.” She nodded. “It’s no secret that his mama is crazy to get her hands on my ranch. She’s got sentimental ties and all that. I let it be known that I love that place like an armadillo loves the yellow line down the center of the road.” She snapped her fingers. “The results are as good as in the bag.”

Cari shook her head, appalled and amused at the same time. “Why are you telling me this? Aren’t you afraid I might tell Max?”

“Tell him.” She shrugged good-naturedly. “He knows. Facts are facts. I’ve got something he wants and there’s just one way he’s going to get it. We both know the score. I’m just warning you not to try poaching in my paddock.”

Cari had no intention of doing any such thing, but the woman’s attitude certainly rubbed her the wrong way and she was tempted to pretend she had her own designs on Max. It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out, “Make me!” but that would be childish. Satisfying, but childish. So instead, she rose from her chair with dignity and turned to go.

“Well, we’ll see what happens,” she said calmly.

“You got that right,” C.J. said, coming right behind her. “May the toughest gal win.”

Cari turned on a dime and stared at C.J. “Wait a minute. I’m not trying to win. I don’t want Max.”

“Don’t you?” C.J.’s smile reminded Cari of a Disney crocodile. “That’s okay, then. I assume you’ll be keeping your cute little hands off my man. So all will be well.” She shrugged extravagantly. “Forget I said anything.”

Cari was still fuming when they got back to the booth. Max rose to let her in and she threw him a dirty look as she squeezed past him, even though she knew he had no idea what C.J. had been saying. By the time she’d calmed down and was listening to the conversation again, they were back talking about nannies.

“You better watch out,” Randy was saying. “You know, they’ve been catching some of these nannies on those Nannycams, just throwing the babies around like a bushel of old sticks.”

Cari’s heart leaped into her throat, and when she noticed Max’s vaguely grim look, she said quickly, “That’s very rare, as I understand it.”

“Sure. But it happens.”

“Well, it won’t happen to Jamie. The nanny Max has hired comes very highly recommended. She may not be the right fit for what Max needs, but she certainly wouldn’t do something like that.”

The conversation moved on with C.J. and Randy talking animatedly, but Cari was staring down at her plate. All she could think about was Jamie being thrown about like a discarded package. Echoes of what had happened to her own baby that terrible night. That little neck. That little head. Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach. Glancing over, she saw that Max wasn’t looking tip-top, either.

Their eyes met and she could read thoughts very similar to hers written plainly on his face.

“Maybe we should just go check right now,” she said softly.

He nodded. Reaching under the table, she covered his hand with hers and gave it a quick squeeze before she could stop herself. Drawing back, she wondered if he would understand that the gesture of comfort had been about Jamie and nothing else. Maybe not. But she didn’t have time or energy to repair that blunder right now. Later she might have to explain. She turned her attention back to the others.

“Listen, folks,” Max began. “New game plan. I’m going back to my place so I can check out the nanny. Cari has agreed to come along and help me. Are the two of you with us?”

Cari had to admit the flash of fire in C.J.’s eyes as they met hers made the whole thing worth it. But she also knew there was no way the woman was going to let her go off to Max’s unescorted. With a sigh, she resigned herself to a long, long evening.

CHAPTER SIX

THEY could hear Jamie crying the moment they stepped off the elevator. Max’s face turned to stone and he strode quickly to the door of the suite, using his card to unlock it. He disappeared inside. By the time the rest of them made it down the hallway and entered the room, Mrs. Turner was already packing up her things and preparing to leave.

“Well, I never,” she was saying indignantly.

“Just go, Mrs. Turner.” Max was having a hard time remaining calm. “I’ll contact the agency and have the rest of your things sent over in the morning.”

Cari didn’t waste any time with the woman. She went straight into the bedroom and crossed the floor to the crib. There was Jamie, crying his heart out. Reaching down, she picked him up.

“There, there,” she crooned lovingly as she pressed him to her chest. “It’s all right, darling. It’s all right.”

Jamie’s sobs turned into a long, heartfelt sigh, interrupted by a very loud hiccup. And then he quieted. There was a sense of relief in his last little whimpers, as though he recognized her and was saying, “Finally! Where’ve you been, anyway?”

She cuddled him close, breathed in his baby smell and felt a little bubble of joy burst in her heart. She’d missed this all day long. It made her wince to think she could have been here, could have been taking care of this child. She mustn’t let all her personal rules and fears keep her away. For once, she had to follow her heart, no matter where it led her. At least for now.

“Oh, you little sweetheart,” she whispered against the dark hair on his baby head. “How can you be so sweet?”

“Well, she’s gone.”

Cari looked up to see Max standing in the doorway. She tried to read his eyes. There was something she had to know. Jamie’s crying had sent him over the edge. That had happened right there in front of them all. There was no denying it. But had it been because of his empathy for the baby? Or was it because he didn’t think the nanny was doing a good job—and he couldn’t tolerate shoddy work from those who worked for him? Or had it been her nightmare fear—was it because of anger at the noise? That was a question that would haunt her until she knew the answer for sure.

She could see he was upset, though he tried to hide it behind his stoic, emotionless mask. But did he feel for the baby? Or was he annoyed with him? He hadn’t made a move to come to him, to comfort him or touch him in any way. What did that mean? She held Jamie closer and knew she couldn’t just walk away this time.

“All well and good,” C.J. was saying as she came into the room behind him. “But what happens now? You’re just going to have to hire another one.”

“I’ll get a better one,” he said stoutly. “I think I’m getting a better handle on this job now. I’ll know what to ask in the interview. I’ll ask questions about child care methods and philosophy. I’ll set up some scenarios and ask the woman how she would deal with each situation.” He turned to C.J. and Randy. “Did you see her? Sitting there eating a cupcake and yakking away on the phone while the baby was crying. That wasn’t child care, that was child neglect.”

C.J. shrugged as though it was all the same to her. Randy nodded sympathetically. And Max turned to Cari to see what she thought. But she wasn’t giving anything away. Not yet.

He came closer and looked down at the child, who was now gurgling happily.

“Listen, you’re going to have to teach me how to hold him,” he said, favoring her with a slight smile. “I’m not up on this stuff.”

She nodded. “All right,” she responded, heartened that he wanted to learn, but still wary.

“Good. And you can fill me in on anything else I should know before I hire another nanny.”

She nodded again, meeting his gaze and searching his eyes. They were clear and intelligent. She couldn’t detect any lingering anger or uneasiness. In fact, he looked relieved. That was good. But could she trust it?

“And right from the start,” Max went on, “I’m going to have one of those Nannycam cameras installed.” He nodded, looking around at the corners of the room as though planning where the camera would be. “That will help.”

Cari took a deep breath. She was about to take a step here, and she knew it was going to put her in emotional jeopardy. But she’d come this far and she couldn’t back down now.

“Forget the cameras,” she said, then pressed her lips together resolutely.

Max swung around and stared at her. “Why would I do that?”

Lifting her chin, she gazed steadily into his eyes. “I’m staying. I’ll take care of him. At least for now.”

“What?” He frowned as though he didn’t trust her motives.

She felt a quick twinge of exasperation. He’d been trying to talk her into this all day, and now that she’d agreed, he looked as if he’d rather go back to talking instead.

“I can’t disrupt your life that way,” he said, shaking his head and frowning at her, his expression wary.

She threw him a look. “I think you already have.”

“Wait a minute,” C.J. was saying, unable to believe what she was hearing. “You can’t do that.”

Cari looked at her over Jamie’s little head. “Sure I can,” she said calmly. “Why don’t you stay, too, C.J.? I could use the help.” She pretended to smile and made her eyes big and innocent. “We could share a bed, you and I.”

C.J. recoiled. “Are you kidding?” She shuddered. “Anyway, babies give me the willies.”

Cari turned away. They could go on bickering about anything they chose, she’d made her own choice. She was staying with the baby. There wasn’t anyone else looking out for him.

Max seemed to have his best interests at heart, but she couldn’t be sure. Some men couldn’t be with babies. She knew that from experience. Someone had to be Jamie’s champion in the world. At least until his mother showed up, she would be the one.

An hour later they were alone. Randy took a very annoyed C.J. back to her car. Cari taught Max how to hold the baby. He was quick to pick up the subtle nuances. All in all, she thought he was a pretty good student of on-the-fly child care.

“I wouldn’t say you’re a natural exactly,” she teased him as he awkwardly patted the baby he held against his shoulder. “But you’ll do for now.”

Jamie chose that moment to spit up. Luckily, Cari had taught Max to throw a clean burp pad over his shoulder before picking up the baby, so his silk shirt was protected. Still, the sound of the very loud burp made Max cringe and made Cari laugh.

“We’ll move on to bottle feeding tomorrow,” she warned him. “Think you’re up for it?”

“Why not?”

They put the baby down in his crib. Cari cooed to him as his big brown eyes drifted shut. Max watched her more than he watched the baby. There was something about her that just made him feel happy to be around. Very odd.

“Cari.” He took her hands in his and gazed deeply into her eyes. “I am so grateful to you for doing this. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

It was true. He’d been going nuts ever since he’d brought Mrs. Turner in and she’d begun her tyrannical reign over his hotel suite. Well, he supposed it hadn’t been that bad, really. But it had been bad enough. The dilemma had been whether to trust her or not when everything she did just seemed wrong to him.

With Cari it was different. Maybe they were on the same wavelength. Or maybe he just liked her better. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that he was calm inside. There was no longer a battle raging between his heart and his head.

“Don’t think of it as me doing something for you,” she said pertly. “I’m doing this for Jamie.”

He only half believed her. He knew there was a provocative buzz between the two of them. She couldn’t deny it, though he could see she wanted to. As though to remind her, he smiled and dropped a quick kiss on her lips.

She drew back, eyes widening. “No, Max,” she said quickly. “I didn’t stay for that. Honestly, I didn’t.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” But he didn’t sound very convincing, even to himself.

She turned and began putting away toys and supplies. He watched her for a moment, then asked, “So tell me, Cari, where did you learn so much about babies?”

To his surprise she froze for a moment, then turned slowly and looked at him with huge, shadowed eyes.

“I had one,” she said softly.

That surprised him. “You have a baby?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore. She died.”

His breath caught in his throat in a way it had never done before. Shock knifed through him and he felt pain for her.

“Oh, Cari,” he began, moving toward her.

She went ramrod stiff, holding him at bay. “I was married, you know,” she said quickly.

He hesitated, fighting the urge to take her in his arms for comfort. “No, I didn’t.”

“My husband and my baby both died in a car accident. It was two years ago.”

“Cari, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, not quite meeting his gaze. “Now you know. Okay. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Of course.”

He watched as she gathered things into piles to go through in the morning. Knowing that she’d been married, knowing about the tragedy in her past, answered a lot of questions for him. He’d known there was something disturbing her. Now he thought he knew what that was. No wonder she seemed to hold the world at arm’s length. To have lost her baby and her husband at such a young age—horrible.

He wanted to hold her close and make it all go away, but he knew she would reject that. He would have to bide his time. Maybe once she knew him better, she would trust him. Oddly enough, he wanted that badly. In fact, he ached to do something for her— anything, and he wasn’t sure why he felt that way.

Oh, he knew the mechanics. She’d had tragedy. He cared about her and wanted to do something to help her get over the agony of it. But why did he seem to have this deep, unfamiliar need to do that? He didn’t remember ever having it before, not with anyone outside of his immediate family. Very strange.

Tito came in from visiting relatives in a local suburb. He was surprised to see Cari there, but welcoming enough. Still, he went off to his own room pretty quickly. And Cari knew it was time to get her sleeping arrangements settled.

She didn’t want to stay in the room Mrs. Turner had used. The nanny’s bags were still scattered across the floor, and her clothes were in the closet and dresser. So Max ordered up a rollaway and set up the bed in the baby’s room. That was for the best. She wanted Jamie to have the feeling someone was always there for him. No gaps. No more being left to cry his heart out on his own.

“I actually understand the theory behind what Mrs. Turner meant to do with him,” she told Max as they were arranging the room. “It doesn’t do to let babies think they can manipulate you all the time. But Jamie’s case is special. He’s missing his mom and he needs extra love to make him feel secure right now, not discipline.”

“I think you’re probably right,” Max told her, talking softly so as not to wake the baby. “I sure feel more comfortable with your methods than I did with the nanny’s.”

“Good.” She smiled at him. Everything he said was reassuring her. Still, she knew the best of intentions could evaporate when one was under stress. She wanted to be there in case she was needed as a buffer. There was no substitute for hands-on child care.

“I’m going to need something to sleep in,” she pointed out, looking down at the blue cocktail dress. It gave her a start to notice how low the neckline was. She’d forgotten. Her cheeks felt hot. Looking up, she saw that Max had been watching and was reading her mind. The awareness between them almost made her gasp. She turned away quickly and didn’t look at him again until he left the room and came back with a large T-shirt for her to use as a nightgown.

He began to talk about random things and she realized he was trying to put her at ease again. She appreciated that, but she didn’t feel comfortable. Despite the presence of Tito in the room on the other side of the suite, they were basically alone together. That made him a threat—to her peace of mind at least. He was too potent a force to ignore.

At one point, he made a comment about C.J. and she couldn’t help but give her own take on things.

“She means to marry you, you know,” she said, looking down into the crib at Jamie as he slept.

He didn’t flinch. Coming up beside her, he smiled down at the drowsy baby. “Yes,” he said casually. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. But I’m afraid you’re right.”

She turned to look at him in exasperation. “How can you be so calm about it? You hardly know her. I mean, you thought I was her last night.”

“I wish I’d been right,” he said dryly, and she gasped, but he was smiling. He turned and gazed at her as though her naiveté amused him. “This is not a love match, Cari. If there is anything to it, it’s more like a business deal.”

“That’s exactly what she told me,” she noted, nodding. “You marry her, your mother gets the ranch. Isn’t that the way it goes?”

“Pretty much.”

She shook her head. “It sounds crazy to me.”

“Life can be crazy sometimes,” he said vaguely, waving her objection away. “But it has its own special logic. People get married for all sorts of reasons. To do it as part of an exchange of goods is one of the most ancient methods in every culture.”

“It seems way too medieval.”

“Really? What will you marry again for, Cari? Love?”

His voice rang with sarcasm at the word, as though he didn’t believe in it. That put her back up a bit, and yet she couldn’t really argue with him when she was going to deny the need to love in her own right.

“I won’t marry again at all,” she said instead. “I don’t need a man in my life.”

He stared at her for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed out loud. “You’re priceless, Cari,” he said. “But this is the way it is. I’ve been dating women for over fifteen years now. I’ve yet to find one I desperately want to spend the rest of my life with. Evidence suggests she’s not going to come breaking out of the woodwork anytime soon. So why not use a marriage to get what I want?”

She snorted. His cynicism appalled her. “The question is, why do you want it?”

“To save my mother’s life.”

That shut her up. She couldn’t help but feel it was a bit melodramatic. She supposed that was the Italian in him. But it left her speechless nonetheless. After all, what would she be willing to do for the people she loved best?

“Not that,” she whispered to herself as he turned and left the room.

She watched him go, then followed him out into the living room, ready to ask him more about this, but he sandbagged her with a question of his own.

“So what did you think of your blind date?” he asked, sinking into the sleek yet comfortable couch.

“Who? Randy?” She flopped down into a chair across from where he was sitting. Her chin rose. “Obviously, he’s perfect for me,” she said with only a tiny touch of sarcasm.

He caught her nuance. “Is he?” Amusement danced in his dark eyes.

“Of course.” She shrugged. “Hand picked, in fact, by my best friend, Mara. And she was right. Can’t you tell?”

He allowed himself a halfhearted grin. “Oh, yeah. Nice guy. Funny guy. I enjoyed him.”

“Me, too.” She punched a pillow. “He’s exactly the sort of man I need.”

“Ya think?”

“Yes.” She faced him frankly. “He’s very calm and very…” She drew in a long, deep breath. “Very ordinary.”

“Ordinary.” He frowned thoughtfully, then raised an eyebrow. He’d never thought of that quality as an attribute. “Is that a plus?”

She nodded. “I’m ordinary. What’s wrong with ordinary?”

He gave her a look. Maybe the word didn’t mean just what he thought it did. “Did I say anything was wrong with ordinary?”

“Ordinary can be okay,” she said a bit defensively. “I come from ordinary people. My father was an accountant, my mother worked in a bank.”

“Do they live in Dallas?”

She shook her head. “No. My mother died of cancer and my father died of a broken heart.”

“Ah.” He nodded. He understood that sort of thing.

“It’s true you don’t get the thrilling highs with ordinary,” she went on. “But you don’t get the bone-rattling lows, either.” She winced, thinking of Brian. “Excitement can be scary when it goes bad,” she added softly.

He noted the haunted look in her eyes as she spoke. There had been some scary excitement in her life, something that had gone badly. Of course, there were the deaths of her husband and child she’d told him about. Tragedies like that could have life-crippling effects on a person. But he had a feeling this was something more deeply rooted in the past, and maybe more specific to one person—for instance, her husband. What else could have made her so wary of a relationship?

It only made sense. When you lost a significant other who made you happy, you tended to be in a hurry to replicate that happiness as soon as the grieving period began to die down a bit. People with good relationships believed in good relationships. She was scared to connect. Something had gone wrong somewhere along the line.

He wanted to ask her about that, find out what was troubling her, but he held back. He didn’t want to scare her off, and he knew she didn’t want to talk about personal things. She had to be coaxed, cajoled and brought along casually. He would take his time.

“So what about me?” he said instead. “Would you call me an ordinary guy?”

“Hardly.” Her sudden smile was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, fascinating him. “You’re the sort mothers warn their daughters to stay away from, don’t you think?”

“Me?” He was genuinely startled that she felt that way. Truth to tell, he didn’t consider himself exactly ordinary, but he didn’t relish the bad-boy role either. “So what’s scary about me?”

“Nothing, I guess.” She was still smiling that radiant smile. “You haven’t scared me yet.”

He noted the “yet.”

“But you are a little larger than life,” she added, just to be clear.

He frowned, not sure he was going to like this. “In what way?”

“Let’s just put it this way—you’re a little too exciting. Too good-looking. Too powerful. Too adventurous. Shall I go on?”

“No. That’s plenty.” His frown deepened. “And not really fair.”

“Fair has nothing to do with it,” she told him firmly. “Do you think it’s fair that I’m definitely ordinary? I can’t help it. I was born this way. And naturally, if I’m going to have a relationship again, I need an ordinary man.”

There it was, the point this whole conversation seemed to be leading up to. She was giving him a message.

“Like Randy,” he said softly.

She nodded, her eyes huge in the gloomy light. “Yes.”

He gave her an incredulous look. Randy was all well and good, but he wasn’t right for Cari. She needed someone…well, someone more like Max himself. Someone with a little style and energy.

“You need excitement,” he stated firmly.

She shook her head, challenging him with her bright gaze. “No. I need security.”

He stared at her, mulling that over. What did she think she was, ready for retirement?

“Bull,” he said at last. Rising from the couch, he erased the distance between them, reached out and took her hand and pulled her up to face him.

“What in hell makes you think you’re ordinary?” he demanded, face-to-face. “You’re careful. You’re responsible. You’re a good person. If you think that makes you ordinary, you have a higher definition of the term than I do.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I think that makes you pretty special.”

She was tingling. He made her tingle more and more lately. Was that a good thing? Probably not.

What if he was right? That was what scared her. The thing was, Randy was exactly the kind of man she had decided she could deal with, if the need came. Mara had said it best—Randy was perfect. But did her senses zing when he smiled at her? Did she feel faint when he touched her? Did her breathing stall when he whispered near her ear? Did she tingle?

Hardly. Things never worked out that way, did they?

“I think it’s time to go to bed,” she said, pulling away from him and backing toward the nursery.

“Alone?” he said, pretending a plaintive tone, but obviously just teasing.

“Alone.” She smiled one last time, then turned, went into the nursery and closed the door.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IF MAX had been one to fantasize what mornings with a wife and child would be like, this would have been a part of that dream. He walked into the nursery with two mugs of coffee and there was Cari, standing in the sunlight streaming in through the window with a baby in her arms, singing a lullaby. She wore his big T-shirt and nothing else, and her bare legs looked golden and gorgeous in the morning light. She turned to greet him, her hair wild around her face, and she smiled that smile that could knock him dead, beaming happiness and welcome.

He stopped in his tracks and stared at her. “Bella,” he said softly. “Bellissima.”

“I didn’t think you’d be up this early,” she said. Her gaze traveled appreciatively over him in a way that made his pulse quicken. He’d put on a pair of tight jeans and a shirt he hadn’t buttoned yet out of expediency, but if she would like what she saw as much as she seemed to, he would do it more often.

“I brought coffee,” he said.

“I see that,” she replied.

“Here.” He set the mugs down on the dresser and turned to her. “Let me hold him.”

Her eyes widened. “You really want to?”

He nodded. “If all goes well, I’m planning to raise this child,” he said simply. “I want to do it right.”

“If all goes well,” she echoed thoughtfully as she handed Jamie to him. “In other words, if Sheila lets you take him.” And why would a mother do that without putting up a very fierce fight? Well, she had to admit, this mother didn’t seem to be quite as interested in being a mother as one would hope. Max might very well be able to negotiate something with her for enough money. But that was only a part of the problem.

She frowned, then asked a question she knew would be unpopular. “What if the DNA comes back negative, Max? What if there is no biologic connection to your brother? What then?”

He shrugged dismissively, smiling down at Jamie all the while. “I don’t think that will happen.”

“But don’t you think you ought to be prepared just in case? What do you plan to do with this baby if he isn’t Gino’s?”

His gaze rose and met hers. “I’ve already talked to a lawyer. They’re setting up legal strategies for when the DNA results comes in. We’ll play it by ear.”

Cari felt chilled. “If Sheila isn’t found and Jamie isn’t Gino’s, will you just go off and leave him?”

His face hardened. “Cari, I told you, I don’t think that is something we will have to face. Drop it.”

He was right. She had to drop it. If she didn’t, she would be riling herself up over something she couldn’t do anything about. It was best to let it be for now. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and tried to move on.

But the prospect of seeing Jamie abandoned wouldn’t fade from her mind. She knew she couldn’t let that happen. If it came to that, she would do something. It only bothered her that Max couldn’t make that commitment himself right now. And that made her think she’d been right to come to stay with them. Someone had to protect the baby.

They played with Jamie for another ten minutes and then his eyelids began to droop. Max laid him down gently in the crib and Cari pulled his little blanket up over him.

“Isn’t he adorable?” she said, smiling down at the shocking head of dark hair.

“He’s okay,” Max said gruffly. “He’ll do.”

She smiled to herself. He was more soft on Jamie than he would admit. It wouldn’t be long before he wouldn’t be able to turn his back on this baby no matter what.

Looking up, she found him watching her, and his intention was clear as a bell.

“Max,” she said warningly, taking a step backward. He was looking very seductive in a very Italian way, and she was feeling particularly susceptible to Italians this morning. Danger!

Reaching out, he put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. “I’m sorry Cari, but you’re too beautiful to resist this morning. I have to kiss you.”

“Oh, Max, no.”

“Just a simple good-morning kiss. Nothing more.”

“Max…”

Somehow his name turned into a sigh, and then she was parting her lips to accept his mouth on hers. She shouldn’t do this. She’d warned herself from the start not to let this happen. But now that he was here, so close, so male, so hard and insistent, she felt so soft, so female, so ready to mold herself to whatever his passion might suggest. His mouth was hot, his tongue provocative, and she sensed her own needs beginning to waken from a long, long slumber.

His shirt was still open and she ran her hands over his muscular chest, trembling as she felt the pounding of his heart beneath her fingers. He groaned, pulling her closer, and she melted like wax against his tall, hard frame. There was only the thin fabric of the T-shirt between them. He wanted her with a force that stunned him. This was something on a different level than he usually felt. This was new. This was sweeter and more overpowering than he was used to.

He sighed against her neck, murmuring her name as he dropped kisses and let his tongue caress her. She gasped as the heat from his body flooded her with sensation. She could sense his desire quickening and that gave her a taste of power she’d never known before. He was reacting to what her body did to him. That took her breath away.

She knew it was time to put a stop to this, but she couldn’t quite muster the strength to do it yet. She was struggling to surface from a sea of pleasure, struggling to push her head back above water and breathe real air instead of this enchanted substance that felt so intoxicating, but was so dangerous. The truth was, she didn’t want to stop.

And then there was a loud knocking at the door of the suite.

“Hey, y’all, here we are.”

The voice was C.J.’s. The groan was Max’s. He dropped his face into the curve of her neck and swore softly as he dropped a string of kisses on her skin.

“What time is it?” Cari murmured groggily as he began to pull back from her.

“Too early for visitors,” Max grumbled.

But he unwrapped his arms from around her reluctantly and went to the door anyway, letting in C.J. and Randy. Cari watched him go, feeling cold all of a sudden. Max’s simple morning kiss had proven to be pretty darn special. She could grow to like this. In fact, she might get addicted if she didn’t watch out.

She pulled her arms in and hugged them close. But no matter how hard she held herself, she knew she would never come close to duplicating the magic of Max’s embrace.

“We brought doughnuts,” C.J. cried, waving the bag around as she entered the living room.

Cari slipped her fake fur shrug over the T-shirt and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked ridiculous, but she didn’t have much choice. It was either this or wrap herself in a bed sheet. So she came out, head held high and smiling.

And then she saw the doughnuts. Her downfall.

“Wow,” she said as C.J. spilled them out onto a plate. “Those look great.”

“Don’t they? We got them at a bakery Randy deals with.”

C.J. looked at her sharply, and she knew she was looking for signs of hanky-panky. The signs might very well be there. Cari was still reeling from Max’s kisses and she didn’t really care who knew it. C.J.’s gaze raked over the giant-size T-shirt with disdain, but Cari met her gaze unblinkingly. Whatever C.J. thought, she wasn’t going to show her any embarrassment. Let her deal with that.

C.J. pursed her lips, but seemed to accept that there was nothing she could do about anything between Max and Cari at the moment, so she let it go.

“Did you know our boy Randy has a catering business?” she said, giving him a quick smile that served to include him in the group.

Cari blinked, looking at the jovial man. “I thought you were a stockbroker.”

“That’s my day job.” He grinned at her and snagged the biggest doughnut.

“He hates it,” C.J. announced to the world at large. “That’s why he started up this little ole catering business on the side. He loves setting up parties.”

“No kidding.” Cari wondered if Mara knew about that side of her husband’s cousin. He looked more like a stockbroker than a caterer, but then, what did a caterer look like?

“Yup. I’m getting him some clients. I know people who give huge parties.”

Cari was impressed. It seemed C.J. had her uses after all. “Wow. Lucky Randy.”

She looked at him. He was grinning happily. It was evident he did feel like a lucky man today. Cari had to laugh inside. She might think Randy a perfect match for herself, but it was pretty obvious he had other plans. C.J. looked just right to him. Poor guy.

But then, how was Randy any more of an object of pity than she was herself? She sighed, feeling ordinary, and turned to the kitchenette to make coffee for the guests.

They were sitting around the table sipping coffee and munching on delicious donuts when C.J. dropped her bombshell.

“Hey, I talked to your mama this morning, Max.”

His head rose sharply and he stared at her in horror. “You did what?”

“I called her. Don’t worry, I paid attention to the time difference. She sure is nice. I just love her.” She darted a particularly smug look Cari’s way. “We had a great talk and we put our heads together and figured out a few ideas for presents you could get her before you go back to Venice. So I’m takin’ you shopping, you lucky boy. I know all the best department stores in Dallas and I’m going to introduce you to them, too. We’ll have a great time.”

“What?” Max sounded like a drowning man.

“Oh, come on, you old meanie,” C.J. said, slapping him playfully on the shoulder. “You want to make your mama happy, don’t you?”

He looked to Cari for help, but she shrugged. “I’m going to be taking care of Jamie all day,” she said serenely. “He needs a bath and then I’m going to take him out in his stroller.”

“You’ll probably need some help,” Max said hopefully.

“Who, me? I don’t think so.” She favored him with a devilish grin. “You’d better go with C.J. and Randy. They’ve obviously got their hearts set on making you come out to play.”

“I’m only going,” Max told her a few minutes later as he finished dressing and prepared to meet the other two in the lobby, “so that I can get a chance to work on C.J. about selling the ranch. I’ve got a new angle I’m going to try on her.”

“Why not just marry the woman and be done with it?” she teased. “I thought this was just a business deal.”

He turned to look at her. “The more time I spend with her the more I realize business like that is a perilous game,” he told her. “But you’re right. I may have to marry her. I’m just going to do everything I can think of to avoid that fate.” He looked back at her seriously as he started out the door. “But bottom line, I’ve got to get control of that ranch.”

Her smile evaporated as the door closed. She hadn’t discerned one little bit of give in C.J.’s position, but maybe Max could find something. She certainly hoped so—for his sake.

Cari called the Copper Penny later in the morning to let them know she was going to take a few days off. She felt guilty leaving them in the lurch, but this was an emergency, and she had some time off she could use. Tito drove her home to pack up some clothes, and on the way back, they stopped at a baby store. Max had given her a credit card and told her to get what she thought they needed. It was a virtual baby wonderland and she ordered an outlandish amount of baby equipment to be delivered to the hotel.

That put her in a great mood. Shopping trips often seemed to have that effect—and something told her she was having a lot more fun than Max was right now.

Taking care of Jamie was a breeze. He was such a sweetheart, so responsive and free with his baby smiles and gurgles, that being with him was a joy. And dressing him in his cute new outfits was fun, too. She was glad he was a boy and about a month older than Michelle had been, so the comparisons and memories, though they did come up and did bring a wave of sadness, didn’t sting the way they might have.

The situation that worried her most right now was the status of this baby. What was going to happen if the DNA result was negative? If Sheila appeared and had a good explanation for where she’d been, she supposed Jamie would go back to his mother and the rest of them would go on with their lives. But what if Sheila was on drugs or something else that made her impossible as a mother to this little angel? That would present its own problems. But there was no point thinking about that. Sheila claimed this was Gino’s baby and there was, so far, no reason to doubt her.

So what if Sheila didn’t return and the test did come back with the result Max was looking for? What would happen then? It was perfectly obvious. Max would pack Jamie up and take off for Venice. She would lose again. Another heartbreak.

No, now she was letting her emotions run rampant. She wasn’t that attached to this child and she wouldn’t let herself be. She was a caretaker, nothing more.

And she wasn’t going to fall in love—with either one of them.

It was midafternoon and Max wasn’t back yet. Jamie was napping peacefully. Cari decided to take a shower. A few minutes later she was luxuriating in the multiple-spray waterfall of the fancy bathroom when she thought she heard something. She turned off the water, listening intently.

There it was. Jamie was crying. Wouldn’t you know her timing wouldn’t work out? Sighing, she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel and that was when she heard Max at the bathroom door.

“Cari, the baby’s crying. Why is he crying?”

“Well, pick him up and see what he needs,” she called back, toweling fast. She hurried to blot her hair and put on her robe. As she emerged from the bathroom, she could hear Jamie down the hall.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called, pulling the robe more tightly around her as she rushed down the hallway. In the nursery, Max was standing at the side of the crib looking down at Jamie. Cari pushed right past him and picked the baby up, cooing and rocking him as he slowly quieted down. Glancing up, she saw from the look on Max’s face that he was not happy.

“Why was he crying?” he demanded.

This entire scene was putting a knot in her stomach. “Relax,” she said shortly. “Babies do cry.”

His frown was ferocious. “But if it was bad when the nanny let him cry…”

A scene flashed in her mind. It had been very late and she’d been frantically trying to heat a bottle and get it back to Michelle before Brian completely exploded.

“Can’t you shut her up?” Brian had yelled from the bedroom. “I’ve gotta get some sleep. I’ve got to work in the morning, you know.”

“Just a minute.”

“Cari, if you don’t shut that baby up I’m leaving. I can’t live like this.”

“Brian, just give me a minute…”

A crash came from the bedroom where Brian had thrown the lamp against the wall.

Cari blinked away the memory. She looked up into Max’s face.

“You left him alone,” he said accusingly. “Why did you leave him alone?”

Cari took a deep breath and gathered all her resources. “Max, listen to me carefully. He was asleep when I went to take a shower. He was only alone for a couple of minutes.” She gazed at him earnestly. Surely he was mature enough to understand.

But maybe not. Maybe he was going to be like Brian. Her heart sank. If so, what would she do? She wouldn’t dare leave the baby here with him, and yet how could she stay?

“Max, this is not a major issue. Babies do cry. You don’t leave them alone to cry for hours, but now and then it’s going to happen.”

Fascinated, she watched him visibly begin to relax. He looked down at the baby and ran a hand through his hair, then looked up at her again. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “You’re right, of course. It’s just, I came in and heard him crying and didn’t know where you’d gone.”

A surge of relief that developed quickly into affection rolled through her. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to reach out and run her hand down the side of his face. Instead she challenged him.

“Here’s a question for you. Why does the crying bother you so much?”

He stopped as though that was a new one he hadn’t thought about before. “I guess it’s because I’m afraid something is wrong and I won’t know what to do about it,” he admitted at last.

She smiled, feeling such relief. He wasn’t like Brian. That was becoming clear.

“Good answer,” she murmured. “So it’s not just that the noise drives you crazy?”

“Well, I can’t say I love the noise,” he said. “But I don’t think it’s driving me crazy, exactly.”

“Good.”

She hugged him. It was spontaneous and it was one-handed and it was quick. In fact, it was over before he realized it was happening. And then she was gone again and leading the way out into the living room with Jamie in her arms.

“What all have you got there?” she cried, surveying the piles of packages in exclusive department store bags and boxes.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he said, coming out behind her. “What I’ve got is presents. Presents for my mother. Presents for the servants at my mother’s house in Venice. Presents for all the people who work for me.” He shook his head, looking at her in bewilderment. “Why the hell do women love presents so much?”

She shrugged and grinned at him. “You’re the one buying them.”

He snarled just a little. “C.J. made me.”

“Of course.” She laughed.

He looked at her sideways. “I wanted to buy you a present. But C.J. wasn’t as enthused about that.”

“No kidding.” Cari laughed again. She shook her head of wet curls. “You don’t have to buy me any presents,” she told him. “Just being here, taking care of Jamie, is enough.”

He smiled as though he enjoyed her laughter. “The whole time, I wanted to be back here with you,” he said softly.

She rolled her eyes. “Right.” She turned away, bouncing Jamie in her arms.

“No, really. You don’t believe that?”

Looking back at him, she flushed. She could see his honesty in his eyes. Yes, she believed it. But still, she didn’t trust it. She sighed, remembering the morning kiss. If she didn’t take care, they would be right back there again. She could see it in his eyes.

“Max, we have to talk.”

“About not getting involved?” he asked gruffly.

She looked at him, marveling. What—did he read her mind?

“Exactly.” She shook her head. “Especially if you’re going to be marrying C.J. for heaven’s sake.”

“Marrying C.J.” Slumping down onto the couch, he groaned, his head in his hands.

“It’s not going to be as easy as it seemed from a distance.”

“You don’t seem to like her very much.”

“You can tell, can you?” He looked up, adorably chagrinned, with his beautiful black hair falling over his eyes. “It’s not really fair to say I don’t like her. She’s okay. For someone.” He chuckled suddenly. “Randy, for instance.”

She agreed, smiling. “He does seem to have a major crush there.”

“Oh, yeah. He can’t take his eyes off her.”

She threw a hand up in the air. “Then let him marry her.”

“Good idea. One flaw. That doesn’t get me the ranch.”

She dropped down beside him on the couch, sitting with her feet up on the coffee table and Jamie propped by her legs. The baby laughed at them both and they played with him for a moment. Then she turned to Max.

“Are you seriously considering marrying her just for her ranch?” It did seem a bit of a stretch.

“Yes, I am.”

That was like a knife through her heart, though she knew it shouldn’t matter to her at all.

“Why?”

He looked at her, his eyes clear and determined. “For my mother’s sake.”

He’d said something along these lines before but she had a hard time buying it “Your mother tells you whom to marry?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

She shrugged. “You got that right.”

“Okay. I will try to explain.”

“Please do.”

He sat very still for a moment. She waited, her heart beating just a bit faster, anticipating what he might tell her. She knew it would involve heartbreak. When reasons seemed irrational, heartbreak was usually lurking somewhere in the mix.

“My brother, Gino, the one who died recently, he was just the best.”

Max moved restlessly and Cari could see that this wasn’t going to be easy for him to get through. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. She resisted the impulse to reach out and run her fingers through his thick, lustrous hair.

“Gino did everything right. He was a skiing champion and a world-class swimmer. He danced like Fred Astaire and sang like Caruso. He was smart and good at business. He turned a small pair of cafés he took over when my uncle died into a major chain with restaurants all over Europe. He was handsome and loving, the sort of man whose smile was always his first reaction.” His voice cracked, but he went on. “He was flawless.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She gazed at Max with a compassion that threatened to overwhelm her.

“It’s so tragic that you lost him.”

“Yes.” Clearing his throat, he looked up at her, his eyes dark and troubled. “But for my mother, it was more than tragedy. It was the end of her life.”

Cari shook her head, confused. “But she still has you.”

He nodded, but there was something that looked like anguish in his face. “Yes. Of course. But you see, it was Gino that she…” His voice trailed off and he looked away. For a moment he couldn’t say the words. “Gino was the oldest, and he and my mother had a special bond. Gino was her helper when she went through some very bad things. I was too young to understand at the time, too young to be of much help. Gino was her right arm. When my father left her, she always said she couldn’t have survived without Gino.”

Cari frowned. She didn’t really understand this. He was implying that his mother loved his brother more than anyone or anything—even Max himself. And yet she couldn’t detect a bit of bitterness in him. He seemed to accept it in a way she’d never seen before. She didn’t get it.

“Are you telling me you didn’t resent her attitude?”

He looked up, shocked. “Resent it? Not at all. I felt the same way about him that she did. He was my best friend. He was my idol, my mentor, my guiding star. I would have given my life to save his.”

Cari was struck by a sense of admiration. She wasn’t used to a man who could put others before himself quite this way.

Brian had lived on bitterness. He always thought everyone he dealt with was out to cheat him and he tried to cheat them first, just to protect himself from their schemes. It had been hard to try to get him to see that others weren’t really against him, because every attempt she made to do that just cast her in the role of his enemy, and he would accuse her of doing it, too.

Poor Brian. Now, at this distance, she could pity him. At the time, understanding had been harder to come by.

“My brother died trying out an experimental small plane. He was considering investing in the company that made it. It was a tremendous blow to us all, but to my mother, it was the end of her world. I had to have her closest servants watch her night and day to make sure she didn’t take her own life. My heart was already broken by the death of my brother, but every time I saw the tragedy in her face, my heart would break again. I resolved that I would do anything—anything I could think of, to bring back her smile.”

“And you think getting the ranch will do that?”

“Yes.” He straightened and looked her full in the face. “I know it will. You see, her family settled the area where the Triple M Ranch is located in the nineteenth century. Her great-grandfather cleared the land. Her grandfather started the first profitable herd. She grew up on that ranch.” He shook his head and his voice turned a little bitter. “And it was her own father who gambled away the family fortune and sold the ranch to C.J.’s father to keep from going to prison.”

“I see.”

“From the time I was a little boy, I was raised on stories of the Triple M. It just tortured my mother to think it was in C.J.’s family’s hands instead of where it belonged. C.J.’s mother, Betty Jean, was my mother’s best friend, but when C.J.’s father took over the ranch and then married Betty Jean, they broke all ties. My mother went to Europe and met and married my father. But she never got over losing the ranch.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand some of the intensity here,” Cari said tentatively, watching Jamie fall asleep propped against her legs. “But it still seems a bit extreme. Maybe it’s an Italian thing?”

“My mother is as much a Texan as she is anything,” he said with a crooked grin. “Maybe it’s really a Texas thing.”

She nodded, giving him that one. “Could be. We can be intense in our love for the land,” she admitted.

“Anyway, a few weeks ago, C.J. wrote to my mother. She wanted to come to Italy for a visit.” He frowned, thinking that over. “Okay, now I get it. Gino coming here last year, hoping he could buy the ranch, must have been what led her to believe we might be willing to do almost anything to get it back in our hands. So she decided to use it to leverage herself a husband.”

“A rich husband,” Cari reminded him.

“Of course. What good would a poor husband do for someone like C.J.?”

Cari shook her head. “You have a point there.”

“Anyway, I didn’t want her in Italy bothering my mother. And that was soon after Sheila called to tell me she’d had Gino’s baby.”

“And what did she want?”

“Just money. But when I demanded proof the baby was Gino’s, she disappeared. It was a few weeks before my people traced her to Dallas. And that gave me a reason to come here to take care of two things at once.”

That explained a lot of things, but it didn’t make anything seem easier. Max needed to get the baby situation settled, and he needed to get control of the ranch. Both were up in the air right now. That was one thing she had to keep in mind. No matter how much she cared for him, no matter what happened between them, Max Angeli was just passing through. In another few days, he’d be gone. And maybe her life—and her heart—could get back to normal.

“So now I know why you parachuted by mistake into my life,” Cari said with a tiny smile.

“Fate,” he said. “Fate can be a—”

“Don’t say it in front of the baby,” she warned, rising and getting Jamie and his things together for the walk back to the nursery.

“Cari, Cari,” he drawled, leaning back and looking at her languorously. “How long has it been since a man has made hot, sexy love to you?”

She threw him a sideways glance. “It’s been so long that I’m not sure I remember what those words even mean.”

“We should rectify that situation.” There was a smile in his voice, but a thread of interest, as well, and a hint of sensual urgency that made her pulse race.

She gave him a quick smile and turned to leave. “No, thank you,” she said back over her shoulder.

Laughing softly, he rose and followed her. “I forgot to tell you. C.J. and Randy are coming here for dinner.”

“Oh? Down in the dining room?”

She assumed they would want to be away from the baby so they could have a relaxing evening. No matter. She would just as soon be up here, taking care of Jamie. She really didn’t need any company.

“No,” he said, surprising her. “Actually, C.J. wants to show Randy that she can cook. So she’s going to prepare something wonderful on the little stove in the kitchenette.”

Cari turned and stared at him. “What?”

“So she says.” He grinned. “But we do have room service as a last resort.”

She shook her head ruefully. “Somehow I’m afraid we’re probably going to need it.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

BUT Cari was wrong. C.J. turned out to be a wonderful cook, to the surprise of at least two of the dinner participants. She threw together plates of finger food, which included bite-size pieces of filet mignon on toast, salmon and crème fraîche on rye crackers, a light-as-air pâté on sautéed slices of croissant, lobster tail on sourdough bread rounds, bruschetta on deep-fried parmesan toast, and a few other things, each more delicious than the last.

“Appetizers,” Max said without enthusiasm when she first put out her spread. But once he’d started eating, the only sounds to be heard were sighs of ecstasy.

“You see,” C.J. said to Randy, flouncing her apron as she sashayed past. “I can cook. And on little tiny good-for-nothing stoves, too.”

It turned out her purpose was to convince him that she could help him cater one of his large parties. He didn’t need much more persuading once he’d tasted her food.

“Hire her,” Max proclaimed, his mouth full of lobster. “She’s a genius at cooking. This is wonderful stuff.”

“I’m not trying to get a job with him,” C.J. said pertly. “I’m trying to hire on with you, and you know it.”

Max looked at the two women, one after the other, and inwardly he groaned. C.J. was gorgeous in an exaggerated way, all red lips and aggressive breasts and swinging hips, with fire-engine-red hair as icing on the very tempting cake. She was vivacious, exciting.

But—what the hell? He’d been there, done that. She was just like every other woman he’d dated since he was seventeen. He was bored with it, bored with her.

Cari was something new to him—warm, sweet, principled. She had standards. Imagine that! Rules she used to guide her life. He’d thought such things went out with high-buttoned shoes, except for boring, shriveled people who wanted to stop anyone from having fun.

But what Cari had was something different from anything he’d ever known. She had integrity. Wow. What a difference it made. Loving her would make him a better person. He knew that intuitively. She would change his life. Too bad it was so impossible.

Still she had a special spark that attracted him in a way C.J. and her type never could. What was he going to do about that? Or did he really need to do anything at all?

“That was the best meal I’ve had in ages, C.J.,” Cari told her when the men had gone down to the bar for an after-dinner drink and left the women behind.

“My one talent,” C.J. said with a sigh. “You see why I need to marry Max.”

They were lounging on the couch, and Cari was feeling almost friendly to the woman.

“Do you really need to marry him?” she asked hesitantly. “I mean, after all, I’m sure he’s willing to pay you quite a bit for the ranch. Why not just sell it to him and invest the money you get out of the deal?”

C.J. shook her head fervently. “No can do.”

“Why not? You could get a lot of money for it.”

“‘Money’ per se, isn’t what I want. Security is what I need. The kind that major wealth can bring. That’s my goal.” She settled into the corner of the couch, pulling her legs up under her. “Here’s a lesson in life, Cari. Money is very nice, but just plain old money has a way of slipping through your fingers. I’ve learned that often over the years. Money evaporates.” She nodded wisely. “The land is always there. It’s the goose that lays the golden egg. You don’t sell off that darn old goose. Not if you’re smart.”

“So the ranch is doing well?” Cari asked, wondering just who was managing it. C.J. didn’t seem to be doing it and she never seemed to talk about it.

“As well as can be expected. But that’s not where I count on to get my support. It doesn’t matter how much money the ranch makes. As I said, money can disappear in an instant. All kinds of things can make money disappear. Life can soak it right up. I’ve seen that happen. The ranch is my leverage. It’s something I can use to get the life I want. I’m just lucky I’ve got it.”

“I see.”

“You know what?” C.J. went on. “This may surprise you, but I’m tired of being a party girl. It’s getting hard to keep up that front. Once my looks go, it’ll be over anyway. I’ve got to prepare for my future. I want kids and a family just like everybody else.”

“You do?” Cari stared at her. “I thought babies gave you the willies.”

“They do. You don’t think I’d be caught dead taking care of my children, do you? That’s what servants are for.”

“Oh. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you don’t think ahead the way I do. You really should start planning for your own future, honey. I’m a bit older than you. I’ve been around the block a few times. I can teach you a few things.” She nodded wisely and Cari tried to smile, but was afraid she wasn’t very convincing.

“But as for me,” she went on, “here’s the bottom line. I want it all, but I don’t want to do it grubbing in poverty. Max is my only hope for the good life. And I mean to take advantage of that hope any way I can.”

Cari had to admire her honesty, even if she didn’t think much of her ethics. Later, when C.J. and Randy had left, she told Max about what the woman had said.

“How well does that ranch do?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “The ranch is mortgaged to the hilt, from what I’ve been able to ascertain. They tell me she can’t come up with the monthly fees at this point.”

“Isn’t there some way you can just sort of squeeze her out?”

He grinned at her terminology. “It’s complicated. If this was an ordinary project, I wouldn’t hesitate. That’s how you make the big deals. But in this case, my mother wouldn’t stand for it. She wants everything aboveboard and by the rules. She has a certain compassion for C.J.”

Cari could understand that. For Max’s mother, C.J. was a part of the Texas she’d left behind and still seemed to yearn for.

“So you’ll have to marry her?”

He merely shrugged and looked deep into her eyes without saying anything. Finally he just walked away.

A half hour later, he asked if she’d like to come out to the ranch with him the next day.

“I want to go out to see it. Every time I ask C.J. to take me out, she finds a way to avoid it. I want to go out on my own and find out what she’s trying to hide.”

“Sure. We’ll go with you.” She didn’t go anywhere without Jamie anymore.

“Good. I’ve ordered a picnic basket from the kitchen. We’d better leave early, just in case C.J. and Randy get a yen to visit again.”

She laughed. She thought it was funny that Randy seemed to have attached himself to C.J. so thoroughly at the same time the woman thought she was romancing Max—sort of.

She left Max to watch a little television, and she went to bed, glad she had her own nightgown instead of the T-shirt. She was exhausted. Taking care of a baby was tiring work, even when you loved every minute of it. She quickly went to sleep and slept like a log until the wee hours.

Something woke her. She opened her eyes and for just a few seconds, wasn’t sure where she was. Turning toward the crib, she saw a shadowy figure standing there and she gasped.

“Relax.” It was Max. “It’s only me. Jamie was whimpering, so I came in to make sure he was okay.”

She reached out and turned on the bedside light and there he was, holding Jamie in his arms, the picture of the perfect dad. Joy filled her heart and tears sprang to her eyes.

“Oh, Max,” she said, blubbering a bit.

“What’s the matter?” He was astonished. “Did I frighten you that much? Cari, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not that.” Slipping out of bed, she pulled her robe on and went to him, kissing his cheek and then smiling at the baby. “I’m just so happy,” she said, choking on her words and smiling at him tearfully. “I just… it’s just that my husband…” She sniffed and shook her head. “Never mind.”

Max looked concerned. He started to put Jamie down in the crib but the baby was having none of it and started to whimper for real.

“Uh-oh,” she said, looking down at the baby lovingly. “It looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.”

“One of what nights?” Max said as he pulled him back up into his arms.

“We’re going to have to walk him.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled at him. “You’ll see. I’ll take the first shift. You can watch and learn.” She shrugged. “Or go ahead and go back to bed,” she added, giving him an out. “Whatever.”

She changed his diapers and put on a fresh shirt and they tried putting him down to sleep again, but, just as she’d feared, he was totally awake and ready to play.

“No hope,” she said cheerfully. “He going to need some coaxing to get back to sleep.”

She pulled Jamie’s blanket around him and put him to her shoulder, then started out toward the living room. Max followed close behind, slumping onto the couch as she began to pace with the baby in her arms.

“They love this,” she told him. “The longer you walk, the happier they get.”

“But do they go to sleep?”

“Ah, that’s the question. That’s why we’re doing this. But sleep can be long in coming.” She held Jamie close and kissed the top of his head. “There were nights I spent hours walking Michelle. Luckily, I think Jamie is a better sleeper than she was. He ought to go out pretty quickly.”

He watched for a few minutes, then said quietly, “You’ve never told me much about your marriage, Cari. What was your husband like?”

“Brian?” She bit her lip. This wasn’t one of her favorite topics. “He was just a guy.”

“There’s something I’ve wondered about,” he went on. Rising, he met her on one of her passes and took her hand in his, spreading her fingers. “No rings. Why is that? As a widow, I would think you would want to have that sort of memento of your marriage.”

She stared at her own hand and nodded slowly.

“I used to have rings.”

“What happened to them?”

She looked up into his face. “I sold them.”

He narrowed his eyes, searching her face as though he wanted to understand. “You sold your rings?”

“Yes.”

Jamie began to stir, and she pulled her hand away from Max so that she could start pacing again.

“I had a beautiful wedding set with a very pretty diamond,” she went on as she walked. “But I sold them. They went to pay for me finishing college and starting on my real estate license.” She smiled at the irony of it all. “Brian never knew that he financed my new start in life.”

Max had a point about the rings. If she’d valued her marriage, she would have kept them, no matter how tight money got. But she couldn’t really grieve for Brian, not the way she knew she should. By the time he’d died, she’d known she was going to have to leave him one way or another.

He’d made life with him impossible and had pretty much killed the love she’d once had for him. When she thought about it now she couldn’t believe she’d stayed as long as she had. What had kept her with him once she’d known he was getting more and more irrational? The fear of admitting failure, she supposed.

“So you’re getting a real estate license?” he noted, interested that she would have chosen a field so close to his. “Why? Residential real estate is dead as the proverbial doornail in most areas right now.”

“I know. But real estate always comes back. And I want to be ready when that happens.”

He nodded, glad for the evidence that she was an optimist. He liked that about her.

She smiled at him. “In the meantime, I don’t mind working as a waitress. It’s honest work and I can make a decent living as long as I only have myself to take care of.”

Jamie chose that moment to begin happily making motorboat noises. They both laughed.

“It doesn’t sound like he’s falling asleep,” Max said.

“Not yet,” she replied. “It takes a while sometimes.”

“Let me take my turn,” he said, reaching for the baby. “You sit down and tell me about your marriage,” he said.

She gazed into his eyes. “Why do you want to know?” she wondered.

He touched her cheek with the palm of his hand. “Because I care about you,” he said simply. And as he said the words, he knew it was true. He’d never known a woman like Cari before, never had a relationship like this. He liked her. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know more about her. That had never happened with a woman before. But it felt right.

“Sit. And talk.” He began to pace with Jamie cuddled nicely in his arms.

She sat. She usually hated to talk about the past. But tonight the words just started to flow out.

“I knew Brian for years. All through high school. I had no excuse.” She sighed. Wasn’t that the truth? It was amazing how one could delude oneself. “I knew what he was like. But I had the young girl’s syndrome, thinking love would conquer all, marriage would change him, I would change him, my love would show him the way.”

“Change him how?” Max asked.

“Change him from being a jerk, I suppose,” she said with a short laugh. “Change him into a decent person and a good husband and father. It didn’t happen, of course.”

“It hardly ever does,” he agreed.

She nodded. “Living with Brian was like living with a human geyser. You never knew what might set him off, but you knew he was going to blow. And it was over something different every time.”

Max’s tone was tense. “Was he violent with you?”

She hesitated. What was the point of going over all that? “Only a little.”

She could see the veins in Max’s neck cord and she hurried to add, “I knew where it all stemmed from. His father was an alcoholic and he had a very rough childhood. You always think that love and goodness will heal things like that. And they so seldom do. It’s just not enough to overcome the damage that sort of childhood does.”

It was funny. She’d never told anyone, even Mara, all these details. So why was she telling Max? Of all the people in the world, he was probably the one who least needed to know these things about her. But it was such a relief to tell someone about it.

“I don’t want to make it sound like unrelieved agony. It wasn’t like that at all. There were many good times. He could make me laugh. And he loved the baby.” Her voice softened as she thought of her baby. “Michelle was a perfect baby, all pink and plump and smiling. He was so proud of her. And yet…” Her voice got a little rough.

“When she cried, he would go crazy. He couldn’t stand it. It almost seemed as though he thought she was trying to get to him on purpose. He took it personally. I would do everything I could to keep her from crying.” She choked as painful memories surged. “Sometimes he would smash things,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And then he would leave.”

Max stopped in front of her, staring down. “But he didn’t hurt you? Or the baby?”

“Not…not really.” She was skimming over the truth a bit here, but she really didn’t want to dredge all that up again. “I was afraid of that, though. He would just get so irrational. There was no telling what he would do eventually. That last night, he was so angry.”

She closed her eyes as she remembered, and her voice became almost robotic.

“He grabbed Michelle and raced out to the car with her. I ran after him, pleading with him to leave her, but he threw her into the backseat and started the car up. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. I was frantic. I managed to get into the car before he had time to lock the doors. We took off down the street. I was trying to climb over the seat to get into the back to take care of Michelle when he…he…” She closed her eyes again, seeing it as though it were yesterday. “We crashed into a fence and then a tree.”

She took a shuddering breath and looked up into his face. His beautiful eyes were filled with compassion and reflected her pain. Somehow that was so comforting.

“It could have been my fault,” she hurried to add. “I’m just not sure. The way I was climbing over the seat, only thinking about getting to Michelle, not about how I might be interfering with his driving. I can’t put all the blame on Brian.”

Max snorted. “I can,” he muttered, beginning to walk again.

“I was in the hospital for about a week. A couple of broken ribs and injuries to a few internal organs.” She shrugged. “I got better. They didn’t.” She took a deep breath. “They didn’t tell me that Brian and Michelle were dead at first. I kept asking for her.”

Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head angrily. She didn’t want to cry. She’d done enough crying to fill an ocean, and she’d thought she didn’t have any more tears to give. But there were always more.

Max was leaving the room. She blinked after him.

“Where are you going?”

“He’s asleep,” he told her softly. “I’m putting him in his crib.”

She nodded, rising to follow him. By the time she got to the nursery, he’d put Jamie down and covered him. He turned and took her in his arms, raining kisses on her face and muttering something in Italian.

She laughed with tears still filling her eyes. When he kissed her, she kissed him back, giving him her passion as well as her joy. But only for a moment.

“No,” she said, pulling away from him. “Max, no.”

He said something in Italian. She didn’t understand the words, but she knew his meaning. She shook her head.

“No,” she said again. “Max, you’re going to marry C.J. You’re going to belong to another woman. We can’t.”

This time the Italian was a curse word she fully understood, but he released her, only to grab her hand and hold it up.

“You should have rings,” he said with Italian intensity. “You should have beautiful jewelry to match your beautiful eyes. You should be draped in diamonds.”

She laughed aloud. What a concept!

“I don’t need jewelry,” she told him. “It just gets in the way.”

He shook his head in disgust at her attitude, and then he kissed her again. Gently but firmly, she pushed him away and led him to the door of the room.

“Good night, Max,” she told him, her growing affection for the man shining in her eyes. “Better get some sleep.”

“Yes,” he reluctantly agreed. “Don’t forget. We’re driving out to the ranch in the morning.”

“I’ll be up early,” she promised.

He gave her a crooked grin. “So will I. We have no choice. We play by Jamie’s rules these days, don’t we?”

The drive to the ranch went through some beautiful Texas landscape. Max filled the time with stories his mother had told him over the years of adventures she’d had growing up in the Texas countryside, stories that made it sound like an ideal place for an old-fashioned upbringing. But the arrival, when it came, was anticlimactic.

“This can’t be it,” Max said, staring at the dilapidated buildings on a hill that appeared to stand at the end of the driveway leading up from the highway where the Triple M Ranch sign hung by one corner on a rusty archway.

There was a gate, but it gave easily to a little push from the nose of the car. They drove slowly up the long entry. Straggly trees lined the way, only a few of them still alive. The buildings were empty. It was pretty obvious no one had been living there for quite some time.

“I don’t see any sign of cattle,” Max said, shielding his eyes from the sun as he gazed out over the dusty plains surrounding the hill. “This doesn’t even look like a working ranch.” He shook his head. “And this certainly doesn’t look like the ranch my mother told me about all my life. They’ve let it go to hell. It’s a damn shame.”

Cari could see how disappointed he was. “Maybe we came to the wrong side of the property,” she suggested.

He shook his head. “No. This seems to be it. No wonder C.J. didn’t want me coming out here.”

“Well, we can have our picnic here at least,” she said, beginning to unload the car and set up a shaded place for Jamie.

Max agreed, though he was grouchy about it. She felt sorry for him, but she couldn’t help but wonder how this was going to impact his plans. If this made him look at things more realistically, maybe it was all for the best.

They spread out a ground cloth under a tree and opened up the picnic basket to find fried chicken and biscuits and corn on the cob.

“In February?” Max said, looking at the corn suspiciously.

“It’s either imported or frozen,” Cari agreed. “Not quite up to the quality you expect in the good old summertime, but it tastes pretty good.”

They ate and chatted and played with Jamie, and gradually Max’s mood improved. He got to the point where he could see some of the good things in the land around him, such as the wildflowers just beginning to poke up their heads, and the white, puffy clouds scudding by in a pure blue sky.

“You know, I have to admit, this place could have fit in with my mother’s stories in better times. But beyond that, I had a different picture of the ranch in mind.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I realize now it wasn’t even based on what she’d told me. I watched that TV show. What was the name of that ranch on it? Southfork? Well, that was sort of the picture I had in my mind. A big house. A big barn. Lots of big cars parked out front. A helicopter pad out back. Miles and miles of expensive fencing. Some cattle, maybe.”

She smiled, nodding. “I’ve seen the show.”

“Even though this might have been an impressive place in its day,” he said, “it was never like Southfork. Still, it was probably a good working ranch. Too bad that time seems to be long past.” He grimaced. “I’m glad my mother isn’t here to see this. I hope no one ever tells her about it.”

They drove back to the city, taking the long way and enjoying the scenery. Max’s mobile chimed and he pulled over to take the call. He looked serious as he listened, but Cari was playing with Jamie and didn’t pay too much attention. When he’d hung up, he turned to her.

“Bad news,” he said shortly. “Sheila won’t be coming back.” His gaze flickered over Jamie and he winced slightly. “They found her body in the river. Seems to be drug related.”

“Oh, Max!”

They both looked at the child who was happily playing with a ring of plastic keys, totally oblivious to the fate of his mother. Then they looked at each other and without a word, came together for a long embrace. This was a tragedy for a baby, but at least he was too young to understand what an earthshaking event had just contorted his life. Perhaps it was best that way.

Back in town, Max made some calls and came up with more news.

“The police haven’t been able to find any relatives for Sheila, and neither have any of my people.” He looked deeply into Cari’s eyes. “Everything is going to ride on the DNA results.”

She laced her fingers under her chin as she considered that. “And if they come back negative?”

He looked pained. “Cari, if that happens, it will be out of my hands. If I have no marriage or blood ties to Jamie, there is nothing I can do. I’ll have no right to keep him here.” He shook his head. “Even all those lawyers I pay so much money to won’t be able to fix that one.”

She shrunk back. “So he would go into the county system.”

“I imagine so.”

If that happened…

Oh, it couldn’t happen. Blindly, she turned and hurried back to the nursery. Jamie was sound asleep, but she had to hold him. Hadn’t there been a time she’d vowed not to fall in love? That time seemed very long ago.

CHAPTER NINE

“AS I UNDERSTAND it, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.”

Cari straightened as Max came into the nursery two days later. She gave him a mischievous smile.

“You are correct, sir,” she replied.

He stood gazing down at her, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Is it true that this is a fairly important day to women in this country?” he asked.

She frowned, wondering what the catch was going to be. “Well, it can be.”

“Good.” He smiled like the proverbial cat. “I’ve made arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” Did she really have to hear about the details? “Are you going to do something with C.J.?”

His dark gaze was like velvet. “No. I’m going to do something with you.”

“Me.” Her eyes widened. Why not C.J.? Wasn’t that the woman he was supposedly going to marry? Maybe not. She knew he’d been working on that for the past few days.

“There’s got to be a way to convince her to sell that wreck of a ranch,” he’d fumed more than once. “I’m willing to pay her twice what it’s worth. And I want her to close on this as soon as possible. I want to begin renovating the place before my mother finds out what a mess it’s in.”

“She claims she’ll never sell.”

He’d stared at her with haunted eyes. “She has to sell,” he’d said. “She’ll do it. If I can just find the right approach.” But he didn’t sound very convincing.

And now he was talking about taking her to a romantic dinner instead of C.J.

“I can’t go anywhere,” she protested. “I’ve got to be here for Jamie.”

He nodded. “We’re going to bring him along.”

She gazed at him suspiciously. “Where are we going?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nowhere.”

“What?”

He grinned, chucking her under the chin. “It’s a surprise. You wait and see.”

And then he was gone.

She sighed, half laughing. Anyone watching the two of them over the past few days would swear they were lovers. And in truth, she felt like his lover. The only things missing were commitment and some honest-to-goodness lovemaking. But neither of those things could happen with C.J. lurking in the wings.

And of course there was the constant awareness that this was a passing fancy, something meant to last for days, not years or a lifetime. But she was intrigued that he meant to celebrate Valentine’s Day with her and not with C.J. And just what would C.J. have to say about that, she wondered?

The phone call came the next afternoon, just as Cari began getting ready for their Valentine’s dinner. The DNA test results were in. Max was asked to meet with a panel of lab technicians and legal representatives, and he left right away. Cari stayed behind and worried.

They’d had a small memorial service for Sheila. C.J. and Randy had come. Cari had taken Jamie as well, just so someone could tell him in later years that he had been to a ceremony honoring his mother’s life, even if he had no idea what it was all about at the time.

And now they were going to find out whether Jamie would be staying with Max, where Cari was completely sure he belonged, or not. It was nail-biting time. She went into the nursery and watched Jamie sleeping. If they had to give this adorable child up, surely she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

She heard Max come in and she ran to the front room. One look at his face told her all she needed to know. The test had come in with a positive match. With a shriek of joy, she ran to him and he swung her up in the air, both of them laughing with happiness. Tears streamed down her face. It was the best moment she’d had in many years.

They went into the nursery and Max looked down at the little child who carried his brother’s legacy. Finally he was free to let his heart fill with love for the boy without reservation. This was truly a special day.

“The first thing I need to do is call my mother,” he noted.

“Not now,” she protested. “The time difference.”

He shook his head. “She won’t care. Not when she hears what I’m calling about.”

“Does she have any idea that there is a baby?”

“No. I didn’t want to get her hopes up so I never told her about Sheila’s claim.” He grinned, shaking his head. “This is just incredible, isn’t it? I can hardly believe it.”

Cari nodded happily. She was bound and determined not to let herself think about the fact that this meant it was the beginning of the end for her and her connection to Max. She would think about that tomorrow. Tonight, they would just enjoy the news.

“Now we really have something to celebrate,” Max said.

Two hours later he was leading her, with Jamie in the stroller, to the elevator.

“Did you talk to your mother?” she asked.

“No. It turns out she is staying with a friend. But I left a message for her to call me as soon as she gets my message.”

“Good. Now tell me. Where are we going?”

He shook his head, eyeing her with thinly veiled affection. “My lips are sealed. I ought to put a blindfold on you. That way you might actually be surprised.”

“No blindfolds,” she said. “I promise to be as surprised as I need to be.”

She’d assumed they would be eating somewhere in the hotel, but she hadn’t realized it would be a private conference room. When he opened the double doors to let them enter, she gasped. Max had ordered up decorations, and the staff had filled the room with red and white balloons, with white lacy streamers hanging from the rafters and beautiful potted trees covered with white and red birds in each corner. A small table was set with delicate china and gleaming silver. In the corner, a guitarist was setting up his music and soon was playing soft, romantic melodies.

Cari was enchanted. She’d never seen anything more beautiful. She turned to Max, her eyes shining.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said.

“Oh, Max, thank you. This is lovely.”

He dropped a kiss on her lips and then escorted her to her place at the table and rolled the stroller up next to her. Luckily, Jamie had fallen asleep as soon as they had started on their journey through the hotel, so she would have some time to devote to Max and the wonderful dinner he’d ordered up. She tucked the blanket around the baby, then straightened and noticed a long, flat velvet box had been set in front of her.

“Max,” she said warningly.

“Just a little Valentine’s present,” he said.

Her heart was beating in her throat as she pulled open the box, then drew her breath in sharply. She was almost blinded by the flash of fire from diamonds—more diamonds than she’d ever seen in one place before.

“What…?”

“Let me help you.”

He came behind her to put on the necklace. It was surprisingly light for something with so many diamonds. She looked at her own reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room and she could hardly breathe. She’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“And to go with the necklace…” He reached into the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a matching bracelet. “One without the other would be incomplete,” he said as he put it on her wrist.

“Oh, Max.” She was stunned and over-whelmed. “Oh, Max, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly. Going down on one knee so that he could look into her eyes, he was adamant. “Cari, don’t insult me by refusing my gift. I can well afford it. You don’t have to feel any special obligation or gratitude or anything like that. It’s just a gift. A token of my affection for you. And you know very well that’s for real.”

He kissed her gently, softly, and with a purity of emotion she could hardly stand to accept. It was like looking into the sun. It was almost too much to bear.

Looking at his face, she realized how much more than handsome he was. There was honesty and integrity there, and an earnest desire to make her happy. Her heart was full. Yet she was uncertain.

“But I don’t need gifts to prove that,” she protested.

“No, you don’t need them. But it makes me happy to give you diamonds. Can you allow me that happiness?”

She looked at him in wonder, and then she laughed. “Oh, Max,” she said. “Do you always get your way?”

“Of course.”

Dinner was served, and it consisted of a wonderful Italian pork dish in a pinot noir reduction sauce along with a cheesy pasta to die for. There was also a lovely salad and the pièce de résistance—a heart-shaped baked Alaska. They ate with gusto and sipped red wine and talked and laughed, and when the meal was over, they danced to the music the guitarist played.

Diamonds glittered when she moved and the reflections of their light flashed against the walls of the room. It almost seemed a counterpart to the way Max’s touch sizzled on her skin. It had been a magical evening, but she knew it was drawing to a close. If only there was some way to keep it going all night.

“This is the most perfect Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had,” she told him simply.

“Good.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “Not too ordinary?” he teased.

She shook her head. “Not a bit ordinary,” she said. Reaching up, she touched his face with the flat of her hand. “Oh, Max,” she began, feeling the need to express to him how she felt.

But she never got the chance. Before she could get another word out, C.J.’s voice was booming through the room.

“So this is what you’re up to, is it? I should have known.”

There she stood, hands on her hips, green eyes flashing angry fire.

“C.J.” Max started toward her. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. What else? It’s Valentine’s Day. But I see you know that.” She glared at him. “Don’t you think you should have been with me? I’m the one you’re supposed to marry.”

Max stopped dead and stared at her coldly. “C.J., I haven’t made any sort of commitment to you and you know it.”

“It’s her, isn’t it?” she cried, pointing at Cari. “It’s because of her. You’ve fallen in love with her, haven’t you?” Swinging around, she faced Cari. “If it wasn’t for you, we could have this whole deal done by now.” She took a step toward Cari, shaking her head as though she were beseeching her. “Look, I’ve stood back and I’ve been tolerant. I knew he went for you, not me. That was okay. I figured, if he wants to have some fun on the side, let him. That doesn’t bother me at all. But I want the wedding ring on my finger, I want the marriage certificate in my hand. Then he can do whatever he wants.”

“C.J., you’re embarrassing yourself,” Max told her quietly, controlling his temper with obvious effort.

“Oh, yeah?” She tossed her flaming hair back and glared. “Well, get this, mister. This is it. No more Ms. Nice Guy. I want a wedding date and I want it now. Or you can forget about your mother getting back her beloved ranch.”

Max looked pained. “Go home, C.J. You weren’t invited here.”

Her face reddened in outrage. “Be careful, Max. My patience is not infinite.”

“Good. It shouldn’t be. And in that vein, let me explain more explicitly.” He stood before her, legs apart, arms at his sides. “I’m not going to marry you. Not ever. And if that means my mother will have to forgo having her ranch back, that is the price we will have to pay.”

C.J.’s head went back, but her glare didn’t dim.

He shook his head, exasperated with her. “But you know very well we aren’t in love with each other. And even more important, we don’t suit each other at all. We would both be miserable tied together by a wedding vow. Upon reflection, I’ve decided it would be a very bad move. So it’s out. Sorry.”

On a certain level, Cari felt sorry for the woman. She’d made her intentions clear from the beginning. It was too bad she hadn’t noticed earlier that her plans were just not panning out. Cari was watching the scene carefully and she saw the anger in C.J.’s face. Anger and frustration. But no pain, no sadness. This failure had touched her spirit, but not her heart. That relieved Cari somewhat.

Randy appeared out of nowhere and was helping to get C.J. out of the room, though she was still railing at Max.

Valentine’s Day was over. And just in time, Jamie woke up.

CHAPTER TEN

IT WAS a good hour later before they settled down and got Jamie back to sleep, in his bed this time. Cari was still trying to come to terms with what had happened. Max had pretty much rejected the plan to marry C.J. Did he mean it? And what did that mean for the prospects of getting his mother the ranch? She couldn’t help but worry.

Max was taciturn and restless, sitting on the couch not watching the television which played in the background. She knew he was thinking over the ramifications of what he’d just done. She slid onto the couch beside him and took his hand in hers.

“Max, you always say that you came to Dallas with two big goals in mind. Number one was to find your brother’s son and to find proof that he is Gino’s. And you’ve done that. You’ve saved Jamie’s life and you are going to have a beautiful baby who will carry on Gino’s memory and be a part of your family forever. You’re giving your mother a gift of love that can’t be equaled. Jamie will remind you and your family every day of what a wonderful brother you had.”

Max inclined his head, acknowledging everything she’d said as his fingers curled around hers. “You had a part in it all,” he mentioned, but she waved that away.

“Your second goal was to return the ownership of the family ranch to your mother because losing it had preyed on her mind for years and you thought it would make her happy to have control of it again, something to help heal the unhealable wound losing Gino had dealt her. This you haven’t achieved as yet.”

“True.”

Now came the hard part. “You know you could achieve it by marrying C.J.”

He nodded. “But that’s not going to happen.”

She frowned, shaking her head. “Then how are you going to get control of the ranch?”

He grimaced and shrugged. “I’ll find another way.”

That chilled her. What if desperation drove him to do something illegal, or even underhanded in some way? She knew that would eat away at him. She couldn’t let something like that happen. But what could she do? When it came right down to it, this was none of her business. Why was she even delving into it?

Because she wanted to help him. Because she was worried about him. Because…and this was the bottom line…she was in love with him.

Yes, it was true, and she had to admit it to herself. She’d fallen in love with the man she’d vowed to harden her heart to from the start. What a fool she was.

Turning, she looked at his handsome face, and some of her self-criticism faded. He was so gorgeous and so good and so lovable. How could she not fall for a man like this?

Especially now as he moved closer and he took her chin in his hand and he began to kiss her mouth with quick, hungry nips that made her gasp. Ordinarily she would pull away. Ordinarily she would protest. But he wasn’t marrying C.J. anymore. So she was going to give in to temptation for just a few minutes. It just felt so good.

His hands held her head on either side now, and his kisses were growing deeper and more urgent. Reaching up, she dug her fingers into his thick hair and arched her breasts against him. He was so very male and she was so very female and they were caught up in a dance as old as life. Every part of her body began to relax, and then to tingle with pleasure. She wanted his hands on her breasts, and his lips, too. She wanted to feel him crush her to the couch with his hard body. She wanted all of him.

The phone rang. For a moment she thought he was going to ignore the sound of the phone and make love to her instead. That was what she wanted. That was what he wanted, too. But in the back of her mind she knew this had to be his mother. Gathering all her strength, she pushed back and startled him into noticing.

“It’s going to be your mother,” she panted, pulling her clothing together. “You’d better take it.”

“I’ll call her later,” he muttered, kissing her again.

“No, Max. You’ll hate yourself if you don’t take this call.”

It took another minute for him to come to his senses, but when he did, he rose and took the phone call. She sat on the couch and smiled as she listened to their conversation. It was in half in Italian, but she understood every word and every emotion. As Max explained about Jamie, the astonished joy on the other side of the Atlantic was easy to feel. It was a good night.

And a lucky phone call. If his mother hadn’t interrupted, she might have made love with Max. Her willpower had eroded beyond usefulness for a moment there. She had it back now. She knew it would be crazy to make love with a man, no matter how much you loved him, without some sort of plan or commitment. And she had neither. So she was going to give him one last kiss and go off to her bed—alone. Sighing, she turned and prepared to do just that.

* * *

Cari was juggling baby bottles and Jamie the next morning when her phone rang. It was Mara.

“Did you have a nice Valentine’s Day?” she asked hopefully.

Cari smiled into the phone. “It was wonderful.”

“Good. I’m so glad we fixed that.” Mara sighed happily. “So, where did you and Randy go last night?”

It had been a while since she’d talked to her friend. Her heart sank as she realized Mara didn’t have a clue as to what had been going on. How was she going to tell her?

“Mara, I didn’t go out with Randy.”

There was a shocked pause, then Mara cried, “What? But I talked to him and he said…”

“If he said he was out for Valentine’s, he must have been out with C.J.”

“C.J.?” Her voice was rising. “Who is C.J.?”

Mara was sounding a bit tightly wound at this point. Cari tried to use a soothing tone.

“You remember about C.J. She’s the other woman in the big mix-up.”

“Oh. Ah. And so I imagine you were out with the other man?” She was back to being hopeful again.

“Yes. Max Angeli.”

Mara laughed. “Okay, I can hear it in the way you say his name. You’re in love, aren’t you?”

She never gave up. Cari was halfway between laughter and outrage.

“No!”

Mara nagged at her for another twenty minutes but, Cari wouldn’t break down and admit it, not even to her best friend—even though she was very much afraid it was true.

And if it was true, just what exactly was she going to do about it?

There wasn’t really much she could do. Max had told C.J. he wouldn’t marry her last night, but in the bright light of morning, she couldn’t take that seriously. She knew him well enough by now to know he would do anything he had to do to heal his mother’s heart. And that was one of the things she loved about him.

She gave Jamie a bath and cleaned his room and put him in an adorable baby suit. But all the while, her mind was on the facts, and the facts were stubborn things.

She had to face them. She had to be realistic. Max had a lot of affection for her. He enjoyed being with her. And he definitely wanted her in his bed—he’d made that perfectly clear. But he’d never said one word about marrying her, had he? He hadn’t even contemplated that as much as he had contemplated marrying C.J. Marriage of any sort did not seem to be on his horizon.

He’d made it clear from the beginning that he wasn’t the marrying kind. And she’d told him much the same about herself. Too bad she’d changed her mind. He obviously hadn’t.

And no, she couldn’t see herself as a paid mistress, traveling to Venice with the family, being with Max as long as his interest lasted, then segueing into the role of nanny once he’d moved on to someone else.

Ugh. That picture didn’t fit at all. There was no way she could live her life like that. Painful as it was, she was going to have to withdraw from the field. There was no other way.

But how could she leave Max? She knew now that she loved him. And how could she leave Jamie? She loved Jamie almost as much as she’d loved Michelle. Well, she’d survived losing her own baby. Now she would have to develop ways to live through losing Jamie—but with a broken heart that might never be repaired.

She tried to talk to Max about it the next day when he came home for lunch. He brought in burgers in a sack and they sat down at the dining-room table to eat out of cardboard containers. She mentioned a few things obliquely at first, venturing carefully into the subject, but he dismissed it out of hand.

“I’m not marrying C.J.,” he stated firmly. “I’ll find another way to get the ranch. And I want you here with Jamie. That’s all there is to it.”

She licked her lips and tried to think of a way to make him understand. “I think I should go. I have a feeling you would be better able to negotiate with C.J. if I was out of the picture.”

He was astonished and not very happy to hear this theory. “I don’t want you out of the picture. I need you in my life.”

“Max, there’s no room for me in your life. It’s already too crowded in there. You’ve got too much going on as it is.”

He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Cari, C.J. is irrational. She wants things that cannot be. Whether you are here or not, she is still going to want those things.”

Cari shook her head, looking troubled. “I don’t know. I think my being here puts her back up and makes her more rigid in her demands. If I were gone she might be more reasonable.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t be,” he noted dryly. “If you were gone, I’d be a bear to live with.”

He was teasing and not really taking what she was saying seriously. She could understand that. He didn’t want her to go, so he was rationalizing that it was for the best that she stay. But she felt she could see things a little more clearly. She had to go.

Max left for a meeting with the lawyers, and she called Mara and got the number of the person she used for babysitting. Calling her, she made arrangements for the woman to come right over and begin taking care of Jamie. Then she went into the nursery and pulled out the velvet box with the necklace and bracelet inside. She looked at it for a long moment, sliding her hand over the surface. Then she pressed it to her cheek and closed her eyes, remembering how it felt to dance with Max while a guitar played in the background. It had been a wonderful night she would never forget. But it was over. Bracing herself, she walked briskly into Max’s room and left the velvet box on his dresser.

She spent an hour showing the babysitter where everything was and getting Jamie used to her. And then she packed all her belongings into one suitcase on wheels and took one last look around the hotel suite. She’d only lived there for a little over a week, but it had become home very quickly. She was going to miss it.

And the emotion she was going to feel when she left Jamie behind didn’t bear thinking of. Her heart dropped every time she did think of it. But she had to do what she had to do. And finally, it was time.

She’d barely made it to the hallway when the elevator dinged. Tensing, she waited to see if Max was back. But it wasn’t Max. An older woman got off the elevator and started her way.

Max’s mother. It had to be.

Cari watched her for a moment. A tall, regal-looking woman, she seemed more European elite than Texas rancher. Where was the evidence of that wild young girl who had ridden bareback over the plains and hunted rattlesnakes with the boys?

“Hello,” she said, her eyes friendly as she looked at Cari. “I’m looking for the suite that belongs to Max Angeli. Can you direct me?”

“Of course,” she said. “Please come this way.” She escorted her to the door and rang the bell. “Someone will let you in any moment,” she said, and as the woman turned to face the door, she added, sotto voce, “I’m in love with your son.”

“What is that, my dear?” she said, turning back to look at her curiously.

Cari shook her head and smiled. “Nothing,” she said. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Angeli.”

She walked away quickly, not waiting for a reply.

* * *

It was almost comforting to be back at work at the café—the same old routine, the same old people—she’d missed it all. It felt so nice and ordinary. There was that word again. That made her laugh, and then it made her tear up. Ordinary. That was exactly what she was.

All the diamonds and the luxury rooms and the fancy foods—that was for some other person, not for her. She belonged here in ordinaryland.

Mara was upset, of course. “Well, there’s still Randy,” she pointed out when Cari told her what had happened.

“Oh, Mara, please! He’s head over heels in love with C.J. You should see him mooning after her.”

“But if she goes off with Max—”

“No. That won’t work. You see, the whole situation was never going to be Max and C.J. setting up housekeeping. She just wanted to be his wife for all the rights and privileges—and money—and wasn’t expecting to fulfill any of the responsibilities. She made it perfectly plain that was never in the cards. I’ll tell you, from what I’ve seen, I think she prefers Randy when you come right down to it. She can boss him around.”

On the first day back at work, she kept looking at the entry doors, expecting to see Max come strolling through. But he didn’t come. And he didn’t come the next day, either. By the third day she had pretty much decided she must have dreamed the whole thing. Maybe there really wasn’t such a person as Max Angeli. Maybe Jamie was a manifestation of her grief. Who knew?

She’d been so sure she would never love again. She’d been so sure that she was too wary to let another man steal her heart. But she’d thrown all that to the winds and fallen for Max. Now she was back to square one, but with a new crack down the center of her heart. Hopefully, she’d learned something. Why did lessons like this have to hurt so much?

On the fourth day she was talking a cowboy into having a piece of lemon meringue pie when a lovely older woman entered the café. Cari didn’t recognize her at first, as she wouldn’t have expected to see her there in the café in a hundred years. But she knew right away she’d seen her before, and for just a second, she assumed it was a movie star or a TV performer. Then she realized it was Max’s mother.

Max’s mother. Her first thought was something had happened, something bad. But that fear died quickly. The woman looked too calm, too sanguine.

She came up and took a seat at the counter.

“Hello,” she said as her gaze met Cari’s.

“Mrs. Angeli,” Cari said a bit breathlessly, wiping her hands on her apron and hoping her hair wasn’t too wild.

“You recognize me.” She smiled.

“Of course. I’m…”

“Cari Christensen. Yes, I know.” She reached out and shook Cari’s hand. “I just felt I should come in and say hello to you and thank you for all you did to help settle my grandson into his new life.”

“It was my pleasure. How is he?”

“Wonderful. Perfect. We couldn’t be happier.”

“I’m so glad.” They smiled at each other.

“I’m sure he’d like to see you again.”

Cari’s smile faded. “I’d love to see him, too. But I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“I understand. Breaking away is so hard.”

“Yes.”

She ordered a piece of chocolate cake and a glass of milk. Cari wondered if that was what she used to order as a girl whenever she came into town. But the café was filling up, and Cari was too busy to talk any longer. When she looked up a bit later, Mrs. Angeli was gone.

It was the next day that Max came in.

“Hi,” he said, his gaze never leaving her face from the moment he entered the café.

“Hi.”

He stood before her, his eyes luminous. “I’ve missed you.”

She could hardly breathe. “Me, too.”

Reaching out, he cupped her cheek with his hand.

“Max, don’t,” she whispered helplessly.

He shrugged and drew his hand back.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, sliding onto a seat at the counter. “How about a piece of apple pie?”

“Coming right up.”

It was good to have something to do with her hands. They were shaking. She put a piece of pie on a plate and carried it over to where he was sitting.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She stood watching him as he ate, her heart beating in her throat. Why was he here? And why hadn’t he come looking for her sooner? But she knew the answer to that. He had other things on his mind. Like the ranch. Like C.J.

“I hear my mother came in to see you,” he said suddenly, looking up.

“Yes, she did.”

He had a slight smile. “She liked you.”

Cari’s smile was bigger. “That’s nice. I liked her, too.” She hesitated, then added, “She said Jamie was doing well.”

“Oh, yeah. She adores him.”

“Of course.”

They smiled at each other, agreement about Jamie’s wonderfulness warming the connection between them.

“He’s going to be the most spoiled baby in Dallas.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“And the ranch? Has she been out there?”

He pushed the pie plate away. “See, here’s the funny thing. I didn’t want her to go. I was scared to death to have her see what a dump it was. But she insisted, so we packed up and went out there. C.J. even came along.

“And? Was she devastated?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, as far as she’s concerned, it looks a lot like it looked when she lived there.”

Cari’s jaw dropped. “No!”

He grinned. “She was ecstatic. She went running around exploring every nook and cranny, remembering when she’d hidden under the front porch when trying to get out of chores or where she’d found an arrowhead near the well. She told C.J. stories about her mother she’d never known before, showed her where she and Betty Jean had snuck out to go to a dance in town when they weren’t supposed to, things like that.”

Cari was astounded. The place was such a dump. “How did C.J. like that?”

“She was very touched. She was crying half the time.”

“C.J.?”

He nodded. “In fact, she’s selling us the ranch.”

A wave of emotion hit her hard and she was light-headed. “No kidding,” she said breathlessly. This was huge. But what did it mean?

“She and Randy are going to use the money to fund an expansion of his catering business. They want to be the biggest caterer in Texas.” He shrugged, looking up at her. “I think they’ll get married.”

Cari had to grip the edge of the counter to keep from falling over. “Wow. Well, more power to them.” She blinked rapidly, wondering why he was torturing her this way. “And you? Are you going back to Venice soon?”

“Yes.” His gaze was black as coal. “We’re getting ready to go this weekend. Just for a few days, though. We’ll be back.”

“Oh,” she said faintly.

He rose from his seat. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ve got a lot of packing to do. Jamie’s got enough stuff to fill a plane on his own by now.”

“I imagine.” Her heart sank. He was going. So that was it, then. It really was over.

“Cari?”

“Hmm?” She looked up, feeling bereft.

He moved close to her. “Jamie loves you and misses you.”

She shook her head, confused. “How do you know that?”

His mouth twisted at the corners. “Because we all love you and miss you.”

“Oh.” What? Maybe she wasn’t hearing words right any longer. She didn’t really get it. What was he saying?

“Where’s my bill?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” She waved a hand in the air. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.” He smiled. “Then I’ll just leave you a tip.”

He put a small box on the counter. She stared at it.

“It’s not a snake,” he told her. “Go ahead. Open it.”

She turned to look at him, terrified. “Max, what is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

Her heart was beating so hard she could hardly make out what he was saying. “I don’t think I should.”

“Come on, Cari. I dare you. Do it.”

Her fingers were trembling so hard she could hardly hold the box, but she managed to open it. Inside, set against black velvet, was the most beautiful diamond engagement ring she’d ever seen.

“Max!”

She turned to find him on one knee.

“Cari Christensen, I love you with all my heart,” he announced to her and to everyone else in the place. “I need you in my life. Jamie needs you, too. He’s got a grandmother, but he needs a mom. So here’s the deal. Will you marry us?”

“Oh, Max, get up off the floor.”

“Not until you answer me.”

“Of course I’ll marry you,” she said, pulling at his hand and laughing at the same time. “I can’t believe it took you so long to get over here and ask me.”

EPILOGUE

THEY started out planning a small, simple wedding, but naturally, that didn’t last. In no time at all, it grew into something monstrous. So it was a good thing they knew a good caterer.

They decided to have the event out on the ranch. Cari wasn’t so sure at first, but once she saw the changes Max was already making, she was convinced. The driveway was lined with newly planted trees. The main farmhouse was still being renovated, but the lower floor was usable and a couple of the outer buildings, including the bunkhouse, were looking sturdy with new repairs to their structures and a couple of coats of new paint that left them gleaming. The sweeping area that made up the yard was green with new sod, creating a lawn where there hadn’t been one for decades. Tables were set up on it, and a radius of white chairs for the ceremony. White tablecloths and silver vases filled with tulips decorated each table. The scene was magical.

People from all around the area began streaming in an hour early. The ceremony itself was short, but touching. Handkerchiefs were liberally in use all around. And then came the reception.

Max and Cari stood in a seemingly never-ending receiving line, greeting old friends and meeting new ones. Jamie was with them when he was awake, and everyone oohed and aahed over him, which was just what he deserved. He’d grown ever closer to Cari, and she to him. As far as she was concerned, he was her baby, and that was all there was to it.

Her dress was a simple, strapless gown embedded with seed pearls. Her hair was piled high and the diamond necklace adorned her neck.

“You’re a gorgeous bride,” most people who passed told her. She knew it was traditional to say exactly that, but something in the eyes of the people saying it was beginning to convince her it might be true.

The food was spectacular—at least, that’s what everyone told Cari, though she didn’t have time to try any for herself.

“Does it occur to you,” she noted to C.J., who was responsible for most of it, “that you’ve found a new golden goose with your catering business, one that you are raising and nurturing yourself?”

“That’s right, go ahead and rub it in,” C.J. snapped. “You won. I lost.” But she smiled to soften her words and added, “I can take it. I’ve been kicked in the teeth a lot over the years. I must say, this is better. It’s nice to have a man who adores me.”

Cari nodded, watching Randy checking on the wedding cake. “He does do that.”

“Yeah. But then, you’ve got that, too, don’t you?”

Cari had to agree. She smiled at Max. He was making faces and gesturing and trying to convey something to her, but she couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. She looked at him questioningly, but his mother came up to say something to him, and he looked away, just as Mara appeared before her.

“Hey,” she said, beaming at her friend.

“Do you realize you would never have met Max if it wasn’t for me?” Mara demanded. “I think I deserve some recognition. A plaque would be nice.” She grinned at Cari.

“So you have to admit it has all worked out for the best,” Cari responded.

Mara nodded. “Although I’d rather have you in the family than that C.J.,” she told her with a sigh.

“Oh, C.J.’s okay. And she sure can cook.”

“My, yes. I would never dispute that.”

Cari turned away. One of the neighborhood girls who had been hired to help serve was tugging on her satin dress.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Angeli,” she said.

Cari thrilled to hearing her new name for the first time. “Yes?”

“There’s something wrong in the bunkhouse. Something broke. I was asked to get you to come right away.”

“Oh, dear.”

The bunkhouse was where they were storing most of the supplies. She looked at the receiving line and couldn’t find Max. Whatever it was, she would have to handle it on her own and she’d better do it quickly. Gathering her skirt, she dashed across the sod to the bunkhouse and hurried inside. As she did so, the door closed behind her, the lock snapped, and she was suddenly engulfed in gloom.

“What is it?” She turned quickly and found herself being dragged into the arms of her new husband. “Max!”

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” he told her, raining kisses on her upturned face. “You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen. Ripe for ravishing, I’d say.”

“Would you say that?” She laughed low in her throat as he began a slow, sexy seduction. “A quick ravishment sounds pretty good to me, too.”

She kissed him back, then sighed. “But we really can’t. We’ve got to cut the cake and lead the dance and…”

He said something in Italian and began to peel her dress away. Sighing, she gave in. The cake and the dance would have to wait. Right now, love had the right of way.

How to Get Over Your Ex

Nikki Logan

Being rejected is one thing. Being rejected live on radio takes it to a whole new level!

After her on-air proposal is turned down by her commitment-phobe boyfriend, Georgia Stone must learn to survive singledom. Unfortunately, thanks to a clause in her contract, she has to do it under the watchful gaze of brooding radio producer Zander Rush.

And so begins the Year of Georgia! Lurching from salsa classes to spy school, Georgia discovers a taste for adventure. Her biggest thrill so far? Flirting with danger—aka the enigmatic Zander. But admitting she’s ready for more than just a fling…? Definitely Georgia’s scariest challenge yet!

Next month, look for the second book in this duet: The Guy To Be Seen With by Fiona Harper

HOW TO GET OVER YOUR EX

“Why are we here, Zander?” she breathed into the fading light.

He stared at her in the rapidly cooling, darkening evening. “Because you followed me up here?”

Half of her was terrified he’d just shrug and blame tradition. That this thing between them wasn’t mutual. But she wasn’t about to be put off so easily. “Here, by the twinkling water as the sun sets.”

“Do you want to leave?” he murmured, eyes locked on hers.

She should. “No.”

“Do you want to feel?”

Her lungs locked up. Suddenly the grass and cows and water around them seemed to grow as if the two of them had just hauled themselves over the top of a beanstalk, forcing them closer together and making the scant distance separating them into something negligible.

Her pulse began to hammer in earnest.

Zander raised his hand and slipped it behind her head, lowering his forehead to rest on hers. His heat radiated outward. His eyes drifted shut.

ABOUT NIKKI LOGAN

NIKKI LOGAN lives next to a string of protected wetlands in Western Australia, with her long-suffering partner and a menagerie of furred, feathered and scaly mates. She studied film and theater at university, and worked for years in advertising and film distribution before finally settling down in the wildlife industry. Her romance with nature goes way back, and she considers her life charmed, given she works with wildlife by day and writes fiction by night—the perfect way to combine her two loves. Nikki believes that the passion and risk of falling in love are perfectly mirrored in the danger and beauty of wild places. Every romance she writes contains an element of nature, and if readers catch a waft of rich earth or the spray of wild ocean between the pages, she knows her job is done.

For Aaron, who knows just how hard

the getting over part can be.

Give my regards to Broadway.

ONE

Valentine’s Day 2012

Close. Please just close.

A dozen curious eyes followed Georgia Stone into Radio EROS’ stylish elevator, craning over computer monitors or sliding on plastic floor mats back into the corridor just slightly, not even trying to disguise their curiosity. She couldn’t stand staring at the back of the elevator for ever, so she turned, lifted her chin...

...and silently begged the doors to close. To put her out of her misery for just a few blessed moments.

Do. Not. Cry.

Not yet.

The numbness of shock was rapidly wearing off and leaving the deep, awful ache of pain behind it. With a humiliation chaser. She’d managed to thank the dumbfounded drive-time announcers—God, she was so British—before stumbling out of their studio, knowing that the radio station’s output was broadcast in every office on every floor via a system of loudspeakers.

Hence all the badly disguised glances.

The whole place knew what had just happened to her. Because of her. That their much-lauded Leap Year Valentine’s proposal had just gone spectacularly, horribly, excruciatingly, publicly wrong.

She’d asked. Daniel had declined.

As nicely as he could, under the circumstances, but his urgently whispered, “Is this a joke, George?” was still a no whichever way you looked at it and, in case she hadn’t got the message, he’d spelled it out.

We weren’t heading for marriage. I thought you knew that...

Actually no, or she wouldn’t have asked.

That’s what made our thing so perfect...

Oh. Right. That was what made it perfect? She’d known they were drifting in a slow, connected eddy like the leaves in Wakehurst’s Black Pond but she’d thought that even drifting eventually got you somewhere. Obviously not.

‘For God’s sake, will you close?’

She wasn’t usually one to talk to inanimate objects—even under her breath—but somehow, on some level, the elevator must have heard her because its shiny chrome doors started to slide together obligingly.

‘Hold the lift!’ a voice shouted.

She didn’t move. Her stomach plunged. Just as they’d nearly closed...

A hand slid into the sliver of space between the doors and curled around one of them, arresting and then reversing its slide. They reopened, long-suffering and apologetic.

‘You mustn’t have heard me,’ the dark-haired man said, throwing her only the briefest and tersest of glances, his lips tight. He turned, faced the front, and permitted them to close this time, giving her a fabulous view of the square cut of the back of his expensive suit.

No, you mustn’t have heard me. Making a total idiot of myself in front of all of London. If he had, he’d have given her a much longer look. Something told her everyone would be looking at her for much longer now. Starting with all her and Daniel’s workmates.

She groaned.

He looked back over his shoulder. ‘Sorry?’

She forced burning eyes to his. If she blinked just once she was going to unleash the tears she could feel jockeying for expression just behind her lids. But she didn’t have the heart for speech. She shook her head.

He returned his focus to the front of the elevator. She stared at the lights slowly descending toward ‘G’ for ground floor. Then at the one marked ‘B’, below that—the one he’d pressed.

‘Excuse me...’ She cleared her throat to reduce the tight choke. He turned again, looked down great cheekbones at her. ‘Can you get to the street from B?’

He studied her. Didn’t ask what she meant. ‘The basement has electronic gate control.’

Her heart sank. So much for hoping to make a subtle getaway. Looked as if the universe really wanted her to pay for today’s disaster.

Crowded reception it was, then.

She nodded just once. ‘Thank you.’

He didn’t turn back around, but his grey eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll be driving out through the gates. You’re welcome to slip out behind me.’

Slip out. Was that just a figure of speech or did he know? ‘Thank you. Yes, please.’

He turned back to the front, then, a heartbeat later, he turned back again. ‘Step behind me.’

She dragged stinging eyes back up to him. ‘What?’

‘The door’s going to open at Reception first. It will be full of people. I can screen you.’

Suddenly the front-line of the small army of tears waiting for a chance to get out surged forward. She fought them back furiously, totally futile.

Kindness. That was worse than blinking. And it meant that he definitely knew.

But since he was playing pretend-I-don’t, she could, too. She stepped to her left just as the doors obediently opened onto the station’s reception. Light and noise filled the elevator but she stood, private and protected behind the stranger, his big body as good as a locked door. She sighed. Privacy and someone to protect her—two things she’d just blown out of her life for good, she suspected.

‘Mr Rush...’ someone said, out in the foyer.

The big man just nodded. ‘Alice. Going down?’

‘No, up.’

He shrugged. ‘I won’t be long.’

And the doors closed, leaving just the two of them, again. Georgia sagged and swiped at the single, determined tear that had slipped down her cheek. He didn’t turn back around. It took only a moment longer for the elevator to reach the basement. He walked out the moment the doors opened and reached back to hold them wide for her. The frigid outdoor air hit her instantly.

‘Thank you,’ she repeated and stepped out into the darkened parking floor. She’d left her coat upstairs, hanging on the back of a chair in the studio, but she would gladly freeze rather than set foot in that building ever again.

He didn’t make eye contact again. Or smile. ‘Wait by the gate,’ he simply said and then turned to stride towards a charcoal Jaguar.

She walked a dead straight line towards the exit gate. The fastest, most direct route she could. She only reached it a moment or two before the luxury car. She stood, rubbing her prickling flesh.

He must have activated the gate from inside his vehicle, and the large, steel lattice began to rattle along rollers towards her. He nudged his car forward, lowered his window, and peered out across his empty passenger seat.

She ducked to look at him. For moments. One of them really needed to say something. Might as well be her.

‘Thanks again.’ For sanctuary in the elevator. For spiriting her away, now.

His eyes darkened and he slid designer sunglasses up onto the bridge of his nose. ‘Good luck’ was all he said. Then he shifted his Jag into gear and drove forward out of the still-widening gate.

She stared after him.

It seemed an odd thing to say in lieu of goodbye but maybe he knew something she didn’t.

Maybe he knew how much she was going to need that luck.

* * *

Hell.

That was the longest elevator ride of Zander’s life. Trapped in two square metres of double-thickness steel with a sobbing woman. Except she hadn’t been sobbing—not outwardly—but she was hurting inwardly; pain was coming off her in waves. Totally tangible.

The waves had hit him the moment he nudged his way into her elevator, but it was too late, then, to step back and let her go down without him. Not without making her feel worse.

He knew who she was. He just hadn’t known it was her standing in the elevator he ran for or he wouldn’t have launched himself at the closing doors.

She must have bolted straight from the studio to the exit the moment they threw to the first track out of the Valentine’s segment. Lord knew he did; he wanted to get across town to the network head offices before they screamed for him to come in.

Proactive instead of reactive. He never wanted someone higher up his food chain to call him and find him just sitting there waiting for their call. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Or the power.

By the time he got across London’s peak-hour gridlock he’d have the right spin for the on-air balls-up. Turning a negative into a positive. Oiling the waters. The kind of problem-solving he was famous—and employed—for.

The kind of problem-solving he loathed.

He blew out a steady breath and took an orange light just as it was turning red in order to keep moving. None of them had expected the guy to say no. Who said no to a proposal, live on air? You said yes live and then you backed out of it later if it wasn’t what you wanted. That was what ninety-five per cent of Londoners would do.

Apparently this guy was Mr Five Per Cent.

Then again, who asked a man to marry her live on radio if she wasn’t already confident of the answer? Or maybe she thought she was? She wouldn’t be the first to find out she was wrong...the hard way.

Empathy curled his fingers tight on the expensive leather of his steering wheel. Who was he to cast stones?

He’d recognised that expression immediately. The one where you’d happily agree for the elevator to plunge eight storeys rather than have to step out and face the world. At least his own humiliation had been limited to just his family and friends.

Just two hundred of his and Lara’s nearest and dearest.

Georgia Stone’s would be all over the city today and all over the world by tomorrow.

He was counting on it. Though he’d have preferred it not to be on the back of someone’s pain and humiliation. He hadn’t got that bad...yet.

He eased his foot onto the brake as the traffic ground to a halt around him and resisted the urge to lean on his horn.

Not that he imagined a girl like that would suffer for long. Tall and pale and pretty with that tangle of dark, short curls. She’d dressed for her proposal—that was a sweet and unexpected touch in the casual world of radio. Half his on-air staff would come to work in their pyjamas if they had the option. But Georgia Stone had worn a simple, pale pink, thin-strapped dress for the big moment—almost a wedding dress itself. If one got married on a beach in Barbados. Way too light for February so maybe public proposals weren’t the only thing the pretty Miss Stone didn’t think through?

Or maybe he was just looking for ways that this wasn’t his fault.

He’d approved the Valentine’s promotion in the first place. And the cheesy ‘does your man just need a shove?’ angle. But EROS’ listeners were—on the whole—a fairly cheesy bunch so it had been one of their most successful promotions.

Which had made the lift ride all the more painful.

Something about her pale, wide-eyed courtesy. Even as her heart ruptured quietly in its cavity.

Thank you.

She’d said it four times in half the minutes. As though he were a guy just helping her out instead of the guy that put her in that position in the first place. It was his contract she’d signed. It was his station’s promotion she’d put her hand up for.

Her life was now in shreds around her feet but still she thanked him.

That was one well-brought-up young woman. Youngish; he had to have at least fifteen years on her, though it was hard to know. He reached for his dash and activated the voice automation.

‘Call the office,’ he told his car.

It listened. ‘EROS, Home of Great Music, Mr Rush’s office. This is Casey, can I help you?’

Christ, he really had to have their company-wide phone greeting shortened.

‘It’s me,’ he announced to his empty vehicle. ‘I need you to pull up the contract with the Valentine’s girl.’

‘Just a tick,’ his assistant murmured, not taking offence at his lack of acknowledgement. She knew life was too short for pleasantries. ‘OK, got it. What do you need, Zander?’

‘Age?’

Her silence said she was scanning the document. ‘Twenty-eight.’

OK, so he had nine years on her. And her skin was amazing, then. He would have said twenty-two or -three, max. ‘Duration of contract?’

Again a brief pause. ‘Twelve months. To conclude with a follow-up next February fourteenth.’

Twelve months of their lives. That was supposed to include engagement party, fully paid wedding, honeymoon. All on EROS. That was the fifty-thousand-pound carrot. Why else would anyone want to make the most private, special moment of their lives so incredibly public?

The carrot was cheap in international broadcast terms, for the kind of global exposure he suspected this promo would get. Even more so now, given it had probably already gone viral. Exposure brought listeners, listeners brought advertisers, and advertisers brought revenue.

Except that follow-up twelve months from now wasn’t going to make great radio. At all. His mind went straight to the weakest link.

‘Casey, can you send that contract to my phone and then call Rod’s assistant and let her know I’m about half an hour away?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He rang off without a farewell. Life was too short for that as well.

A year was a long time to manufacture content, but if they played their cards right they could salvage something that would last longer than just the next few days. Really make that fifty thousand pounds work for them. He still expected EROS to directly benefit from the viral exposure—maybe even more now—but that contract locked them in for the next year as much as her.

A black cab cut in close to his bonnet and he gave voice to his frustration—his guilt—finally leaning on the horn the way he’d been wanting to for twenty minutes.

He spent the second half of his drive across town formulating a plan. So much so that when he walked into his network’s headquarters he had it all figured out. A way forward. A way to salvage something of today’s mess.

‘Zander...’ Rod’s assistant caught his ear as he breezed past into her boss’s office. He paused, turned. ‘He has Nigel in there.’

Nigel Westerly. Network owner. That wasn’t a good sign. ‘Thanks, Claire.’

Suddenly even his salvage plan looked shaky. Nigel Westerly hadn’t amassed one of the country’s biggest fortunes by being easily led. He was tough. And ruthless.

Zander straightened his back.

Oh, well, if he had to be fired, he’d rather it be by one of the men he admired most in England. He certainly wasn’t going to quail and wonder when the axe was going to fall. He pushed open the double doors to his director’s office with flair and announced himself.

‘Gentlemen...’

TWO

Thank goodness for seeds. And quiet lab rooms. And high-security access passes.

Georgia’s whole National Trust building was so light and bright and...optimistic. None of which she could stomach right now. Her little X-ray lab had adjustable lighting so it was dim and gloomy and could look as if she were out even when she wasn’t.

Perfect.

She’d called in sick the day after Valentine’s—unable to crawl out of bed was a kind of sick, right?—but she’d gone tiptoeing back to work, her Thursday and Friday an awful trial in carefully neutral smiles and colleagues avoiding eye contact and a very necessary and very belated inter-departmental email to Kew’s carnivorous-plant department.

It was also very short.

I’m so very sorry, Daniel. I’ll miss you.

She knew they were done. Even if Dan hadn’t concurred—which he had, once he’d cooled down enough to speak to her—she couldn’t spend another moment in a relationship that just drifted in small, endless circles. Not after what she’d done. Conveniently, it also meant she didn’t have to explain herself, explain something she barely understood—at least not for a while. And she was nothing if not a master procrastinator. She’d see Dan eventually, apologise in person, pick up her few things from his place. But this way they were both out of their misery.

Relationship euthanasia.

You know, except for the whole intensive public interest thing...

And now it was Saturday afternoon. And work was as good a place as any to hide out from all those messages and emails from astounded friends and family. Better, probably, because there were so few staff here with her and because she worked alone in her little X-ray lab behind two levels of carded access restrictions. The world wasn’t exactly interested enough in her botched proposal to have teams of paparazzi on her trail but it was certainly interested enough to still be talking about it—everywhere—a few days later. She didn’t dare check her social media accounts or listen to the radio or pick up a paper in case The Valentine’s Girl was still the topic de jour.

London was divided. Grand Final kind of division. Half the city had taken up arms in her defence and the other half were backing poor, beleaguered Dan. Hard to know which was worse: the flak he was copping for being the rejector or the abject pity she was fielding for being the rejectee.

Didn’t she know what a stupid thing it was to have done? some said.

Yes, thanks. She had a pretty good idea. But it wasn’t as if she just woke up one morning and wanted her face all over the papers. She’d thought he’d say yes, or she wouldn’t have asked. It just turned out her inside information was about as reliable as a racing tip from some random bag lady in an alleyway.

Why do it live on air? her detractors cried.

Because she woke up the morning after Kelly’s stunning pronouncement that her brother was ready for more and the ‘Give him a Nudge’ leap year promotion was all over the radio station she brushed her teeth to. And rode to work to. And did her work to. All day. The universe was practically screaming at her to throw her name into the hat.

She rubbed her throbbing temples.

Their names.

Dan was in it up to his neck, too, but because she wasn’t about to out her best friend—for Dan’s sake and for his sister’s—she was still struggling with exactly what her answer would be when he eventually turned those all-seeing eyes to her and asked, ‘Why, George?’

She loaded another dish of carefully laid-out seeds into the holder and slid it into the irradiator, then secured it and moved to her computer monitor to start the X-ray. It took just moments to get a clear image. Not a bad batch; a few incompetents, like all batches, but otherwise a pretty good sample.

She typed a quick summary report of her findings, noted the low unviable percentage, and attached it to the computerised sample scan to go back to the seed checkers.

Incompetents. It was hard not to empathise with them, the pods that had rotten-out interiors or the husks that formed absent of the seeds they were supposed to protect. Incompetent seeds disappeared amongst the thousands of others on the plant and just never came to fruition. Their very specific genetic line simply...vanished when they failed to reproduce.

In nature, that was the end of it for them.

Incompetent seeds didn’t have to justify themselves and their failure to thrive constantly to their competent mothers. Didn’t have to watch their competent friends’ competent families take shape and help them move out to their competent outer-city suburbs.

‘Ugh...’ Georgia retrieved the small sample from the irradiator, repackaged it to quarantine standards and placed it back in its storage unit. Then she reached for the next one.

Twenty-five-thousand seed species in the bank and someone had to test samples of each for viability. Lucky for the National Trust she had weeks and even months of hiding out ahead of her. Looked as if they were going to be the immediate beneficiaries of her weekends and evenings in exile.

Across the desk, her phone rang.

‘Georgia Stone,’ she answered, before remembering what day it was. Why was someone calling her on a weekend?

‘Ms Stone, it’s Tyrone at Security. I have a visitor here for you.’

No. He really didn’t. ‘I’m not expecting anyone. I would have left a name.’

‘That’s what I told him, but he insisted.’

Him. Was it Daniel? Immediately, new guilt piled on top of the old that she’d not been brave enough to face him personally yet. ‘Wh...who is it?’ she risked.

Pause.

‘Alekzander Rush. With a K and a Z, he says.’

As if that helped her in the slightest; although some neuron deep in her mind started firing.

‘Now he says he’s not a journalist.’ Tyrone sounded annoyed at being forced into the role of interpreter. His job was just to check the ID of visitors passing through his station, not deal with presumptuous callers.

‘OK, send him through. I’ll meet him in the visitor centre. Thank you, Tyrone,’ she added before he disconnected.

It took her about seven minutes to finish what she was doing, sanitise, and work her way through three buildings to the public visitor centre. It was teeming with weekend visitors to Wakehurst all checking out the work of her department while they were here seeing the main house and gardens.

She glanced around and saw him. Tall, dark, and casually but warmly dressed, with something draped over his arm. The guy from the elevator at the radio station. Possibly the last person in the world she expected to see. Relief that he wasn’t some crazy out to find The Valentine’s Girl crashed into curiosity about why he would be here. She ignored two speculative glances sent her way by total strangers. Probably trying to work out why she looked familiar. Hopefully, she’d be back in her office by the time the light bulb blinked on over their heads and they remembered whatever social media site they’d seen her on.

She walked up next to him as he stared into one of the public displays reading the labels and spoke quietly. ‘Alekzander with a K and a Z, I assume?’

He turned. His eyes widened as he took in her labcoat and jeans. That was OK; he looked pretty different without his pinstripe on, too.

‘Zander,’ he said, thrusting his free hand forward. She took it on instinct; it was warm and strong and certain. Everything hers wasn’t. ‘Zander Rush. Station Manager for Radio EROS.’

Oh. That wasn’t good.

He lifted his arm with something familiar and beige draped across it. ‘You left your coat in the studio.’

The manager of one of London’s top radio stations drove fifty kilometres to bring her a coat? No way.

‘I considered that a small price to pay for getting the heck out of there,’ she hedged. She hadn’t really let herself think about the signed document on radio network letterhead sitting on her desk at home, but she was thinking about it now. And, she guessed, so was he.

The couple standing nearby suddenly twigged as to who she was. Their eyes lit up with recognition and the girl turned to the man and whispered.

Zander didn’t miss it. ‘Is there somewhere more private we can speak?’

‘You have more to say?’ It was worth a try.

His eyes shot around the room. ‘I do. It won’t take long.’

‘This is a secure building. I can’t take you inside. Let’s walk.’

Conveniently, she had a coat. She shrugged into it and caught him as he was about to head back out through the giant open doors of the visitor centre.

‘Back door,’ she simply said.

Her ID opened the secure rear entrance and deposited them just a brisk walk from Bethlehem Wood. About as private as they were going to get out here on a Saturday. It got weekend traffic, too, but nothing like the rest of Wakehurst. Anyone else might have worried about setting off into a secluded wood with a stranger, but all Georgia could see was the strong, steady shape of his back as he’d sheltered her from prying eyes back in the elevator as her world imploded.

He wasn’t here to hurt her.

‘How did you find me?’ she asked.

‘Your work number was amongst the other contacts on our files. I called yesterday and realised where it was.’

‘You were taking a chance, coming here on a Saturday.’

‘I went to your apartment, first. You weren’t there.’

So he drove all this way on a chance? He was certainly going to a lot of trouble to find her. ‘A phone call wouldn’t suffice?’

‘I’ve left three messages.’

Oh.

‘Yes, I...’ What could she say that wouldn’t sound pathetic? Nothing. ‘I’m working my way up to my phone messages.’

He grunted. ‘I figured the personal approach would serve me better.’

Maybe so; she was here, wasn’t she? But her patience wasn’t good at the best of times. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Rush?’

‘Zander.’ He glanced at her sideways. Then, ‘How are you doing, anyway?’

What a question. Rejected. Humiliated. Talked about by eight million strangers. ‘I’m great. Never been better.’

His neat five o’clock shadow twisted with his lips. ‘That’s the spirit.’

Well, wasn’t this nice? A walk in the forest with a total stranger, making small talk. Her feet pressed to a halt. ‘I’m so sorry to be blunt, Mr Rush, but what do you want?’

He stopped and stared down at her, his eyes creasing. ‘That’s you being blunt?’

She shifted uncomfortably. But stayed silent. Silence was her friend.

‘OK, let me get to the point...’ He started off again. ‘I’m here in an official capacity. There is a contract issue to discuss.’

She knew it.

‘He said no, Mr Rush. That makes the contract rather hard to fulfil, don’t you think? For both of us.’ She hated how raw her voice sounded.

‘I understand—’

‘Do you? How many different ways do you hear your personal business being discussed each day? On social media, on the radio, on the bus, at the sandwich shop? I can’t get away from it.’

‘Have you thought about using it, rather than avoiding it?’

Was he serious? ‘I don’t want to use it.’

‘You were happy enough to use it for an all-expenses-paid wedding.’

Of course that was what he thought. In some ways she’d prefer people thought she was doing it for the money. That was at least less pathetic than the truth. ‘You’re here for your pound of flesh—I get that. Why not just tell me what you want me to do?’

Not that she would automatically be saying yes. But it bought her time to think.

Grey eyes slid sideways as his gloveless hands slid into his pockets. ‘I have a proposition for you. A way of addressing the contract. One that will be...mutually beneficial.’

‘Does it involve a time machine so that I can go back a month and never sign the stupid thing?’

Never give in to her mother’s pressure. Or her own desperate need for security.

His head dropped. ‘No. It doesn’t change the past. But it could change your future.’

She lifted her curiosity to him. ‘What?’

He paused at an ornate timber bench and waited for her to sit. Old-school gallantry. Even Dan didn’t do old school.

She sat. Curious.

‘The media is hot for your story, Georgia. Your...situation has sparked something in them.’

‘My rejection, you mean?’

He tilted his head. ‘They’ll be interested in everything you do. And if they’re interested, then London will be interested. And if London is interested, then my network will want to exploit the existing contract however they can.’

Exploit? He was happy to use that word aloud? She tried not to let her surprise show.

‘Georgia, under its terms they could still require you to come back for follow-up interviews.’

Her stomach crimped. ‘To talk about how very much I’m not getting married? How I suddenly find myself alone with half my friends siding with my ex?’ And the other half so determinedly not talking about it. ‘Not exactly perky radio content.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s what they could ask. But I have a better idea. So that the benefit is not all one-way.’

She waited silently for his explanation. Mostly because she had no idea what to say.

‘If you agree to seeing the year out, EROS is willing to redirect the funds from the engagement, wedding, and honeymoon to a different project. One that you might even enjoy.’

She frowned. ‘What kind of project?’

He took a breath. ‘Our listeners have connected with you—’

‘You mean your listeners feel sorry for me.’ Pity everywhere she looked.

‘—and they want to see you bounce back from this disappointment. They want to follow you on your journey.’

She ignored that awful thought and glared at him. ‘Really? You see into each of their hearts?’

His scoff vibrated through his whole body. ‘We spend four million pounds a year on market research. We know how many sugars they each have in their coffee. Trust me. They want to know. You’re like...them...to them.’

‘And how is me working through my weekends in a lab going to make good radio? Because that’s how I planned to get through this next year. Low profile and lots of work.’

‘I’m asking you to flip that on its head. High profile and getting back out into the sunshine. Show them how you’re bouncing back.’

Honesty made her ask in a tiny voice, ‘What if I don’t—bounce back? What then?’

Something flooded his eyes. Was it...compassion? ‘We plan to keep you so busy you won’t have time to wallow.’

Wallow? Anger rushed up and billowed under her coat. But she didn’t let it out. Not directly. ‘Busy with what?’ she gritted.

‘Makeovers. New clothes. Access to all the top clubs... You name it, we’ll arrange it. EROS is making it our personal business to get you back on your feet. Total reinvention. And on your way to meeting Mr Right.’

She stared at him, aghast. ‘Mr Right?’

‘This is an opportunity to reinvent yourself and to find a new man to love.’

She just stared. There were no words.

It was only then he seemed to hesitate. ‘I know it feels soon.’

She blinked.

He frowned. Scowled. ‘OK, I can see that you’re not understanding—’

‘I understand perfectly well. But I refuse. I have no interest in reinvention.’ That wasn’t entirely true—she’d often dreamed about the sorts of things she might have done if she’d grown up with money—but she certainly had no interest in a manufactured man-hunt.

‘Why not?’

‘Because there’s nothing wrong with me, for a start.’ Hmm...defensive much? ‘I’m not in a hurry to have you tally up my apparently numerous deficiencies and broadcast them to the world.’

He stared at her. ‘You’re not deficient, Georgia. That’s not the point of this.’

‘Really? What is the point? Other than to tell women everywhere that being yourself is not sufficient to catch a good man.’

Something her gran had raised her never to believe. Something that was starting to look dangerously possible.

‘OK, look... The point of this is ratings. That’s all the network cares about. This promotion was mine and it went arse-up and so it’s my mess to tidy. I just thought that we could spin it so that you can get something decent out of it. Something meaningful.’ Sincerity blazed warm and intense from his eyes. ‘This is an opportunity, Georgia. Fully paid. To do anything you want. For a year.’

She couldn’t even be offended at having her life so summarily dismissed. Arse-up was a pretty apt description. She sighed. ‘Why would you even care? I’m nobody to you.’

He glanced away. When he came back to her his eyes were carefully schooled. ‘I feel a certain amount of responsibility. It was my promotion that ended your relationship. The least I can do is help you build a new one.’

‘I ended my relationship,’ she pressed. ‘My decisions. I’m not looking to shift blame.’

‘And so...?’

‘I don’t want to find someone to replace Dan. He wasn’t just someone I picked up out of convenience.’ Though, to her everlasting shame, she realised that maybe he was. And she’d almost made him her husband.

‘So you’re just going to hide out here for the next twelve months?’

Yes.

‘No. I’m going to take a year off life to just get back to who I really am. To avoid men altogether and just remember what I liked about being by myself.’ The idea blew across her mind like the leaves on the gravel path ahead of them. But it felt very right. ‘It will be the year of Georgia.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘The year of Georgia?’

‘To please no one but me.’ To find herself again. And see how she felt about herself when left alone in a room with no one else to fill the space.

‘Well, then, think about how much you could do for yourself with a blank cheque behind you.’

It was a seductive image. All those things she’d always wanted to do—secretly—and never had the courage or the money to do. She could do them. At least some of them.

‘What would you do,’ he went on, sensing the shift in his fortune, ‘if money was no object?’

Build that time machine... ‘I don’t know. Self-improvement, learn a language, swim the English Channel?’

That got his attention. ‘The Channel, really?’

She shrugged. ‘Well, I’d have to learn how to swim first...’

Suddenly he was laughing. ‘The Year of Georgia. We could mix it up. Get a couple of experts to help us out with some ideas.’ Grey eyes blazed into hers. ‘Fifty thousand pounds, Georgia. All for you.’

She stared at him. For an age. ‘Actually, I really just want all of this to go away. Can fifty grand buy that?’

The compassion returned. It flickered across his eyes and then disappeared. ‘Not literally, but there’s an extra-special level of feeding-frenzy that the public reserves for those not wanting the attention. Maybe fronting up to it will be a way to help end it?’

That made some sense. There was a seedy kind of fervour to the interest of the English public specifically because she and Dan were both trying so hard to avoid it. Maybe it tapped into the ancient predator parts of mankind, as if they were scenting a kill.

‘You were willing to sell us your marriage before,’ he summed up. ‘Why not sell us your recovery? How is it different?’

‘Sharing the happiest time of my life with the world would have been infinitely different.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that what you thought? That marrying him would make you happy?’

‘Of course.’ But then she stumbled. ‘Happier. You know, still happy.’

It sounded lame even to her own ears.

‘Clearly Bradford thought otherwise.’ Then he took a breath. ‘Why did you ask him if you weren’t certain of his answer?’

Her brow folded. ‘Because we’d been together for a year.’

‘A year in which he thought you were both just enjoying each other’s company.’

For a moment she’d forgotten—again—how very public her proposal was. And Dan’s decline. Three million listeners had heard every excruciating word. She hid her shame by dropping her gaze to the path ahead of them.

‘So...what? His twelve-month expiry date was approaching?’

She lifted her eyes again. ‘It was your promotion, Mr Rush. “Give him a leap year nudge,” you said in all your advertising.’

His eyes flicked away briefly. ‘We didn’t imagine anyone would take us literally.’

She stared at him as a small cluster of walkers passed by. Her friend’s illness was none of his business. Nor was Kelly’s eagerness to see a happy ever after for two people she loved. ‘I misunderstood something someone close to him said,’ she murmured.

Actually her mistake was in hearing what she wanted to hear. And letting her mother’s expectations get to her. Her desperate desire to fill the void in her life with grandchildren. And then she’d awoken to EROS’ promotion and decided it was some kind of sign.

And when she’d been shortlisted and then selected...well...

Clearly it was meant to be.

And exactly none of those was even close to being a good excuse.

‘I accept full responsibility for my mistake, Mr Rush—’

‘Zander.’

‘—and I’ll need to seek some legal advice before answering you about the contract.’

‘Of course.’ He fished a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘You’d be foolish not to.’

Which was a polite, corporate way of suggesting she’d been pretty foolish already.

It was hard to argue.

* * *

‘I think you should do it,’ Kelly said, distracted enough that Georgia could well imagine her stirring a pot full of alphabet spaghetti in one hand, ironing a small school uniform with the other, and with the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder.

A normal day in her household.

‘I thought for sure you’d tell me where he could stick his offer,’ she said.

Kelly laughed. ‘If not for those magic words...’

Fifty thousand pounds.

‘You say magic words and I hear magic beans. I think this has the potential to grow into something really all-consuming.’

‘So? Did you have any other plans for the next twelve months?’

The fact it was true—and that Kelly didn’t mean to be unkind—didn’t stop it hurting all the same. No, she had no particular plans that twelve months of fully paid stuff would interrupt. Which was a bit sad.

‘George, listen. I don’t want to bore you again with my life-is-for-the-living speech, but I would take this in a heartbeat if someone offered it to me.’

‘Why? There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t need reinvention.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you. This doesn’t have to be about that. This is an opportunity to do all the things you’ve put aside your whole life while you’ve been working and saving so hard. To live a little.’

‘You know why I work as hard as I do.’

‘I know. The whole “as God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again” thing. But you are not your mother, George. You are more financially secure than most people your age. Isn’t there any room in your grand plan for some fun?’

She blinked, wounded both by Kelly’s too-accurate summation of her entire life’s purpose and by the implication of her words. ‘I’m fun.’

Kelly’s gentle laugh only scored deeper. ‘Oh, love. No, you’re not. You’re amazing and smart and very interesting to be around, but you’re about as much fun as Dan is. That’s what made you two so—’

Kelly sucked her careless words back in. ‘What I’m saying is, you have nothing to lose. Take this man’s fifty grand and spoil yourself. Consider it a consolation prize for not getting to marry my stupid brother.’

‘He’s not stupid, Kel,’ she whispered. ‘He just doesn’t love me.’

In the silence that followed, two little boys shrieked and carried on in the background. ‘Well, I love you, George, and as your friend I’m telling you to take the money and run. You won’t get a chance like this again.’

Kelly dragged her mouth away from the phone but not well enough to save Georgia’s ears as she bellowed at one of her boys. ‘Cal, enough!’ She came back to their conversation. ‘I’m going to have to go. World War Three is erupting. Let me know what you decide.’

Moments later, Georgia thumbed the disconnect button on her mobile and dropped it onto her plump sofa.

No surprises there, really. Of course Kelly would take the money. And the opportunity. She’d come so close to being robbed of life—and her boys of a mother—she was fully in marrow-sucking mode. And she was right—there really was nothing else going on in Georgia’s life that a bunch of new activities would interrupt.

Her objections lay, not with the time commitment, but with the implication that she was broken. Deficient.

About as much fun as Dan. Did Kelly know what an indictment that really was? Mr Serious?

So that was three for three in favour. Kelly and her gran both thought it would be good for her and her mother...well, what else would a woman incapable of managing her money or her impulses say?

Which was part of the problem. Truth be told, Georgia had nothing against the idea of a bit of self-development of the social kind. She wanted to be a well-rounded person and maybe she had gone a bit too hard down the other path these past years. But the pitch of her mother’s excited squeal was directly and strikingly proportional to her level of discomfort at the idea of frittering away fifty thousand perfectly good pounds—no matter how free—on meaningless, fluffy activity.

Her mother would have spent it in a week. Just as she spent every penny they ever had. They’d bounced through seven public houses before her gran called a halt and took a thirteen-year-old Georgia in with her.

And then it would be gone, with nothing to show for it but a fuller wardrobe, a liver in need of detox and a sleep debt the size of Wales.

She stretched out and pulled the well-thumbed EROS contract into her lap. It had her lawyer’s recommendation paper-clipped to the front.

Sign, he said. And attached his invoice.

So that was four for four. Five if you counted the handsome and persuasive Zander Rush.

And only one against.

THREE

March

Zander’s assistant made an appointment right at the end of his day for her to sign the contract and so walking back into EROS was only half as intimidating as it might have been if it were full of staff.

An oblivious night-guard had just sat down at Reception instead of the two gossipy girls she’d met there the first time she visited, and most of the workstations in the communal area were closed down for the evening. Georgia clutched a printout of Zander’s new contract in her hand and quietly trailed his assistant past the handful of people still beavering away at their desks. Most of them didn’t raise their heads.

Maybe she was yesterday’s news already.

Or maybe public interest had just swung around to Dan, instead, now that the calendar had flipped over to March. Drop Dead Dan. Apparently, he was fielding a heap of interest from the women’s magazines and the tabloids, all determined to find him a match more acceptable than she. More worthy. London now thought he was too good for her. Not that he’d put it like that—or ever would have—but she could read between the lines. She didn’t dare read the actual lines.

She shifted in her seat outside Zander’s office.

Behind the frosted-glass doors, an elevated voice protested strenuously. There was a low murmur where the shouted response should have been and then a final, higher-pitch burst. Moments later one of the two doors flung open and a man emerged—flushed, rushed—and stormed past her. He glanced her way.

‘A lamb to the bloody slaughter,’ he murmured, a bit too loud to have been accidental, before storming down the corridor and into one of the studios off to one side. She followed his entire progress.

‘Georgia.’ A smooth voice dragged her focus back to the doors.

She straightened, stood. Reached out her hand. The tiniest of frowns crossed Zander’s face before he enclosed her hand in his and shook it. His fingers were as warm and lingering as last time. And still pleasingly firm. ‘I was beginning to think we’d never see you again.’

‘I had to think it over.’ And over. Looking for any reasonable way out. And avoiding the whole thing, really.

‘And?’

She sighed. ‘And here I am.’

He stood back and signalled at his assistant, who was politely keeping her eyes averted, but not so much that she didn’t immediately decode and acknowledge his signal. Did that little finger-twiddle mean, Hold my calls? Bring us coffee? Or maybe, If she’s not out in five minutes interrupt me with something fake but important.

Perhaps the latter if the furrows above his brow were any indication. He didn’t look all that pleased to see her. So maybe she really had taken too long with the contract.

‘I needed to be sure I understood what you were asking.’ Ugh, way too defensive.

His eyes finally found hers and they didn’t carry a hint of judgement. ‘And do you?’

She waved the sheaf of papers. ‘All signed.’

A disproportional amount of relief washed across his face. He sat back in his expensive chair.

She tipped her head. ‘You weren’t expecting that?’ She hated the thought that maybe there’d been more room for negotiation after all. She hated being played.

‘I’ve learned never to try and anticipate the actions of people.’ His eyes drifted to the door where the man had just stormed out.

‘I had one question...’

The relief vanished and was replaced by speculation. ‘Sure.’

‘It’s about the interviews. Is that really necessary? It seems very formal.’

‘We just need an idea of who you are, so we know what we’re starting with.’

‘By filling out a questionnaire? I thought maybe if I had coffee with your assistant, told her a bit about myself—’

‘Not Casey. She’s not subjective enough.’

‘Because she’s a woman?’

‘Because she’s a card-carrying member of Team Georgia.’

Oh. How nice to have at least one person in her corner.

‘Unless you were angling for a free lunch?’

She glared at him. ‘Yes. Because all of this would be totally worth it if only I could get a free bowl of soup out of you.’

His scowl moderated into a half-smile.

‘What about one of your other minions,’ she tried.

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Minions?’

‘You have an assistant to do your bidding. And that man leaving just now didn’t look like a man who enjoyed fair and equal status in his workplace.’

His frown deepened. ‘I don’t have minions. I do have staff.’

‘Then any one of your staff.’

He studied her across the desk. ‘No. Not one of my staff.’

She sighed. ‘I’d really rather not do a questionnaire, Zander. It’s too impersonal.’ And a little bit insulting. As though a computer could tell her what was missing in her life when she was still struggling to work that out.

‘Not one of my staff and not a form.’

‘Then what?’

‘Me.’

‘You what?’

‘I’ll interview you.’ He reached for a pen.

‘N-now?’ she stammered.

The half-smile graduated. ‘No. I’m just making a couple of notes for Casey for tomorrow.’

She swivelled in her chair. ‘She’s gone?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘I thought you... Didn’t you signal for her to do something for you just now?’

‘Yes, I told her to go home. Just because I keep long hours doesn’t mean she has to. She’s got a young family to get home to.’

So they were...alone? Why on earth did that make her pulse spike? Just once. She’d walked in a secluded wood with him. Being alone in an office wasn’t all that scandalous. Except that it was his office, full of his comfy, oversized furniture and all of a sudden she felt a lot like an outclassed Goldilocks.

She pushed half out of her chair. ‘I should go.’

‘What about the interview? I thought we could go and grab a drink, talk. I can get what I need.’

For a bright woman, an astonishing amount of nothing filled her head just then. He prowled to the front of his desk and stood by her chair so that she had no choice but to stand and let him shepherd her out of his office.

‘The contract...’ she breathed.

He relieved her of the pages, flicked to the back one and signed it, unread. She pressed her lips together. ‘I should have gifted myself a luxury car in small print.’

His lips parted, revealing smooth, white, even teeth. ‘Where would you drive a luxury car?’

‘You never know. Maybe that’s something I’d like to get experience with—I’ve never driven anything flashier than a Vauxhall.’

His eyes softened as they alighted on her. Then he reached deep into his trouser pocket and tossed her a bundle of keys. They were still warm from his body heat. Toasty warm. She lifted her eyes to his.

‘Never too early to get started. Consider this the first Year of Georgia activity. Driving a luxury car.’

‘Not your Jag?’ she gasped.

‘Not flashy enough for you?’

Excitement tangled with dread. ‘What if I scratch it? Or dent it?’ Or drive it into the Thames in her excitement?

‘You strike me as a careful driver.’

He ushered her out of the door, keys still lying limp and unwelcome on her palm. She closed her fingers around them.

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘I have outstanding insurance.’

* * *

Why would you even care?

Her words had haunted him ever since she’d uttered them, wide-eyed and confused, when he’d first hit her with his counter-proposal. He did care—very much—on a personal level that even he barely understood, so he’d been shoving the echo of her words way down deep every time it bubbled to the surface.

Rod and Nigel were already celebrating a ratings coup—even bad PR was good PR in the communications industry—but they’d left the details of what the coming year would entail up to him. As long as Zander got her on board, that was all they cared about. Locking down the contract and making the best use of the publicity windfall.

This desperate attempt to make sure she got something back for her troubles, that was all him. It just didn’t seem right to screw a girl at the most vulnerable moment of her life.

And he knew all about that moment. He’d lived it. He knew how it shaped his life.

It was stupid; he could hardly say that he’d bonded with Georgia the moment he decided to shield her from the prying eyes waiting in Reception. Back in the elevator. But he had. She’d lingered somewhere in the back of his mind from the moment she’d fallen so gratefully on the gesture, and then she’d popped up, unsolicited, when he wasn’t armed.

In the middle of important meetings.

Late at night.

Out on the roads as he thudded one foot in front of the other.

‘You seem to be dealing with this quite well,’ he murmured as the waiter topped up both their glasses in his favourite Hampstead bar. ‘Given how you felt about the whole idea last time we met.’

She took a long, steady breath. ‘It seems I’m the only one of a longish list of people who doesn’t think there’s room for improvement with Georgia Version-Two.’

‘Give yourself some credit,’ he murmured, saluting her with his glass before taking a sip. ‘You’re more together than you think.’

‘Based on what?’

‘My observations.’

‘During one quick walk in the woods?’

‘I’m paid to pay attention to first impressions.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘The elevator?’

‘That was a tough few minutes for you and you handled them well.’

She snorted. ‘Weeping while your back was turned?’

He smiled. ‘How someone reacts under extreme pressure tells you a lot about them. You were unfailingly courteous even as you were dying inside.’

Uncertainty flooded her dark eyes. ‘You saw that?’

‘But you didn’t let it have you. You stayed in control.’

‘You didn’t see what happened to me once I got home,’ she murmured.

He chuckled. ‘I said you were strong, not a machine.’

He glanced down to her twisting fingers. Elegant, sensibly manicured hands. He wondered how much else Georgia Stone was sensible about. And what secret things she wasn’t.

And he shut that curiosity down as fast as it came.

‘So. Have you given any thought to the kinds of things you might like to do with the Year of Georgia?’

‘No.’

A lie, for sure. She was human. Who wouldn’t start thinking about how to spend that kind of money?

‘Top restaurants? Boats? A-list parties? A taste of how the other half live.’

She shrugged. ‘I can see how they live. It doesn’t interest me, particularly.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s...frivolous.’

Wow. ‘That’s rather judgemental, don’t you think?’

She leaned forward. ‘More cars than one person can drive and glamorous houses and wardrobes bulging with unworn clothes?’

‘Where’d you get that impression? Television?’ She frowned. ‘I have more cars than I can drive at once. A nice house and enough suits for two weeks without laundering.’ As he knew from experience. ‘But I wouldn’t call myself frivolous. Maybe there’s more to it than you imagine.’

And he wouldn’t flatter himself that this was about him. This was an older prejudice at work.

She dropped her eyes briefly. ‘Perhaps. But I’m still not interested enough to try. I like my own world.’

‘Science and beautiful gardens? What else?’

She stared him down. ‘Classical music. Rowing. Old movies. History.’

He blew out a breath. One part of him sighed at the image of a life filled with those things. Quiet, solitary, gentle things. But the station manager in him baulked. ‘Getting our listeners excited about rowing and classical music is going to be a hard sell.’ Along with the rest.

She sat up straighter. ‘Not my problem.’

The first real emotion she’d shown him. Shame it was offence. ‘It kind of is, Georgia. You have a signed contract to honour. We need to find a way forward in this.’

Her astute eyes pinned him. ‘As long as it also works for your listeners?’

‘There must be things that they’ll enjoy that you will, too.’

She stared at him. ‘I won’t do it if it’s portrayed as me trying to find a man. Or to improve myself enough to find one.’

‘Just the Year of Georgia, then. The Valentine’s Girl getting back on her feet. You really cared for Daniel, our listeners will buy that.’ God... Could he hear himself? He sounded just like Rod. Always an angle. Always a carrot. ‘We’ll assign someone from the station to—’

‘No. I don’t want one of them with me.’

‘One of who?’

‘One of the people who were there for the proposal. I don’t want them coming with me.’

She didn’t trust them. And he understood why. Though what she didn’t understand was that the whole sodding mess was his fault. Not theirs.

‘OK, I’ll hire someone esp—’

‘No strangers, either.’ Her face pinched in several places.

‘Georgia, if I can’t use one of my team and I can’t hire someone, who am I going to get to do it?’

‘You do it. I know you.’

His laugh was as loud as it was immediate. ‘Do you know what I get paid an hour?’

‘Too much to actually get paid by the hour, I’m sure. But that is my condition.’ She did her best to look adamant. Even that was moderated by a faintly apologetic sheen to her steady gaze. ‘Take it or leave it.’

She had no idea how to negotiate. The innocence was insanely refreshing. ‘You’ve already signed the contract,’ he pointed out gently.

But even as the words came out of his mouth his brain ticked over, furiously. His assistant would jump at the chance for some extra responsibility, so he could offload some lower-end tasks to Casey. And if this was what it would take to get Georgia fully on board...

But he held his assent back, in case it had more power a few moments later.

His entire life was about holding things back until they had the most advantage.

‘My days are packed out from dawn until dusk.’

Georgia shrugged. ‘I have a job, too, so they’re going to be evening and weekend things anyway, I imagine.’

It was hard not to admire her for sticking to her guns. Not too many people made a habit of saying no to him these days. He had them all too scared.

‘I have things I like to do on my weekends,’ he argued. But not very convincingly. Hard-to-get was all part of the game.

One dark, well-shaped eyebrow lifted. ‘How badly do you want these ratings?’

A stain of colour came to her cheeks. Either she was shocked at her own audacity or she was enjoying giving him some stick. He used the time she thought he was thinking about her offer to study her features instead. She had a right-hand-side dimple that totally belied the determination of those set lips, and she had a chin built for protesting.

That was probably long enough. He hissed as if he hadn’t made his decision sixty seconds ago. ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’

Her triumph was so brief. It only took her a heartbeat to realise that his commitment had fully sealed hers. And her next twelve months.

‘One more condition,’ she hurried as a pair of drink menus arrived. It was his turn to lift a brow. ‘No one mentions Dan. No one. You will leave him completely alone.’

Loyalty blazed from her chocolate eyes.

Somewhere down deep where constancy used to live in him, he admired her for continuing to protect the man she’d injured. A man she still cared for even though he’d also hurt her horribly. It said she might have been impetuous and naïve but she was faithful. And that was a rare commodity in his world. Her hurt and anger were very clearly directed at herself. In fact, the most notable thing about her manner was the absence of the flat, lifeless lack of interest that he associated so closely with heartbreak—and knew so intimately.

He wondered if she’d even realised yet that her heart wasn’t broken.

‘OK, Daniel is out of it.’

‘And get the media to lay off him.’

He snorted. Whoever taught Georgia about manners forgot to teach her about pushing her luck. ‘No one can halt that train now that it’s moving, Georgia. I can promise EROS won’t use him, but there’s nothing I can do about him being London’s most wanted. He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.’

Besides, judging by what he heard on the broadcast, Daniel Bradford could look after himself.

He leaned forward and locked his eyes on hers. ‘You’ve played this well—’ for a civilian ‘—but I’ve bent about as far as I’m going to go. I’ll have an amendment to the contract drawn up and ready for your signature next week.’

She nodded and sank back in her side of the booth.

‘How about some dinner?’

She just blinked at him.

‘You do eat dinner?’

‘Um, yes. Though not usually out. Except for special occasions.’

She truly hadn’t begun to imagine ways of spending her huge windfall? He tried one last time to prove that she was like everyone else. ‘Don’t tell me you’re another mad-keen home chef?’

Her laugh was automatic. ‘No, definitely not.’

‘You don’t cook?’

‘I prepare food. But it’s not really cooking. The latest in a number of reasons it was probably just as well Dan declined my proposal.’

She certainly was taking her failed marriage-bid a hell of a lot better than he’d taken his. Did that say more about her or Bradford?

Or him?

He fired up his tablet and tapped a few keys. ‘I think we just found your first official Year of Georgia idea.’

‘Eating out in every restaurant in London?’

‘Culinary school.’ He chuckled.

She stared. ‘I hated home economics at school. What makes you think I’ll enjoy it now?’

‘Half the women on my staff are right into those social cooking classes. Wine, conversation, cooking techniques from the experts. The sessions must have something going for them.’

Her lips tightened. ‘I’m not sure I’d want to go where your staff—’

‘God, no.’ He pushed his chair back and stood. ‘That’s the last thing I want, too.’

‘You?’

‘I’ll be coming along. Or have you changed your mind?’

Her delicate brows folded closer together. ‘It’s not me doing it for me if I’m doing it with you. The dynamic would be all wrong.’

Dynamic. That sounded almost credible. What was she really worried about?

‘I need to be there to record your progress, but...you have a point. We’ll do it together, but separate. Like we don’t know each other. I’ll just shadow you. Watch.’

A streak of colour ran up her jaw. ‘Won’t that be weird?’

He pushed his glass away and leaned in closer. ‘Georgia, I’m going to have a solution for any hurdle you put up. You’ve signed the contract. How about working with me on this instead of against?’

She sighed. Stared at him with those unreadable eyes. ‘OK. Sorry.’ She took a sip of white wine. ‘What did you have in mind?’

* * *

‘That’s a long list.’ Georgia stretched and read the upside-down sheet in front of Zander.

‘A year is a long time. But we don’t have to go with all of these. Plus things might come up along the way so we need to leave room for those. If you had to shortlist, which ones would you enjoy the most?’

He spun the paper around to her and passed her his fancy pen. She asterisked Wimbledon, cooking classes—which she agreed to because he’d indicated his listeners would love it, not because she actually wanted to know the difference between flambé and sauté—cocktail-making class, truffle-making, and a makeover. That last one because she got the sense he really thought it was important. She tugged her sensible shirt down further over her sensible trousers.

‘I really want to do this one.’ She circled one down near the bottom, taking a risk. It wasn’t what he’d be expecting at all. And unlike some of the others this one actually did interest and intrigue her.

‘Ice carving?’

‘How amazing would that be? Ooh, and this one...’ Another asterisk.

‘Spy school?’

She lifted excited eyes. ‘Can you imagine?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t need to imagine. I’m going to find out.’

She sipped her wine.

‘What about travel?’ he asked.

‘What about it?’

‘Not interested in the thought of a holiday?’

Flying to a whole other country seemed a lot to ask. Besides, she didn’t have a passport. Just the idea of applying for one got her blood thrumming.

‘Where could I go?’ she breathed.

His smile was almost indulgent. If it weren’t also so confused. Had he never met anyone whose gratification went so far beyond delayed it was non-existent?

‘Anywhere you want,’ he said.

As she holidayed in her apartment as a rule, anything further afield than Brighton just didn’t occur to her. ‘Where would be good for your listeners?’

Zander shrugged. ‘New York? Ibiza?’

Her breath caught... Ankara? She’d wanted to go to Turkey since seeing a documentary on its ancient history.

But no, that seemed too much. Fanciful. She wrote down Ibiza on the bottom of the list. That seemed like the kind of place EROS listeners would like to hear about. The party capital of Europe. Fast-pour bars and twenty-four-hour clubs and duelling dance arenas and swollen feet and ringing ears.

Oh, yay.

‘I might add some things, as we go along. Things that occur to me.’ Things she’d like to do but didn’t want Zander knowing about. Though of course they wouldn’t stay secret for long.

‘That’s fine. Just hook them up with Casey. I’ll just go where she sends me.’

‘That’s very accommodating of you. Compliance won’t do much for your reputation as a fearsome boss,’ she said.

One eye twitched. ‘I’m not fearsome; I just want them to think that I am.’

‘Why?’ That was no way to enjoy your work.

‘Because it gets things done. I’m not there to be their friend.’

She thought of her own boss. A whacky, brilliant man whom she absolutely adored. ‘You don’t think people would work just as hard with respect and admiration as their motivation?’

He lifted his gaze. ‘I’d like to think they respect me. I just don’t need them to like me.’

Or want them to? Something in his demeanour whispered that. But there wasn’t much else she could say about that without offending him. Besides, last time she checked he was the most successful person she knew. And she didn’t know him at all.

Silence fell. ‘What do you do on your weekends?’ she finally asked.

‘What?’

‘You said you had things to do on your weekend. What kinds of things?’

He regarded her steadily. ‘Weekend stuff.’

She lifted both her eyebrows.

‘I train.’ He frowned.

Lord. Blood from a stone! ‘For...?’

‘For events.’

She took a stab. ‘Showjumping? Clay shooting? Oh!’ She drained the last of her wine. ‘Ice dancing.’

A reluctant smile crept onto his face. ‘Endurance running. I compete in marathons.’

‘Truly?’

He chuckled. ‘Yes.’

‘What sort of distances?’

‘Forty or fifty kilometres. It depends.’

‘A weekend?’ Her half-shriek drew glances from around the noisy bar.

His lips twisted. ‘A day.’

A day! ‘Well, that explains the body—’

Horror sucked the words back in, but not fast enough. Oh, God! She quietly pushed her nearly empty glass far away from her.

‘I have to keep my fitness up, so I run every morning and I do long runs or hikes every weekend.’

‘Every weekend?’

‘Pretty much.’

Wow. ‘Just running. For hours on end?’

‘Or hard hiking. That’s why it’s called endurance.’

‘Sounds lonely.’ But also kind of...zen. Kind of what she did when she wandered deep into the dark heart of forests.

‘I don’t mind the solitude,’ he murmured.

‘Is that why you do it?’

His answer was fast. As if he’d defended himself on that point often. ‘I do it for the challenge. Because I can. And I do my best thinking out there.’

Fifty kilometres. That was a lot of thinking time.

‘Just...wow. I’m impressed.’

‘Don’t get too excited. In competition we can do that in under four hours.’

Georgia shook her head. ‘Put marathon running on the list.’

He looked up sharply. ‘You want to run a marathon?’

‘God, no. I have two left feet. But I’ve never seen one. I can just watch you. Help you train.’

Intense discomfort flooded his face.

Once again she’d managed to misread a man. This wasn’t a friendship. They weren’t bonding. This was a business arrangement with the sole purpose of tracking her activity. Why on earth would he want her around during his private time? He probably had a raft of friends actually of his choosing to hang out with—and many of them women.

‘I...uh...’

She’d stuffed up big enough to actually make a man stammer. World class.

‘You know what?’ she breezed, not feeling the slightest bit breezy. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Me watching you run would make terrible radio. Scratch that off the list.’ Was she a convincing liar? They’d find out. His pen was still frozen over the page and so there was nothing to scratch out, so she said the only other thing that came into her head.

‘Another drink?’

* * *

The list grew as long as the evening. They hit the Internet for ideas of cool things for her to do in London. Pretty soon they had learn-to-dance classes, movie premieres, and a royal polo match.

‘Aquasphering!’ she said, a little bit too loud. ‘Whatever that is.’

‘Really? That’s your kind of thing?’

‘None of it is my thing—isn’t that the point? Pushing myself out of my comfort zone.’ Wa-a-ay out of it.

‘Can we afford a seat on a commercial spaceflight?’ she blurted, tapping the tablet’s glossy screen. ‘That would be exciting.’

He smiled. ‘No. We can’t. And we don’t really have the time for it to become more mainstream.’

‘Pff. You suck.’

Zander stared at her. Assessing. ‘I think I need to get some food into you.’

‘I told you I didn’t do this for the soup.’

‘I was thinking of something a little more solid than soup.’

Judgement stung, low and sharp. She sat up straighter. ‘I’m not drunk.’

‘No, you’re not. But you will be if you keep going like this.’

‘Maybe the new me drinks more often.’

He gathered up their papers and his tablet and returned them to his briefcase. ‘Really? This is how you want to start the Year of Georgia? By getting hammered?’

She stared at him. Thought about that. ‘Have we started?’

‘First day.’

‘Then we should leave.’ Because, no, she didn’t want to start that way.

‘Let me feed you. I have somewhere in mind. We can walk. Clear your head.’

‘Why isn’t your head fuzzy? You’ve been matching me drink for drink.’

He shrugged. ‘Body mass?’

She relaxed back into the booth and smiled happily. ‘That’s so unfair.’ Then she sat bolt upright again, her fingers reaching for her phone before her mind was even engaged. ‘I should ring Dan. I need to explain.’

Zander caught her hand before it could do more than curl around her phone. ‘No. Let’s not do that on an empty stomach. Let’s go get some food.’

He was right. She needed to talk to Dan face to face, not over the phone. She stood. ‘OK. What are we having?’

‘We could start your cooking lesson tonight. Something informal.’

‘I live miles from here.’

He smiled. ‘I don’t.’

And just like that—bam!—she was sober. Zander Rush was taking her back to his place. To feed her. To teach her to make food. Something about that seemed so...intimate.

‘You know what?’ she lied. ‘I have some things to do tonight before work tomorrow. I think maybe I should just head home.’

‘What about food?’

If she was clear-headed enough to lie she was clear-headed enough to catch the tube. ‘We’re one block from the station.’

His smile grew indulgent. ‘I know. You drove us here.’

‘It’s on the same line as Kew Gardens. I used to catch it home all the time.’ So she knew it well.

‘At least let me walk you to the station, then.’

She shot to her feet. ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

He shook his head. ‘Still so courteous.’

She shrugged. ‘Old-school upbringing.’

‘Traditional parents?’

Her laugh was more of a bark. ‘Definitely not. My gran raised me mostly. To give me some stability. My mother really wasn’t...well adapted...to parenting.’

He threw her a sideways look. ‘I’m the youngest of six to older parents so maybe we were raised by a similar generation?’

It took just a few minutes to walk down to the station and something in her speech or her steady forward movement or her riveting, non-stop chatter about her childhood must have convinced him she was fine to be left alone because he didn’t try and stop her again.

He paused by the white entry gate. ‘Well...’

‘You’ll be in touch?’

‘Casey will. My assistant.’

Of course. He had minions.

‘She’ll pull together a schedule for the next few months, to get us started.’

‘So...I guess I’ll see you at the first one, then.’

‘Remember, we’ll be strangers as far as anyone else is concerned. I’m just your shadow. I won’t even acknowledge you when I arrive.’

Weird. But better. If they were doing these things together she’d just get too comfortable. And that wasn’t a good idea, judging by how comfortable she’d been for the past few hours. ‘I’ll remember. See you then.’

She stepped towards the ticket gate, then turned back and smiled. ‘Thanks for letting me drive the Jag.’

‘Any time.’

Georgia waved again and then disappeared into the station. Zander turned and jogged across the pedestrian crossing, then ducked down the commercial lane that led to the back of the garden of his nearby house where they’d parked the Jag. Except she thought they just got lucky with a street park convenient to his favourite bar, not parking in front of his house.

He was really out of practice. Who took a woman to a bar, then drank so that he couldn’t drive her home? Who let a woman ride the tube alone at night?

A man who was trying really hard not to feel as if he was on a date, that was who.

He’d first caught himself back at his office when she’d thrust her hand out so professionally and he’d felt a stab of disappointment. What did he expect, a kiss on each cheek? Of course she was all business. This was...business.

And this was just an after-hours work meeting. He’d almost sabotaged himself by inviting her back to his house to eat, but it had just tumbled from his lips. The old Zander never would have let so many hours pass without taking care to make sure they’d both eaten. It had been a long time since the new Zander came along. This Zander had perfectly defined business muscle but it had come at the expense of social niceties.

Any muscle would atrophy without use.

And then the coup de grâce. Any time. He could have said ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘think nothing of it’ but he went with ‘any time’. As though there’d be a repeat performance.

He pushed through the gate to his property and started down the long, winding path between the extensive gardens to the conservatory.

Clearly something of the old him still existed. Something that responded to Georgia’s easy company and complete failure to engage with him the way others did. She just didn’t care who he was or that he was the only thing standing between her and a lawsuit. Or maybe she just didn’t recognise it.

She stared up at him with those big brown eyes and treated him exactly like everyone else.

No one did that any more. Even Casey—the closest thing he had to a friend at work—was always super careful never to cross a line, to always stop just short of the point where familiarity became contempt. Even she was sensitive to how much of her future rested in his hands.

Because he was so thorough in reminding them all. Regularly.

His minions.

He smiled. The irony was he didn’t think that way at all. Not deep down. He believed in the power of teams and much preferred collaborative working groups to the way he did things now. They’d served him well back in the day when every programme he’d produced had been the product of a handful of hard-working people. But there was no getting around the fact that EROS really did run better with a clear, controlled gulf between himself and the people who worked for him. And he didn’t mind the gulf; it meant no complications between friendships and workplace relationships.

And driving Georgia home would have been a complication.

Having her here, in his house, would have been a complication.

He had a signed contract; the time for courting The Valentine’s Girl, professionally, was over. He should have just given her a list of activities that the station was prepared to send her to and been done with it. Instead of being a sap. Instead of reacting to an event fifteen years old and letting it colour his better judgement.

Instead of empathising.

Just because he’d been exactly where Georgia was; on the arse-end of a declined proposal. Only in his case, he got all the way down the aisle before realising his fiancée wasn’t coming down behind him because she was on her way to Heathrow with her supportive bridesmaids. What followed was a horrible half-hour of shouting and recriminations before the priest managed to clear the church. Lara’s family and friends all went wildly on the defensive—as you would if it was someone you loved that had done something so shocking. His side of the church rallied around him so stoically, which only inflamed Lara’s family more because they knew—knew—that there were a hundred better ways to not proceed with a marriage than just not turning up. Less destructive ways. But she’d gone with the one that would cause her the least pain.

And, chump that he was, he actually preferred that. He wasn’t in the business of wishing pain on people he loved back then.

The heartbreak was bad enough, slumped in the front row of the rioting church, but he’d had to endure the public humiliation in front of everyone he cared about. Their whispers. Their pity. Their side-taking. Worse, their determined, well-meant support. Every bit as excruciating and public as Georgia’s turn-down live on air. Just more contained.

Like atomic fusion.

But the after-effects rippled out for a decade and a half.

He jogged up the stairs and headed straight for his study. The most important room in his house. The work he got done there was the difference between just-hanging-on in the network and excelling. No one excelled on forty hours a week. He was putting in eighty, easy.

It was the one thing he could thank Lara for.

Setting him up for the kind of success that gave him a luxurious study in a big house in Hampstead Heath and had him rubbing shoulders with some of the most powerful people in the country.

And just like that he was thinking of Georgia again. Her crack about big houses and unworn clothes and crowded garages. There was a reason he parked the Jag on the street. Because both the cars in his garage were worth more. He liked his life. Excessive though it might be at times. He barely drove the Lotus or the Phantom but he could if he wanted to. And he could look at them whenever he wanted. But they represented something to him. As did the suits and the house and the title on his business card.

They represented the fact that no one would ever pity him again.

And, God help him, no one would ever come to his emotional aid as they’d had to in that church. Not family. Not friends. He would never allow himself to be in that kind of vulnerable position twice.

Money made sure of that.

Success made sure of that.

The corporate world might be a brutal mistress but it was constant. And if you were going to get screwed you’d always see it coming.

He’d never be hijacked again.

* * *

How pathetic that she needed a good excuse to go to Kew and accidentally see Dan. If she’d found the courage to face the truth about her reasons for proposing, could she really not face Dan himself? The man who’d been such an important and steady part of her life for the past year. Even longer if you counted their friendship before that.

She did need to speak to him face to face. Six weeks was long enough to take the sting out of everything for both of them.

And she had seeds to deliver to his colleagues for identification.

She dropped them to the propagation department and then hit the pathways across Kew to the behind-the-scenes greenhouses. That was where Dan spent most of his time—cultivating the carnivores, he called it—as popular with him as they were with the public.

She knew these paths like the freckles on her body. Long before she knew Dan.

Huh. Look at that. Life before Dan. She’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

Determined not to cut corners—even turf deserved not to be trampled—she followed the path the long way around to the plain glasshouse where Dan primarily worked. Her pulse began to thump.

As she approached it the doors opened and a woman emerged.

‘Oh, excuse me!’ Georgia exclaimed, her hand to her chest. She had crazy blonde curls, and the serviceable work-coats that everyone wore here. But she had a tight pink dress beneath it, bright, manicured nails, three inch heels and flawless make-up.

Not like everyone else here.

‘Nearly got you.’ The woman smiled, stepping back to hold the door.

That was perfect, too. Her eyes dropped briefly to the woman’s ID tag and, just like that, all Georgia’s carefully constructed excuses about why she didn’t have better clothes and better hair vanished in a puff of perfume. This woman was an orchid specialist—she worked with dirt all day. Yet she could do that and still look like this.

What excuse did she herself have?

‘Can I help you?’ the woman said.

‘I’m looking for Daniel Bradford.’

‘He’s out in the display house tending to a struggling Nepenthes tentaculata. Can I give him a message?’ The slightest hint of curiosity filled her eyes.

It was pure luck that she hadn’t run into someone she knew, someone much more familiar with the past relationship between she and Daniel. She wasn’t going to blow the opportunity for anonymity.

‘No, I know the way. I’ll chase him down there. Thank you.’ Georgia stepped back from the entrance.

The woman stepped away from the doors, smiling, and they swung shut behind her. ‘You’re welcome.’

She turned left, Georgia turned right. But she watched the woman walk away from her. Heels. They did something very special to a walk, even on gravel and grass. Pity she didn’t have a single pair above a serviceable inch.

Maybe that was something she could put on her Year of Georgia list.

Learn to walk in heels.

And not because men liked them—though the distracted glances of two groundsmen passing the woman confirmed that they did—but because heels were a side of herself that she just never indulged.

Heels and pole dancing. They could go on the side-list she was quietly developing.

Though both could easily break her neck.

It took nearly ten minutes to cross out into the public area and work her way around to the carnivorous-plants exhibit. The doors were perpetually closed to keep the ambient temperature inside right but, unlike the clunky ones behind the scenes, these opened and closed whisper quiet.

She took a breath. ‘Dan?’

The silence stayed silent, but somehow it changed. Grew loaded. And Georgia knew she’d been heard.

‘I know you’re here, Dan.’

‘Hey.’ He stepped out from behind a large sign. Confused. Wary. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

‘I was dropping down some stock for identification. Thought I’d come and say hi.’

Oh, so horribly bright and false.

He nodded. ‘Hi.’

Silence. Maybe six weeks weren’t enough. ‘How are you doing?’ she risked.

‘OK. Managing.’

The intense scrutiny. Right. ‘It’s not getting better?’

His lips thinned. ‘Not really.’

She nodded. More silence. ‘So...I’ve come to say I’m sorry. Again.’

‘Your emails and messages not enough?’

‘I didn’t want... Not without at least seeing you.’ God. How could it be this hard breaking up with someone when you were already broken up?

He shrugged. ‘Fodder for the paparazzi.’

She spun around, expecting to see flashes of cameras behind her. ‘Oh, God, I didn’t even think of that...’

‘That’s starting to sound familiar.’

The unkind words cut but she knew they were more than deserved. And short of ratting out Kelly to her brother, she couldn’t enlighten him otherwise. She sighed. ‘Look, Dan, if I could undo it I would. I know you didn’t ask for any of this.’

‘Done is done.’

Well... ‘Not quite, actually.’

His shaggy head tipped. But his hazel eyes darkened with warning. ‘Georgia...’

‘I’m... I signed a contract with the radio station, for the whole...’ She couldn’t even use the word proposal. ‘I have to see it through.’

‘I hope you mean “I” and not “we”.’

‘Not we. I made it a condition that you weren’t involved at all.’ Something she should have thought about originally, perhaps. ‘It’s not about us, it’s about me. Me getting myself all fixed up.’

God love him, he frowned. ‘You weren’t broken, George. It was just a really stupid thing to have done.’

‘I know. But for me that’s symptomatic of being broken. I don’t do stupid things. I’m supposed to be rock-solid and reliable and never-changing like you.’ It was why she’d allowed herself to think they might make a life together at all.

His scowl deepened.

Say what you have to say and get out. ‘So I really just wanted to make sure you were OK and to tell you why you’ll be hearing more from me on the station.’

‘Are you kidding?’ He snorted. ‘I’ll never listen to them again.’

Oh, right.

‘You realise it will just stir things up again every time you go on there?’ he huffed.

‘Zander thinks that it will help draw attention away from you. Keep it on me.’ Where it belonged.

‘Zander?’

‘He’s the station manager. It was his promotion.’

The scowl returned. ‘Forgive me if I don’t put a lot of faith in the opinion of anyone who would think up a promotion like that.’

The intense desire to defend Zander burbled up out of nowhere. ‘This is my responsibility, Dan. I’m trying to fix it as best I can.’

His brilliant mind ticked over behind carefully shielded eyes. ‘I know. Sorry. You do whatever you need to, George.’ He took a breath. ‘And I’ll do whatever I need to, to stay out of it.’

Intriguingly cryptic but fair enough. ‘OK.’

They both shuffled awkwardly. ‘So...I’ll let you get back to your sick pitcher plant.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘How did you know what I’m working on?’

‘One of your colleagues told me.’ And for no good reason at all she expanded. ‘Blonde hair, flashy dresser.’

Cripes, Georgia, you might as well just ask him outright. ‘Why wasn’t I good enough for you?’

His eyes grew even more guarded. ‘Right. Yes, she’s new.’

‘Pretty.’ Pretty different from everyone round here, that was. Because actually she was gorgeous.

He shrugged. ‘I guess.’

OK, he wasn’t going to play. She should have known. ‘Well, I should get going.’ It hit her then that she would quite possibly never see him again. She frowned. ‘I don’t quite know how to say goodbye to you for the last time ever. It feels really wrong.’

But that was all, she realised. Just intensely awkward. It didn’t really hurt.

Huh.

He walked forward, wiped the earth from his hand and then took hers. ‘Bye, George. Don’t be too hard on yourself. No one died, here.’

No. Except the part of her that used to be happy with herself. She squeezed his fingers. ‘Take care, Dan.’

‘Maybe I’ll see you round.’

She turned. Left. And then it was done. That entire of her life closed as silently and gently as the hydraulic doors of the greenhouse.

And still, no hurt. Just sadness. Like losing a good friend.

Did Dan feel the same? Was that why he’d never wanted their relationship to be more? His sister had always hinted at something big in his past, but he’d never shared and she’d never felt she could ask. Kind of symptomatic of why they weren’t right for each other, really. He didn’t want more because he didn’t have more in him to give. And maybe neither did she. How long might they have gone on like that if she hadn’t brought their non-relationship to a startling and public end?

She’d had no trouble at all imagining herself as Mrs Bradford, obligatory kids hanging off her skirts. As if it were just the natural extension of the life they’d had. She enjoyed his conversation, she liked to share activities with him, the sex was as good as she figured she would ever get. He was bomb-proof and reliable and she’d been drawn to the qualities in him that screamed stability. Because she’d had so little of it in her past. But she’d never gone breathless waiting to walk into Dan’s office. She’d never felt as cherished with him as she had standing behind a perfect stranger in an elevator as he protected her from prying eyes.

Zander.

About as unsuitable for her as any man could be, yet he’d stirred more emotion in her in a few meetings than had the man she’d been planning on marrying.

All outstanding reasons to keep her distance, emotionally.

This was the Year of Georgia. Not the year of panting after sexy, rich, unavailable men. She’d made enough bad decisions in the interests of what her friends or the rest of the world was doing; she needed to have a good look inside and see what she wanted to do.

Even if she was a bit scared that she’d look deep inside and find nothing left.

FOUR

April

The buzz in the perfume-rich room hushed but intensified as Zander walked into it. Georgia saw him from the corner of her eye but made a concerted effort not to see him. Every other woman in the place did the same but for totally different reasons.

‘Dieu merci! The testosterone balance in the room just doubled,’ the male chef joked and drew even more anti-attention to Zander’s arrival. He smiled thinly.

Georgia had quickly realised that attending alone was a mistake. Every other woman there was paired up with a girlfriend, so, quite apart from whether there were any men in the room, she felt like a failure already. Learning to love doing things solo was going to be a much bigger challenge than just growing accustomed to doing things without a man by her side. Hard enough to be doing things that weren’t in her comfort zone, but to be doing them alone...

Effectively alone. Her eyes snuck to Zander again, briefly.

‘Alors.’ Chef clapped his chopping board onto the bench top a few times to call the unruly crowd to order. ‘Places.’

What did that mean? Her first reaction was to watch Zander but if he was any wiser he wasn’t giving anything away, so she took her cues from the other participants instead. They each dragged a tall stool along one edge of the oversized kitchen bench as Chef laid out a generous wine glass in front of each place from the other side. Two women practically turned an ankle vying for the spot closest to Zander who—wisely—took up the seat right at the end so that he only had to negotiate one interested feminine neighbour.

Georgia waited until last and found herself in the space furthest from him. She filled her glass with water before anyone could put anything more ill-advised in it from the rapidly emptying bottle of chardonnay doing the rounds.

Getting tipsy in front of Zander once was bad enough.

‘First point of the evening to the woman down the end. What’s your name, petite fleur?’

All eyes snapped her way, including Zander’s.

Every awful moment of her school career came rushing back with the unexpected attention. It never paid to be the brightest—and poorest—at secondary school. It led to all kinds of unwanted attention. ‘Georgia.’

‘Well, Miss Georgia,’ Chef improvised in ever-thickening French, ‘while wine is perfection for enjoying the consumption of a meal, water is, without question, the best choice for preparing one. Until you know what you’re doing, of course. You want your tastebuds unassailed. You want your nose and palate unconflicted and clear-headed as you assemblé the ingredients you’ll need...’

‘An unconflicted palate. Score one for me,’ she murmured.

Their prosaic teacher was fully underway by now and his continental theatrics and charm managed to recapture the focus of the women in the room. But Zander still stared at her, eyes lightly creased.

Stop smiling, her eyes urged him. We’re supposed to be strangers. Though there was something just slightly breath-stealing about the game they were playing. Pretending to be strangers. Hiding a secret from the whole room.

It was vaguely...kinky.

Which said a lot about how very not kinky her life usually was.

She forced her attention back to Chef. Did her best to listen and understand what he was saying and not pay any further attention to Zander perched at the end of the bench, deftly deflecting the interest of the two women closest to him and studying everything that was happening in the room. Parts of what the chef was saying really resonated for the scientist in her—the parts about the chemistry of food and how ingredients worked together—but they were totally overshadowed by his try-hard vocabulary and his staged theatrics, which really didn’t work for her. She caught herself smiling more than once at something ridiculous he said or the way he gushed over his rapt female audience. She was fairly certain he wasn’t actually French.

‘Excuse me, Chef?’ she interrupted when he paused for a rare breath and before she could change her mind. ‘Will we get to cook something tonight?’

‘So enthousiaste,’ he fawned, and she groaned. ‘Non, you won’t get hands-on until week six. In Chef André Carlson’s class we first develop appréciation for the art of the food, then we progress to construction of the food.’

And clearly much drinking of the wine, despite his own protestations.

She nodded, politely, and started counting the endless minutes until her first class was over. How would Zander feel about her dumping the first thing he’d sent her to? She glanced up. He had a resigned nothing plastered to his face. It hit her then that she was wasting two people’s time on this terrible class.

‘Excuse me, Chef?’ This time he looked more irritated to have been interrupted mid-fake-French-stream. ‘I have a terrible migraine. I’m going to have to leave.’

Much clucking of concern and old fake-French remedies for migraines later and she had her handbag over her shoulder and her feet pointing towards the door. No one cared.

‘You’ll need someone to walk you to your car,’ Zander volunteered and then excused himself from the woman next to him. That got their attention, but he reassured them, ‘I’ll be right back.’

No, he wouldn’t. Not if he was as dumbstruck by that class’s awfulness as she was.

They practically bolted down the hall for the street door, together.

‘You were going to leave me there!’ he accused as they fell out into the street.

She laughed as she skipped down the steps to the footpath. ‘Sorry. Every man for himself on the culinary Titanic.’

‘That was awful,’ he gritted. ‘Why would anyone put themselves through that?’

‘They looked like they were having a good enough time.’

‘I can’t imagine anyone coming away from that actually appreciating food more.’

Her laugh redoubled. ‘No.’

‘I take it the migraine was fake?’

‘As fake as his accent. I think we should just cut our losses.’

He halted her with a warm hand to her arm. ‘No. You came here tonight wanting to discover what’s so special about cuisine.’

God, was he warming back up to another invitation to see his etchings?

‘Let me just make a call...’

He made it. Brief and murmured, his back half to her. Then he turned and smiled at her. ‘OK, all arranged.’

‘What is?’

‘We have a job for the night.’

‘A job?’

‘In a commercial kitchen. That’s where you’ll see what cooking is really all about.’

‘I can’t cook in a commercial kitchen!’ She could barely boil water in her own home.

‘Trust me, Georgia.’ He slid his hand around behind her back and smiled. ‘We won’t be cooking.’

* * *

He wasn’t kidding. Within fifteen minutes they were installed up to the elbows in suds in the back of the busy kitchen of an Italian restaurant and they’d washed more dishes in less time than she’d even dirtied in her whole life. But she didn’t even notice.

The owner of the restaurant where Zander had called in his favour elevated the usual dishwashers to kitchen assistants for the night and had one of his demi-chefs explain everything happening in the kitchen for their benefit.

She and Zander eavesdropped on every word between suds.

And his digital recorder—totally approved by the owner—captured it for EROS’ segment.

The kitchen ran like a ballet. Every item on the menu choreographed; every technique a combination of hard-learned steps. Every resulting dish a work of art, never the same twice.

The chef—a real, proper chef this time, with a real accent—yelled at everyone just enough to keep them moving, and didn’t hesitate to yell at his trainee dishwashers if she and Zander fell behind. She felt more welcome being yelled at in this kitchen than being fawned over in the last one. The clunk and clatter of knives and pots and whisks merged with the hiss of frying fat and draining pasta pots to create a symphony of experience that had so much more excitement and interest than just how to cook a good cordon bleu.

And such language! The night was an education for more reasons than one. She loved even that. Though she knew Zander’s editors would be busy with the bleep button.

The symphony and ballet went on for hours. She grew transfixed trying to take it all in even as her feet started first to ache, then protest and finally give up and just burn. But her sore feet were the least of their worries. A whole dish went wrong and sent the kitchen into desperate chaos catching back up and she felt the adrenaline of the race, the thrill of contributing, the deep satisfaction of getting the replacement meals out in time. Even if her role was only keeping the clean cutlery coming.

And now the night was nearly over. The last customers were on their desserts and only one big pot bubbled away in the half-empty kitchen. The promoted-for-a-night assistants were more than happy to cook something simple for the people who’d triggered their unexpected elevation, and Georgia and her sore feet were more than happy to be cooked for by them.

Who knew, maybe the two men would get to do it more often now that they’d been ripped out of their sudsy pigeonhole.

She’d watched them make it from scratch. Pasta. Carefully mixed, rolled, strung, cooked. And the leftover sauce from the night’s bolognese. The owner-chef passed through and plated up for both of them, a modest bowl for Georgia and an enormous mound for Zander. With a barrage of hasty Italian between.

‘Are you pregnant?’ she joked, settling her heat-wrinkled fingers around one of the forks she’d washed herself.

He chuckled. ‘I’m carb-loading.’

‘Which is what for the uninitiated?’ She curled a dozen strands of beautifully shaped pasta around her fork.

‘The day before a big run you load your body up on carbohydrates and water to ensure it’s full of energy.’

‘Energy you burn off running fifty kilometres?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Where will you run tomorrow?’

He hesitated answering. She didn’t let her sigh show. ‘You don’t like to talk about it much.’

‘I’m unaccustomed to anyone asking. It’s usually just my thing.’

That rankled just a tiny bit. ‘I’m not going to invite myself along again if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘I know,’ he replied as she slid a fully loaded fork into her mouth.

Oh, my God... She liked spaghetti. She’d even been excited enough once or twice to make her own lumpy Napolitano sauce in her slow cooker. But this...this! The combination of home-cooked bolognese and minutes-old, fresh pasta on top of the bone weariness, hollow stomach and flat-footed agony of having stood doing dishes for hours...

‘This is amazing, Zander!’

‘One of my favourite bolt holes.’

She glanced up at him. His choice of words struck her. ‘Where do you bolt from?’

How could a shrug be so tense? ‘Life. Work. Everything.’

She could understand that, if the man bursting out of his office was a regular occurrence.

‘We could both do worse than running our workplaces the way Chef ran this kitchen,’ she said softly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Firm. High expectations. But fair. And everyone here was working with him, not despite him.’

Zander looked around the near-empty kitchen. The two assistants had already removed any hint of evidence that their meal had ever existed. The way they were demolishing their pasta, it very soon wouldn’t.

‘What makes you think it’s not like that already?’ he asked.

‘Something one of your staff said when I was in your office.’ She’d been there a few times over the weeks finalising the list with Casey, so that was suitably broad. He wouldn’t know who amongst his team it was. ‘They said I was a lamb to the slaughter.’

He blinked at her, then recommenced eating his meal. But his brows remained low.

‘Not saying I agree with them. You’ve been nothing but nice to me.’ If one had a liberal definition of nice. ‘But, you know, clearly they thought you were going to make things hard for me.’

He thought about that some more. ‘It’s what they would expect.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s what they know.’

Sadness washed across his expression and then vanished. ‘Why do you make things hard for them?’

‘Because I’m their boss. The network delivers the good news and I deliver and implement the bad. It’s what I get paid for.’

‘That’s a miserable kind of job. Why do you do it?’

He laughed. ‘You’ve seen where I live.’ One of London’s better suburbs.

‘And you’ve seen where I live. So what? That’s not who we are.’

His eyes grew assessing. ‘Really? Your apartment exterior is modest and plain, but well kept. Someone cares for that building. I’d hazard a guess that the inside would be the same. Everything in its place, nothing unessential. Isn’t that exactly as you are?’

She stared at her near-empty bowl. ‘Is that how I strike you? Orderly and dull?’

‘You strike me as someone who’s stuck in a rut. Maybe who has been for some time.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Ruts come in all shapes and suburbs. Besides, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.’

He lifted his chin to match hers. ‘Really? Care to put your money where your mouth is?’

‘You want to bet on it?’ She frowned.

‘I want to see it.’

Oh.

‘When?’

‘How about now?’

‘It’s not tidy—’

‘Yes, it is.’

Yes...it is. She sighed. ‘You have a race in the morning.’

His eyes grew serious. ‘I’m not proposing sleeping over, Georgia, just a quick look.’

Heat flared up the back of her neck and she worked hard to keep it from flooding around to the front. She had made the immediate assumption that this was some kind of line. Zander Rush was a fit and sexy man. And so of course it wasn’t a come-on. Not for her.

‘I just meant...it’s late.’

‘I don’t run until noon. And it’s too late for you to be taking the tube.’

It wasn’t, but she didn’t mind the idea of a comfortable Jag ride home. She wasn’t ready for their first night to be over.

The first night. Not their first night.

‘OK, I’ll take the lift.’ And show him the inside of her flat for a minute or two. And then he and his fascination would be gone. ‘Thank you.’

They rinsed their dishes in the cooling water, thanked the chef who was enjoying a drink with his team out in the now-empty restaurant, and headed out into the dark.

‘You want to drive?’ he asked.

No. She wanted him to drive. Inexplicably. So of course, she said, ‘Yes, please.’

He pulled his coat collar up as high as possible against the cool April weather. ‘One of these days you’ll stop being so courteous and I’ll know we’re finally getting somewhere.’

The drive took about twenty minutes. Conversation was light between them but not because they had nothing to say. She just didn’t feel the need to say anything. And besides, the scrumptious dinner was kicking in and metabolising down into a warm goo that leached through her veins. She worked hard to keep her focus sharp while driving Zander’s land-yacht.

‘Who else lives here?’ he murmured quietly as they crossed into the shared entry hall of her apartment building.

She ran her fingers along the four letterboxes by the door. ‘Two students, a long-term resident...’ She traced the last box; its lettering was cool and smooth under her touch. ‘And me.’

She led him through to the back of the entry hall where her door was.

If Mr Lawler came out for one of his late-night cigarettes now he’d be in for quite a surprise. Not that she’d never had a man here before, but not like this...tiptoeing in late at night. All clandestine and exciting...

She turned her key, wiggled it, put her shoulder to the door, and popped it quietly open. It swung inwards into the darkened apartment. ‘Acquired touch,’ she whispered.

Why was she so breathless? Was it just because she was walking into her home with a virtual stranger? Or was it because she loved her apartment? It was so...her. So if he judged it, he judged her.

She flicked on the light.

His eyes scanned the room, giving nothing away. ‘This is...’

Crazy and shambolic? Nothing like the outside? She saw it how a stranger must, the explosions of random colour, the stacks of books and home-beautiful magazines. Trailing plants everywhere.

He touched the nearest green frond. ‘How do you get them to look like this inside?’

She crossed to the double doors opening onto her small courtyard and pulled back the blind. ‘I rotate them every day. One day in, three days out.’

His eyes swung to her. ‘How many do you have?’

It was too dark to see outside, too dark for him to discover the full extent of her guilty pleasure. ‘I’m kind of the crazy cat-lady of trailing ferns.’

He looked around him again, then found her eyes. ‘It’s not what I expected.’

That could mean anything, but she chose to interpret it positively. ‘Surprise!’

His focus fell onto the stack of brightly packaged CDs stacked up on her corner desk. He crossed to them. ‘Are you studying?’

‘Espionage through history. I’m getting ready for the spy class.’

He flipped one of the CDs over and read the description of the lectures. ‘You’re doing homework before the class?’

‘I like to be prepared. And I’m really looking forward to the spy classes.’

One brow quirked. ‘As distinct from the others?’

Heat rose and consumed her in the tiny apartment. ‘I listen to them when I’m gardening. On the bus to and from work. Or when I’m walking.’

‘You walk?’

‘Regularly.’

‘Where?’

What was this, the Inquisition? ‘Anywhere I haven’t been before. Deep in some wood somewhere.’

His nod was distracted. He suddenly looked intensely uncomfortable.

‘I bought these with my own money.’ In case that was what was putting that deep frown on his face.

‘Why?’

‘Because your money is for things that interest your listeners.’

He turned towards her. ‘You don’t have to hide things from me. If there’s something you want to do, do it. The money is for you.’

It wasn’t him she was hiding from. She took the CDs out of his hands. ‘It’s not... I feel like these are normal me, not new improved me. Besides, you’ve already indicated that the things I’m interested in aren’t that...exciting.’ She cleared her throat. ‘For your listeners.’

His eyes fell on her heavily. Searching and conflicted.

‘Coffee?’ she asked just to break the silence.

He broke free of her gaze, bustling towards the door as though this were all the most terrible inconvenience. ‘No. I should get going.’

And suddenly she was feeling self-conscious for agreeing to his request. She followed him back out into the hall. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

‘No problem.’

He had to stop at the door to the street to negotiate the intricate series of locks. If not for that, she wondered if he might have just flown down the stairs and path and been gone. She opened it for him and stood below the arch.

‘And for the restaurant. It was fantastic to see.’

‘We’ll find you new cooking classes. You don’t have to go back to the French guy.’

‘The not-French guy...’

‘Right.’ He practically squirmed on her doorstep. Confusion milled around them both. This had been his idea? Or had she just misunderstood?

‘Well, see you next time, then,’ she said quietly.

‘OK. ’Night, Georgia.’

And then he was gone. Not quite running as she’d imagined, but certainly making good time on those long, marathon legs. Into his car and away. Expensive tail lights glowing until they turned onto the high street in the distance.

And still she stood there.

OK. That was just weird. Their whole night had been genial enough, the silence in the ride over here mutual and comfortable. Or so she’d thought. She’d only offered him coffee, not exactly controversial.

Modest, plain but well kept. Was that what he’d been expecting her place to be like? She resecured the front door and turned off the porch light, then crossed back to her gaping apartment door, assessing the inside critically. Shambolic but not unclean. She had nothing to be particularly embarrassed about.

Maybe he had a plant phobia.

She sighed. Maybe this was a Year of Georgia test. See how she was going with the judgement of others. Not well, apparently.

She cared what people thought. She didn’t run her life by it, but criticism did impact on her. Especially someone like Zander Rush. Rich, powerful men might not particularly matter to her professional life, but this one mattered to her personal life. She had a year ahead of her with Zander, they were going to be in each other’s faces a reasonable amount. She’d really rather not have that time be tense and awkward.

And below that, somewhere deeper that she only peeled a corner back on, lay her secret fear: that the same lack that made Daniel not interested in marrying her might have occurred to Zander as he stood here in her little apartment. Some undefined deficiency. Was she too geeky? Too dull? Was she so left-of-normal that even a man whose connection to her was only professional felt the need to run for the hills? If so, he was in for a disappointing year.

There was only so much that reinvention was going to fix.

* * *

Zander tossed his keys and wallet into the shallow dish by his bed and then took himself off for a shower. As hot as he could stand it. Desperate to scald himself clean of the sudden tingle of awareness he’d experienced standing in Georgia’s apartment just half an hour before. He’d learned to live with the perpetual hum of sensual responsiveness that resonated whenever she was around, but this was different, this was...

Interest.

The prickle of intrigue and the glow of connection. So much more than just sexual. Unexpected, unwanted, and unacceptable. And the slither of empathy, that his words made her doubt herself, made her so defensive.

He stood under the hot, thumping water and let it stream over his head.

The crazy cat-lady of trailing ferns.

Of all the things to suddenly bring this burbling inside him to the surface...that little touch of self-deprecation, her modesty about her lived-in, loved-in apartment, her raw defence of a place that was clearly special to her. That was clearly her. She defended her property and herself with a gentle kind of resignation. As though she knew full well that she didn’t fit the conventional moulds and was reconciled with that.

And he was there telling her that her mould wasn’t interesting enough for his listeners.

Then showering himself raw just half an hour later because of how interesting it was to him.

Hypocrite.

His life was so laden with false, socially aggressive people, all hungry to climb ladders that they had to jostle for. So full of noise and gloss and professional veneer. He did his best to limit his exposure to it to his working hours, running from it—literally—on weekends, but when you worked as much as he did it had a way of just dominating your consciousness.

Until you stood in the middle of someone’s small, packed greenhouse of an apartment and felt as if you’d just walked into some kind of emotional resort. Far from everything and everyone.

Until you breathed in for the first time in fifteen years.

Zander shut off the water, towelled off, and stepped out into his bedroom. Carefully styled by the owner before him, all beige and tones of brown and harmless neutrals he’d never bothered to change. Then he walked out of the hall, into every room one by one, growing increasingly incredulous.

Not one single plant, anywhere? Seriously?

He kept looking, kept not finding one. Until he did. A small cactus in a pot that Casey had given him before she’d twigged to the fact that gifts between them weren’t going to do anything but make their relationship more awkward. He’d plonked it on his kitchen window sill and never given it another thought. It survived only on the steam issued by his coffee maker. And maybe the dishwasher.

But it survived.

The similarity to his thorny, parched heart was ironic.

He flicked a switch and lit up the entire length of his rambling back garden. Did it even count if you paid someone to tend it for you? If the most you did was cut roses to take to your aging mother and the only time you walked through it was on a shortcut back from the local coffee house?

The fun Georgia would have if let loose in there...

He killed the lights, plunging the whole garden and that train of thought back to darkness.

There would be no letting loose. There’d be no more curious visits to her apartment. He’d only gone to assure himself that her home would have been as lacking in personality on the inside as the exterior. As some kind of ward against finding her interesting.

Well, that had bitten him well and truly in the arse.

He couldn’t blame his complicated mess of interest and appreciation and affection on her botched proposal any longer. Georgia Stone might have started out as the embodiment of every professional and ethical compromise he’d made on his meteoric corporate trajectory—and he still felt the cuts every time someone praised him for the sensational PR surrounding her proposal—but she was rapidly morphing into something else.

A living, breathing, haunting reminder of the man he used to be. Before the heartbreak of being jilted by Lara. Before the humiliation that drove him headlong into his intense professional life, and the professional life that drove him headlong into his insane training regime just to balance out all the noise. Before all of those things left no room for an actual life. He missed life. And moments like tonight didn’t help him to keep that longing safely tucked away where it couldn’t gnaw at him.

But work did. And running did. And he had plenty of both to be getting on with this weekend.

Neither of which were served by flashes of the sheer contentedness in Georgia’s face as she stood in the midst of her meagre worldly possessions, richer than he could possibly conceive.

FIVE

May

Wednesday night salsa dancing was an education—a great way to discover she had three left feet and not just two. Georgia danced with a raft of partners of various coordination—some more patient than others—but never Zander. He was always careful to share the love around with strangers, favouring the much older or much younger and discouraging the interest of anyone in the middle.

Her, most especially.

She’d only made the mistake of asking him once.

We’re here to work, he’d said.

Right.

This was the side of him his staff saw. Officious. Distant. Work-centric. That other side of him that she’d glimpsed only lasted as long as it took him to tire of the novelty of following her to endless courses and classes and experiences. The more they did together, the less civil he became.

So maybe she’d been demoted to minion in his mind?

The only blessing was that the segments he was producing from their time together in class didn’t reflect any of his impatience and ennui. She’d moved past her instinctive cringe at hearing herself as others heard her and let herself enjoy reliving the classes through Zander’s eyes. His ears. His art. Because while they were commercial by necessity, they were also pretty good. Floating out across the airwaves once a month.

And she’d busied herself finding things to do in class that didn’t amplify this awkward...blech...between them.

Thursday night was Michelin-starred restaurants night and she’d become adept at pretending she didn’t know the handsome man at the next table. And at eating alone. There was a certain loveliness that London’s service staff reserved for a woman taking a meal by herself. At first she worried that it was pity, but then she realised they just wanted to make her solo experience as nice as possible. She got twice the smiles and extra free bread that Zander did. That pleased her to an unnaturally high degree.

Friday night wine appreciation was at least a blessing because it meant their minds and mouths were both fully occupied and so conversation between herself and Zander really wasn’t an option, anyway. But at least the wine class provided quality alternatives in the shape of other men to talk to. And women—but they never got much of a rise from Zander. It was the men that really got up his nose, presumably because it was impacting on the quality of their Year of Georgia project.

She wasn’t supposed to be on the hunt. She was supposed to be discovering who she was. And it was working; it turned out she was a woman who liked to goad surly, silent executive types.

She turned to Eric on her left and laughed loudly at something he said. Even he looked surprised to have been that amusing. He developed software apps for a living and he and his techie-mate Russell, on her right, had decided their circle of friends really needed to include someone other than the pair of them. And preferably with the X chromosome.

Hence the wine appreciation.

The three of them developed a healthy symbiosis—they honed their flirting skills on her and she let them. It felt good being appreciated by someone and not just tolerated by Zander. Buoyed by their company, she sniffed and she sipped and she spat and she was careful never to quaff in front of Zander. And, it turned out, she had a pretty good nose and palate for identifying wine types. Unlike cooking, which she’d still not really mastered at all. Though, she wasn’t above quietly taking the mickey.

She agitated the wine in her hand until it made large circles in the balloon glass and its aroma climbed. She waved the whole lot under her nose.

‘Truculent. With undertones of—’ she looked around for inspiration and her eyes fell on the earrings of the woman across from her ‘—amber and—’ she searched again and her eyes fell on Zander ‘—oak moss.’

Because that was what he always smelled like to her. One of her forests.

Russell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Really?’

Eric just laughed. ‘She’s lying.’

She leaned closer to both of them. ‘Truly, it just smells like good red wine.’ She tossed her sample back. ‘Yep. Good.’

All three of them laughed and she turned to place her empty glass onto the cleaning tray, but as she did so she lifted her eyes and encountered Zander’s, intense and assessing.

As usual.

Class wound up not long after and she farewelled her friends happily. They always asked her out with them after class. She always declined.

‘You can go,’ Zander said, suddenly close behind her as Eric and Russell left. ‘You’re off the clock.’

She bit down her retort. How typical that about the only thing he’d said to her all evening was boorish. ‘If I wanted to go I would go. I wasn’t waiting for permission.’

‘It’s Friday night.’

‘And this class is my Friday night activity.’ Poor effort though it was. She slid her coat more firmly on and headed onto the street.

He stuck to her heels. ‘They’re going to go off you if you don’t give them something.’

She turned and glared. ‘Something? A bit of leg? A flash of cleavage?’

‘Not what I meant.’ He glowered.

‘I know what you meant. I’m not interested in anything beyond their company in class.’ And—just quietly—the impact it had on Zander. Getting his blood up was at least better than stony silence. ‘This isn’t about dating, remember.’

‘I was wondering if you did.’

She spun and huffed in equal measures. ‘I have to talk to someone. You’re the only person I know and we’re strangers here.’ And increasingly everywhere. ‘Some of them are going to be men. It’s not dating strategy.’

He just grunted. ‘This is my Friday night, too, you know.’

She stared. ‘I do know.’

‘So it would just be useful to keep everything professional. On mission.’

On mission? ‘I’m not allowed to have a good time, at all? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?’

‘The purpose is you getting back on track. Learning new things. Reinventing.’

A month of standoffishness took its toll. ‘I’m not sure that you appreciate how hard some of this is for me. Walking alone into a room full of people I don’t know. Striking up friendships. I would so much rather be at home curled up with a good book.’

His eyes clouded over. Was he thinking? Or just bored? ‘How hard?’

‘It’s...difficult. I’m not social, like you. I like to meet people, find out about them, but I’m just not really good at it. It’s work.’ And developing those skills was part of her twelve-month plan but it was a case of chicken and egg. She needed the skills to be able to walk into any social situation, but she wasn’t going to develop the skills unless she kept walking into those situations.

He looked truly astonished. ‘I didn’t realise. You make it look so easy.’

Was he kidding? ‘It’s exhausting.’

‘Would it be easier to have a friend along?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s do that, then. This isn’t supposed to be punishment. We can tweak the budget.’

It felt like it some nights. She let out a long breath and added yet another humiliation to her very many. ‘I don’t have anyone to bring. Not every week.’ She could probably get any one of her friends away from their parenting responsibilities once, maybe twice. But weekly? Sometimes twice weekly? Not a prayer. This was the sort of thing she used to rely on Dan for.

Her social handbag.

The great mess that was them struck her again. Imagine if he’d said yes...

‘I’m here anyway,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’

Her heart flipped like a fish. ‘You wanted to remain impartial.’

‘The situation has changed.’

‘You know you’ll have to speak to me. Not just interview me or record me talking to others.’

Impatience leaked out of him. ‘I’ve been trying to keep things professional.’

‘What’s unprofessional about having the occasional conversation?’

‘If you’re talking to me then you’re not talking to everyone else.’

It was a valid point. She was just as likely to talk to him all night given half a chance. But it didn’t make it feel any better. ‘I promise to multitask. If you promise not to scowl at me the whole time.’

‘I don’t scowl.’

‘You’re doing it now. That’s just going to scare away anyone that comes close enough to talk to.’

‘They’ll just assume I’m one of many dates who are there under sufferance.’

‘A date with a digital recorder?’ He’d started bringing them along to the second and third sessions of each activity. The first was pure reconnaissance.

‘That reminds me. I’m going to start recording next week. We have permission.’

‘Make sure you get Eric and Russell. Maybe a bit of fame will increase their chances with the ladies.’

He grunted. ‘I don’t think anything will increase their chances.’

‘They’re nice men.’

‘They try too hard.’

‘Doing this is hard. For a lot of people coming to one of these things is either last resort or a kind of admission of failure. That you can’t be cultured and interesting without help.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that how you feel?’

She studied him, wondering if she could trust him. She would have told Zander off a month ago, no problem. But corporate Zander wasn’t anywhere near as approachable. Then again, the Year of Georgia was all about taking risks.

‘I’m smart, I have a good job, excellent work ethic, property. I’m passable-looking. So what’s wrong with me?’

Zander opened his mouth but she barrelled onwards. ‘Maybe he would have liked me more if I was sportier, wittier, prettier. Maybe there’s a whole range of things that other women out there can do that I can’t.’

‘This is about Daniel?’

‘No. Daniel is Everyman, he’s just a symbol. But he was a man so like me I thought we were a perfect fit, so to not even be good enough for him...’

‘I thought you were doing this for you. The Year of Georgia.’

She glared at him. ‘First—as you’ve so carefully pointed out—I’m doing this for you. Because your contract says I have to. But right behind that is me. And part of me is wondering why I’m not more popular with men. Or with other women. Why I don’t have more friends. Or a family yet. Or a better job. Or why my life isn’t like other people’s.’

He shook his head. ‘What do you imagine happens in other people’s lives that’s so special and different?’

‘I don’t know. Cool stuff. Busy, interesting, challenging stuff?’

‘That’s just dressing. Most people’s lives are exactly the same underneath. The same worries about finances, their careers, the same family dramas. Only the outer coating changes.’

‘What about you—rich, popular, respected, in demand, powerful? You can do whatever you want and go wherever you want whenever you want. That’s not the same as everyone else.’

He stopped again and faced her. ‘I haven’t had a holiday in five years because the network believes the station will collapse if I walk away from it for a moment. I have a big, expensive house that someone else decorated and I can go weeks without even going into rooms that aren’t my bedroom, bathroom, and study. I have parents who live in a perpetual state of warfare. That power you covet means people either shy away from me or suck up to me. So my life is riddled with its own hassles but I don’t dwell on it and I certainly don’t voice it. I just get on with it.’

Such a confession, after weeks of standoffish Zander, struck her deep. Was that really how he felt about his life? Maybe the trappings of success and popularity really were just that.

‘Are you saying I should just suck it up?’ And shut up.

Maybe that was exactly what she needed to hear? Perhaps her self-reflection was just self-indulgence in disguise.

‘I’m saying all the classes in the world aren’t going to make your life better, because life isn’t something you apply like make-up. It’s something you grow and tend. Like a garden.’

Her present life would make a pretty straggly, restricted garden. But a life filled with makeovers and clubbing and movie premieres wasn’t all that brilliant, either, unless you happened to discover a new passion. They were just flashy statues amongst the weeds.

She blinked. Thought. Smiled. ‘That’s kind of profound. We should have recorded that.’

‘I have my moments.’

‘So am I wasting my time?’ Because she certainly hadn’t discovered a hidden passion for anything they’d done so far.

‘Not if they’re things you’ve always wanted to do.’

They weren’t, really. They were things she thought she should do. Things EROS’ listeners might like. Things that she felt Zander might have expected her to do.

‘How locked in is the schedule?’

He squinted one eye. ‘Some of them are all booked and paid, some transferable. Why?’

‘I think I need to tweak them. To be more...me.’

He smiled. ‘OK. Just talk to Casey.’

Just like that? How strange that she felt so uncomfortable asking for what she wanted. When it was so straightforward.

They walked on.

‘So, how come you don’t fix your life, then?’ Her words came out as mist on the cool air. ‘Make changes? If you believe so much in the garden of life.’

He shrugged. ‘Not everyone wants a garden. Or the hassle of tending it. Sometimes a single focus is just easier.’

His work. Of course. ‘But you love running. Your weekends are always full. That’s at least a small garden bed, surely.’

‘I don’t do it because I’m passionate about it.’

‘Why then?’

‘For the silence.’

Hours and hours of silence as his machine of a body put foot in front of foot. ‘Just you and the voices in your head, huh?’

He smiled. ‘Right. That’s all the company I need.’

Suddenly she felt very self-conscious to be standing here taking up his silence. Although she suspected he’d only be working anyway. Fortunately, a tube entrance loomed.

‘Well, I guess I should—’

‘I have a garden,’ he blurted. ‘An actual one, I mean.’

She figured that the big house in Hampstead Heath came with a big plot of land. ‘OK.’

‘I’d like you to see it.’

‘Why?’

He paused before answering. ‘Because it’s lovely. It should be appreciated.’

The man who didn’t even use the rooms in his house? She couldn’t picture him getting out in the garden. But maybe this whole contract arrangement had some kind of implied reciprocity that she hadn’t considered.

Or maybe this was some kind of peace overture. If it was, she’d take it.

‘Sure. I’d like to see it.’

‘Maybe you can give me some tips on what to do with it.’

‘I’m not a landscaper—’

‘I’m not looking for shape, I’m looking for soul.’ Surprise flooded his face, as if he’d never considered that before.

‘A soulful garden. Well, I’m sure I can at least give you some tips.’

‘Don’t underrate yourself. Look at what you do in your back yard. The life you’ve invested that three square metres with.’

She considered that. ‘When do you want me to come by?’

‘How about next Saturday?’

‘Aren’t you running?’

‘I’m doing a night run. I have all day free.’

All day? ‘Just how big is this garden?’

He smiled and ushered her onto the tube steps. ‘You’ll see.’

* * *

Enormous was the answer. Gi-flipping-gantic. At least four times the size of the house sitting like a stone sentry on its western edge and that was already very big.

Georgia turned a slow three-sixty from her spot in the middle of the garden’s first chamber and surveyed the extraordinary, neglected space. Not physically neglected—the turf was mowed and the pruning regular. But Zander was right: this garden lacked any kind of soul.

‘This is amazing.’ She looked at him. ‘Do you truly not use it?’

‘I shortcut through it from the main street.’

Sacrilege. To have a garden like this, to have it be all your own and then never use it.

‘There’s a lot you could do here.’

‘I have brown thumbs.’

‘You have something better. Deep pockets. You could hire a team.’

‘I don’t want a team. I want you.’

She glanced at him.

‘Someone like you,’ he rushed on. ‘Someone with passion for it. To look after it.’

The awkwardness of the moment flailed around between them. I want you. She’d practically given herself whiplash snapping her head around to look at him.

‘I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding someone to do more than just mow and prune. I could give you some names if you like.’

Hers would have been at the top of the list for anyone but him. What she wouldn’t give to get to tinker in this garden.

‘That would be great.’

She basked in the heat coming off him in the cool mid-morning air. Maybe carb-loading turned you into a furnace. Whatever the cause, she caught herself swaying towards his warmth.

She turned the unintentional move into a full body spin before he noticed it and looked again at the magnificent potential all around her.

‘I have hedgehogs,’ he murmured.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Of course he did. That was just the final nail in the coffin. ‘This is wasted on you,’ she said, bleak. But her soft groan must have communicated her affinity for the space because he didn’t take offence.

‘Because I don’t use it?’

‘Because you don’t love it. This garden—’ she turned back to the west ‘—this stunning house... These should be in the hands of someone who worked hard their whole life to have it. Not someone who only uses the garden for short cuts and who uses just two of the rooms.’ Yet paid a premium for them. ‘Why do you stay?’

She’d asked him before but he hadn’t answered.

‘Come on in,’ he hedged. ‘I’ll show you inside.’

Maybe she’d been rude to say it like that—out loud, to his face—but she truly didn’t understand how someone could have all this and not want to spend every waking moment in it.

Inside was the carefully styled twin of outside. Perfectly maintained, but utterly soulless. Like a short-term executive rental.

‘Where’s your study?’ She could hardly ask to see his bedroom, but she was desperate to get a sense of him. Of who Zander Rush really was.

He led her up a sweeping, curved staircase to the upper floor and along a spotless landing. It struck her then that he’d be better off closing off the unused rooms and throwing cloths over all the furniture. She suggested it.

‘No. I don’t want to live like that. It doesn’t take my cleaner long to dust and vacuum. This way it’s ready if people come over unexpectedly.’

She slid her eyes sideways. ‘Does that happen often?’

Something told her it didn’t. She had the strangest feeling she was one of only a few people this house ever saw.

Again, criminal.

A house like this should be seen. By someone.

He paused outside a door and looked at her. ‘Welcome to the inner sanctum.’

It felt like that. Privileged. Rare. Something about the air that whooshed out as he swung opened the big timber door. She thought to see some kind of expansive library with ladders and a massive antique desk and dead animal heads lining the wall. Something as grand as the house. She couldn’t have been more wrong. It was small but not tiny. Opulently carpeted, tasteful timber desk at the far end, and an array of antique bookcases of all different sizes and shapes and filled with books.

It was charming. And warm. And personal.

And such an unexpected thing given the rest of the house.

She stepped forward and trailed her fingers along the various surfaces. He watched her silently.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said, conscious that he seemed to expect some kind of verdict. ‘And comfortable; I can see why you spend a lot of time in here.’

Not as much as the garden, if this were her house and not his. She’d build a nest in the conservatory and hibernate in there.

‘I get much more done here at home than at the station.’

‘I’m surprised you don’t work from home more.’

‘There’s only so much alone time a man can take.’ He smiled. ‘Even me.’

She couldn’t imagine a busier or noisier Monday to Friday than working in a crowded radio station. She crossed around behind his desk and studied the carved bust by the window. ‘A relative? Some famous broadcasting type?’

He shook his head. ‘It was in the house when I bought it. I had it moved in here because it seemed a fitting sort of decoration for a study.’

How sad. A beautiful house full of someone else’s memories. She turned and skimmed her eyes over the paperwork scattered around a closed laptop on his desk. None of it interested her, but a colourful mini-poster pressed to the surface of the desk by a chunk of granite did.

His next event notice. Hadrian’s Wall, Gilsland to Bowness. The following weekend. She’d never seen a marathon in progress. And it was a public event...

She conveniently ignored the fact that she’d promised him she wouldn’t ask to go to one of his events. And that not telling him was just plain creepy.

‘Do you cook in your kitchen?’ she blurted, steering her focus—and his—away from the notice on his desk.

‘With fifteen restaurants in walking distance there’s little need, but yes, I have used the oven.’

‘I was thinking more about the kettle. I’d love a coffee while I make that list of landscapers.’

And get a better feel for the man himself, and what might have happened to him in his life to make him such an under-committed, over-achieving workaholic.

* * *

‘Best. Course. Ever!’ Georgia said as she hunkered down on the opposite side of a half-destroyed door, chest heaving and brandishing her heavy artillery up near her face.

Zander chuckled from the darkness beyond the flimsy doorway. ‘I don’t believe it. Have we finally found something you’d have done if you had free choice?’

‘Totally! Who knew I’d be so fast at assembling a gun?’ She tightened the harness crossing her chest until it was snug again.

‘Or cracking a code.’

She leaned back into the artfully decorated set designed to look like a shelled-out building. Less shabby-chic and more...Afghanistan-ic. ‘Makes up for being such a lousy femme fatale, I guess.’

‘Not everyone’s cut out for seduction,’ he threw away in the brief moment he peered his head around the doorway to assess the enemy location.

Some of the joy sucked out of her day. Believing it herself was different from having it pointed out by a man. By this man.

‘Ready?’ he checked.

She shook her doubts free and readied her weapon. ‘Locked and loaded.’

‘On my count...’

God, this was fun. She braced herself against the wall and waited for ‘three’. When it came she surged to her feet and sprinted across the open courtyard, as damaged and rubble-strewn as the rest of the set, with Zander hard up behind her. Halfway across, one of the yellow team popped up out of nowhere and aimed right at them both. Georgia dived to her left, crashing into a fake rubbish skip and sliding around behind it only to come face to face with one of her instructors, kitted out in the garb of the yellow team.

‘Bang,’ he said, popping the barrel of his fake gun hard up to her laser-tag and firing. The lights came on in the arena. He gave her his hand. ‘The good news is, you were the last of your team to die. If that’s any consolation.’

Yay for her! Last woman standing.

‘What happened to Zander?’ she puffed.

‘The big guy? He got hit by the shot you dodged.’

Her breath caught. Whoops.

Sure enough, the look Zander threw her as she stepped out from behind the skip was incredulous. ‘I can’t believe you let me take that hit!’ he accused.

She lifted her weapon and unclipped her body harness. ‘I would have died.’

‘But I’m your superior.’

She tipped her head back and threw him her sweetest smile. ‘Superior at dying, maybe...’

He snagged her arms and pinned them behind her, stepping in hard against her body and glaring down on her. ‘Isn’t that just like a woman?’

The hardness of his body—all strapped up in military chest plate and pressed up so firmly against hers—stole what little breath she’d managed to recover. ‘The sarcasm or the faithlessness?’ she whispered.

He tightened her hands and his eyes bored down into her soul. ‘Both.’

‘Just because I wouldn’t die for you? Is that what you expect of people?’

A shadow crossed his features and he let her hands go. ‘Is a little loyalty too much to ask?’

He was taking this very seriously for a game. ‘We’re highly trained agents. Loyal to no one but Queen and country.’

He grunted.

‘Besides,’ she breathed, ‘just think how guilty you’d have felt for the rest of your military career, letting a woman die for you. It would eat you up and you’d find yourself a hermit, living in a mountain, loving no one and letting nobody in. All bitter and twisted. Useless to MI6. I saved you from a fate worse than death, Agent Rush.’

Although it occurred to her that the description wasn’t all that unlike the real him. Minus the mountain.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Also just like a woman, spinning it so I should somehow be grateful.’

‘All right, people,’ the instructor shouted over the din, and she stepped away from Zander’s warmth, reluctantly. ‘Great to see that a full day of spy training has taught you all absolutely nothing about field survival...’

Georgia laughed along with everyone else and glanced at Zander. How long had it been since she’d felt this...light? He took her weapon for her and just held it. As though it were her hand.

Of course it wasn’t.

‘Next week we’ll be looking at surveillance gear,’ the instructor continued, ‘and having a go at planting a bug on someone.’

She rounded on Zander, eyes wide, and mouthed, Yay!

He shook his scraggy head, laughing, and stood back to let her pass in front of him back to the classroom. They stripped off their borrowed military accoutrements—very reluctantly on Georgia’s part because she’d been having herself a nice little fantasy about Zander doing that for her—and collected up their belongings.

‘Would you truly have wanted me to take that hit for you?’ she queried as they walked back towards his Jag a little later.

‘It’s nice to think someone would.’

She lifted her eyes to his.

‘Isn’t that what anyone wants?’ he said. ‘Someone to sacrifice all for them.’

‘You don’t seem the type,’ she murmured, sliding into the passenger seat next to him.

‘I’m as susceptible as anyone to grand gestures.’

She laughed as they pulled away from the kerb. ‘And you wonder why your staff are frightened of you.’ And then, at his frown, ‘If death is the only way they can get in your good books. Even metaphorically.’

He stared ahead at the road, letting that sink in.

‘You value loyalty that highly?’ she risked.

He took a moment answering, but when he did it wasn’t with the same light tone that they’d been firing back and forth since the war-games ended. ‘I’ve not had a lot of it in my life.’

‘Who from?’

But of course he wasn’t going to answer that. And no matter how many hours of fun they’d just had, it didn’t give her much of a right to ask.

Instead he turned to her, brightly, and said, ‘Want to grab something to eat on the way?’

No. But she wasn’t ready to go home alone, either. Maybe she could wheedle some clues out of his assistant, Casey. Now that she was a super spy and all. Then again, Casey probably hadn’t stayed as an assistant to a man as exacting as Zander Rush for as long as she had by chatting casually about his private business.

She’d have to be smarter than that.

She matched the brightness of his smile. And the fakeness.

‘Sure.’

SIX

June

‘It’s a good ten kilometres longer than a regular marathon,’ the spectator perched next to Georgia on a fold-out chair said, his eyes firmly on the bend in the road they were sitting by. ‘But it’s only a club-training day so it doesn’t count as an ultra-marathon. It’s just a good run.’

Georgia chuckled. Calling a fifty-three-kilometre run ‘good’ was like calling her drive up from London in her gran’s borrowed car ‘brief’. Though getting herself to the starting point up towards the Scottish border reminded her just how long it had been since she’d taken herself right out of London.

Too long.

So even if this was the craziest and most spontaneous of bad ideas, it at least had the rather pleasant silver lining of getting her out into fresh, brisk, northern air.

The event didn’t run adjacent or even near to the actual Hadrian’s Wall remains; disappointing but understandable. The past two thousand years hadn’t been kind to them already, the last thing they needed was forty sweaty runners and their support crews plodding along their length. But the route trundled along paved roads and tracks and along a river in one place, and so Georgia was able to drive ahead, park, and set herself up at strategic locations with the other spectators to watch them go by.

She quickly realised that Zander would be in the front half of the pack, though not right at the front. Those spaces were occupied by the elite professional runners and their support crews. But he wasn’t too far behind, sans support crew. Last stop she’d practically hidden in the shrubbery as the pack ran by, keen for Zander not to spot her on the side of the road. But as she’d watched him steadily plod past she realised he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the spectators. He was just lost in a zone of his own. The zone that got this tough job done.

She’d had a good poke around a Roman ruin and Hadrian’s Wall itself and still been ready at this next vantage point twelve kilometres along for the moment he came jogging along the track.

‘Here they come,’ the man said in his thick accent, standing. He readied himself with squeeze-bottles of energy drink and a pair of bananas and stepped up to the road edge in case his runner needed supplies. Georgia stepped back into his considerable shadow so that she was partially screened from the runners.

Just in case.

Zander stood out in the field, both for his height and also his electric-green vest top. So she watched for that. Only about a dozen runners passed her before she saw the flash of lime and she tucked back even further into her companion’s wake. As before, Zander was totally focused on the path ahead and, not expecting anyone to be out here for him, he wasn’t looking for anyone. That meant his eyes were locked forward, determination all over his face, and he sucked air in and blew it out steadily between the thud of his sturdy runners on the track.

A slick gloss of sweat covered most of the exposed areas of his body but instead of making him look hot and miserable, it just made him look...hot. Some men really did sweaty well and apparently buttoned-up Zander was one of them. The all-over sheen defined the contours of muscles that flexed taut with effort and made her imagine other ways he might get that sweaty. And that taut.

She shut down that thought hard as he ran past.

‘Is that your guy?’ the man next to her asked, his eyes still on the bend in the road up ahead, his bananas and energy drink still outstretched.

‘No, he’s just a friend,’ she laughed. Way too brightly.

The man glanced at her quizzically, as if she’d answered a totally different question from the one he asked. ‘I meant is he the one you’re here cheering on?’

Heat surged into her face. ‘Oh, yes.’

He turned his eyes back to the bend and waited for sight of his guy. Or girl. That was how little attention she’d paid to anyone but Zander. ‘Next stop you’re welcome to one of my squeeze-bottles if you want.’

‘Thank you, no,’ she said, dragging her eyes back off Zander’s disappearing form. ‘I’m just watching.’

She picked up her fold-a-chair.

‘Well, I’ll see you at the King’s Arms,’ the affable fellow said. ‘We’ll all have earned a brew by then.’

She hadn’t planned on waiting at the end, she’d only thought to watch him for a bit, get a feel for this sport that he loved, and then drive the many hours back to London. But while the idea of sitting waiting to surprise him in a pub didn’t appeal, the thought that what she was actually doing was tantamount to stalking appealed even less.

‘Yes,’ she suddenly decided. ‘I’ll see you there.’

Late night be damned.

She clambered her way back across the farmer’s field to where her car was pulled off the road heading west—the same direction as the pack of runners.

As the afternoon wore on, Zander’s form remained steady but the exertion showed in the lines around his mouth and the cords that became more pronounced in his neck and calves. So even with all his heavy training this wasn’t an easy run. The front of the pack certainly made it seem so and she was always gone by the time the rest of the pack went through. But Zander went from the front-runner in the second cluster of runners to the rear-runner in the front group with a brief, lonely stint by himself as he transitioned the ever-stretching gap between them.

Most of the other spectators went to the final checkpoint to cheer their runners across the line but Georgia headed straight for the small pub on the main street. There was no guarantee that Zander would even go there; if he valued his solitude enough he might just clamber back into his Jag and head straight back to London all puffing and sweaty.

And she’d be sitting here for nothing.

But she stayed. She wanted him to know she’d come—even if he might not be all that happy about it. She wanted him to know how much she admired his dogged determination. She wanted to know what time he’d run. Those long waits on the side of the road were great for getting a feel from the regulars on what was a good time, what the stages in the pack meant and why long-run competitors did what they did.

Curiosity and a real sense of anticipation hung with her.

She wanted him to have done well. For his sake.

The front-runners started to appear amid the small crowd in the pub. She recognised some of them since they were the ones she’d been looking at all afternoon. Their arrival at the Arms was a mini-version of the race order. Clearly there was a procedure followed by most competitors—finish, shower, pub.

Her eyes drifted to the door yet again.

The crowd grew too thick in the small pub for her to see the moment Zander actually came through the door, but they spotted each other at virtually the same moment as he turned from the bar. She sucked in a small breath, held it, and smiled.

As casual as you like. As though this were her local and he’d just happened into it. As though she weren’t three hundred miles from her local. Sitting on the border of a whole other country.

‘Georgia?’ His confusion reached her before he did.

She stood. ‘Congratulations. That was quite a run.’

‘What are you doing here?’ It wasn’t unfriendly, but it wasn’t joyous, either. Had she expected pleased?

She took a deep breath. ‘I thought I’d watch you compete. I just wanted to say hello before I headed off.’ Let you know I’m not a stalker. She reached for her handbag, realising what a desperately bad idea this all was. Not only was she not invited, but she’d intruded on his privacy. Presumed her way into his own space and sporting circle. The least she could do was keep it short.

She threaded the straps of her handbag in her fingers. ‘How did you do?’

He shook his head, still trying to come to terms with her presence. ‘Good. Personal best for the distance.’

She nodded. ‘I saw you make that big break between the chase group and the lead,’ she babbled. ‘That was exciting.’

He frowned.

‘I had lots of time to talk to the spectators,’ she confessed, flushing. ‘Ask me anything about marathon running now...’

She laughed. He didn’t.

Oh, God... ‘OK. Well, congratulations. I’m going to go.’

She didn’t wait for a farewell, but started weaving her way immediately through the assembled throng. She got to the door before a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

‘Georgia...’

She turned. Forced a bright smile to her face. She was getting quite good at swallowing humiliation now.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You being here really threw me. I’m not...’ He frowned again and looked around at everyone else’s support teams laughing and sharing stories. ‘I’m not used to having someone here for me. Stay for a while longer?’

One foot was, literally, out of the door. It would be so easy to make an excuse about the sinking sun, the long drive home, and flee. But there was Zander, all freshly showered and apologetic and great-smelling, standing in a room full of excited buzz, inviting her to stay in it. To enjoy everyone else’s post-run high. To vacation in his world for just a short while.

She scanned his face for signs of being humoured. ‘Maybe for a bit, then. If you’re sure you don’t mind.’

‘Stay. We can chalk this up to a Year of Georgia project.’

The radio promotion. Of course. Everything came back to that.

They returned to the place she’d been seated but someone had taken quick advantage of the vacant seat and slid into it. Zander turned and shepherded her through to an area behind the bar. Still busy but quieter. A small table-for-one in the far corner was empty. It didn’t take him long to find a spare chair.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t see you out on the road,’ he started, sinking onto one of the seats.

She waved away the apology. His job was to stay focused on the run, not glance at spectators in case one of them was for him. ‘How do you feel after the run?’

‘Always the same. Exhilarated. Drained, yet like I could do it all again. I’ll feel like a conqueror for a few hours yet.’

‘How many recovery days do you have?’

His lips parted in a smile and in this private little corner of the bar it was all for her. ‘You really are a quick study.’

Heat filled her cheeks. ‘They were quite long roadside vigils.’ And lots of listening so that she didn’t have to talk too much to strangers.

A genuine smile lit up his face. ‘Sorry. I should have run faster.’

They chatted more about the race, the pastime, the rules, and the challenges, and Georgia found herself sinking into his obvious engagement.

‘You look totally different,’ she blurted.

‘In civvies?’

‘No. When you talk about running your entire face changes. You become so animated.’

‘How do I normally look?’

She gestured to his frown. ‘More like that. When you’re talking about work. This Zander is...very human.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Wow. I’m not even human in London?’

What the hell? She’d intruded on his space, she might as well go the whole way. He was a puzzle she wanted to solve. ‘You’re so guarded in London.’

He shrugged—totally guarded—and she regretted raising it. ‘I’m in work mode when I see you. It’s not London’s fault.’

‘Are you saying you’re not yourself when you’re in work mode?’

‘A different part of myself.’

‘So which is more you—this Zander or London Zander?’

He squinted as he thought about it. ‘I work eighty hours a week so, statistically, being like this is less common. But scarcity just makes me enjoy it more.’

So he liked this side of him as much as she did.

Around them a few people stood, as if on cue. He noticed, too.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We have a tradition when we run the wall.’

She followed him out of the King’s Arms, feeling very comfortable and welcome in this crowd—with Zander—even though she knew how out of place she was. Such a fraud. A line of them trooped, beers in hand, down to the banks of the tidal flat that had been halfway out when she’d arrived earlier. Now water lapped right up to the banks. The groups split down into small pairs and threes and spread out along the length of the foreshore. It practically glowed with rich, dusk light.

‘Solway Firth,’ Zander said, taking his cue from a pair of nearby cows and sinking onto the grass. ‘Best sunsets in England.’

‘And Scotland,’ she said, dropping down next to him and looking across the narrow expanse of water that separated the two countries. She wondered what Scots might be sitting on the opposite banks looking at England and sharing the sunset. Then she looked inland. ‘What town is that down there?’

Lights twinkled where the tidal flats became a river as the sun lowered.

‘Gretna Green.’

‘Convenient if we were eloping.’ She laughed.

But the mention of marriage dented the relaxed companionship that had blossomed between them since they sat back down at the pub.

‘Have you never wanted to get married?’ she asked, without thinking about how he might construe such a question. In such a context. With Gretna Green an hour’s stroll away.

His answer was more of a stammer.

‘Not that I’m volunteering,’ she hurried. ‘One misguided proposal a year is my limit. I’m just curious. You’d be quite the catch, I’d have thought.’

Understatement.

He took his time answering that. Or deciding how to. ‘What self-respecting woman would want me and my insane schedule?’

OK, they were going with flippant, then. ‘I think you’d find your postal code and credit limit would be sufficient compensation for many people.’ Not to mention the body.

‘Many? But not you?’

She blew a breath slowly out and stared into the orange glow of the sunset. ‘I would actually be quite choosy about who I married,’ she started.

‘Despite all evidence to the contrary,’ he murmured.

She looked at him. ‘It’s not like I picked Dan out of a Proposals-R-Us catalogue. I’d known him a while. I really like him as a person. He’s bright and dedicated and he has really good family values.’

Would he notice the complete absence of the L-word?

‘You two wanted kids?’

She snorted. ‘We never discussed a week into the future, let alone years.’ Which only made her proposal even more misguided. ‘But he’d been looking after his sick sister and her kids for a while. So I got to see it in action. The potential.’

‘Family’s important to you?’

She frowned, thought about it. ‘The values are important. The capacity to love and nurture something to adulthood.’

‘Like plants?’

She chuckled. ‘Exactly. Kids can’t possibly be any fussier than ferns.’

‘And that’s more important to you than money or an address? Values?’

She looked at him. ‘You’ve seen how I live. Do I strike you as someone who cares much about money or the trappings of wealth?’ Or threw them around needlessly?

‘Not having it is not necessarily synonymous with not wanting it,’ he said. ‘I used to have none and I definitely wanted it.’

‘Some things are more important than money.’

‘So what was the leap year promotion all about?’ he asked suddenly. ‘If not for the fifty grand. Why put yourself and Bradford through that?’

The sun touched the horizon. ‘Did you know that sunsets are only a mirage? By the time we’re seeing it touch water, the sun has already dropped below the horizon. Something to do with the curvature of the earth.’

He turned to look. And it wasn’t until then that she realised how closely he’d been watching her before. But then he brought his eyes back around. ‘I didn’t know that. But I do recognise a subject change when I hear one.’

‘It’s not... I’m not comfortable talking about it.’

‘Why? You think I’m going to judge you?’

‘I think it might end up in the radio show.’

His face changed, then, in an instant. Back to London Zander. ‘Right.’

‘Zander...’ Her eyes fell shut to block out his offence, but she forced them open again. ‘I could barely admit to Dan why I’d done it. I can’t tell the whole country.’

I can’t tell you. Not without having to ask herself why Zander’s good impression mattered more to her than Dan’s.

He stared. ‘Off the record.’

She dropped her eyes and plucked at the long blades of the estuary bank. ‘Do you know what I do for a job?’

‘You study seeds.’

‘I X-ray seeds. Day in, day out, to find the ones that are incompetent. The ones that aren’t viable. The ones that aren’t normal. It makes a person quite proficient at spotting the signs of irregularities in others. Or in yourself.’

He stayed silent. Waited for her to connect the dots.

‘Everyone I know has paired off. Started families. I felt like I was falling behind.’

There was no judgement, just curiosity. ‘Is it a race?’

‘No.’ She had years of optimum childrearing ahead of her.

‘But?’

She lifted her eyes. But the clock was ticking. ‘It’s hard, being with them and not being able to contribute, to understand. They all have that shared experience in common. They’ve become so much closer.’

‘You were going to get married and have kids just to ensure you could contribute to conversation? That seems extreme.’

Put like that it sounded as ridiculous as it probably was. ‘I want what they have.’

‘School debt and early grey hair?’

She went to stand. ‘I shouldn’t expect you to understand. You have so much—’

His fingers caught her wildly flapping ones. Tugged her back down. ‘George, sorry. Go on. What do they have that you want so much?’

She stared at where his long fingers held hers. Not releasing them. ‘Everything. The package. A man and children to love them. A nice house in the country. Security and someone to celebrate joys with. To be wanted enough for someone to give up their freedom for.’ All the things she didn’t have growing up. ‘Someone to fill all the holes inside me.’

‘So Daniel was your gap-filler?’

She stared. Swallowed. Dropped her head with shame. ‘Poor Dan. That’s awful.’

‘Give yourself a break. Everyone fills their gaps with something.’

‘What fills yours?’

His answer was immediate. ‘Work. Running.’

The only two things he did. They couldn’t both be gap fillers, surely? ‘What are you filling?’

He stared. ‘A whole lot of empty.’

Wow. That was quite a mouthful. There was nothing to say to that. They just stared at each other as the sun fully set. Its sinking took with it some of the magic of the cusp of night and day, breaking the spell she’d been under.

How else could she excuse her revelations of the last few minutes?

She let her eyes refocus over his shoulder.

‘It’s gone,’ she whispered.

‘It’ll be back tomorrow.’

She nodded. But still they didn’t move.

‘Why are we here, Zander?’ she breathed into the fading light.

He stared at her in the rapidly cooling, darkening evening. ‘Because you followed me up here?’

Half of her was terrified he’d just shrug and blame tradition. That this thing between them wasn’t mutual. But she wasn’t about to be put off so easily. ‘Here, by the twinkling water as the sun sets.’

‘Do you want to leave?’ he murmured, eyes locked on hers.

She should. ‘No.’

‘Do you want to feel?’

Her lungs locked up. Suddenly the grass and cows and water around them seemed to grow as if the two of them had just hauled themselves over the top of a beanstalk, forcing them closer together and making the scant distance separating them into something negligible.

Her pulse began to hammer in earnest.

Zander raised his hand and slipped it behind her head, lowering his forehead to rest on hers. His heat radiated outwards. His eyes drifted shut.

She hesitated for only a moment, then turned her face to rub her jaw along his, twisting inwards, seeking out the lips that hunted for hers. The full lips she’d been wanting to taste since she’d seen them stained with bolognese sauce and a smile in the restaurant kitchen.

Was that how long she’d been wanting it for?

Her breath came heavy and fast and mingled with his. Then she turned inwards, drawn by the plaintive breath that was her name on his lips. Their mouths touched. Sensation sparked between them and birthed a flame, hot and raw. Zander pressed their lips more firmly together, leaned into her. Curled his fingers into the hair at her nape. Georgia pressed a hand to the damp, cool earth and used it to lever herself closer to him, to hold the connection fast. To explore and taste and experience. His breath became hers. Her breath sustained them both. She kissed him harder. Greedy for his taste.

Desire raged up around them as though the setting sun had boiled the waters of the firth and they’d spilled over to the banks where they lay.

And, yes, it was lay. Somehow, between one desperate breath and the next, they’d sunk down to the grass and Zander twisted half over her. She couldn’t remember getting there. Her entire consciousness was consumed with the press of his mouth against hers and the weight of his body on hers. He leaned on his elbows, both hands free to tangle in her hair, his mouth free to roam wherever it pleased.

And, boy, did it please.

Her head spun, her chest squeezed, her insides squirmed. Every cell in her body cried out to just merge with his. As though they recognised their chemical equal.

It wasn’t until his thigh slid down between hers that reality intruded.

For both of them.

She twisted her face away from his and sucked in a breath of fresh coastal air. Sweeter and colder than anything they got in London. It helped to clear her muddled head, just a little.

Zander lifted his lips and stared down at her. Speechless.

‘Um...’ What more could she say?

Where the hell had that come from?

One minute they were talking and the next she was crawling down his throat, hungry for more of the best kiss she’d ever had.

He pressed back up, grinding closer where it really counted and sending a new wave of heat to her cheeks. He twisted sideways and his heavy, sexy weight lifted off her.

She missed him instantly.

She sat up and blew air slowly through swollen lips.

‘Georgia, I—’ He cut himself off to clear his throat.

She couldn’t bear to hear him apologise, or declare it a mistake or express remorse. Not for a kiss like that. Not him. So she jumped in before he could start again, laughing lightly. Faking heavily. ‘Chalk it up to your post-race high? All those conquering impulses?’

He’d conquered her all right—like a Viking. And that thought triggered a rush of new images and sensations. God, how she’d love to just lie back and concede defeat.

Weighing up his choices showed in his face, even in the dim light. ‘We could say that.’

She took a breath.

‘Or we could acknowledge the chemistry that’s been between us since we met.’

Acknowledge it sounded a lot like forgiving it. Releasing it.

Ignoring it.

‘Since we met?’ Though she still remembered the spark as he’d handed her the coat out at Wakehurst.

‘It had to come to a head at some time.’

‘You ignored me for so many weeks.’

‘I was trying to ignore it. Not you. Our relationship was a professional one.’

Past tense? ‘And now?’

‘Now it’s going to be even harder keeping things professional.’

‘Back in London?’ Back in the real world. Where adrenaline-fuelled kisses and dramatic sunsets didn’t happen.

‘It would be inappropriate for me to start something with you.’

‘Inappropriate?’ She sat up and tucked her knees to her chest. How politically correct.

He followed her upright. ‘I’m the manager of the station running your promotion. I sign the cheques that pay for your classes.’

And would do for months yet.

‘And it’s not fair to you, either. You’re not equipped for something like this.’

She sat back, hard. Shook her head. ‘Like what?’

‘Something happening between us.’

Not everyone’s cut out for seduction, he’d joked back at spy school, though maybe it hadn’t been entirely a joke. She had failed abysmally at flirting her way to information from a stranger in class, though Zander’s eyes had remained glued to her the whole time. But that was...you know...a stranger. And this was Zander.

Totally different situation.

Though maybe not for him. How cruel to kiss her half to death, to make her feel so desirable, and then to back-pedal so very obviously.

He rambled on. ‘This was—’

Fantastic? Overdue?

‘—an aberration.’

Pain sliced through her. Could he have found an uglier way of saying it was a mistake? She stared across at Scotland, and would have given anything to spontaneously teleport over to the far bank.

‘I should have had more control,’ he said. ‘This is my fault.’

Oh, please. ‘I came up here willingly.’

‘Not expecting that, I’m sure.’

No. Definitely not expecting that. She just wanted to get to know him a little bit. But she’d discovered a whole other Zander hidden inside the first one. ‘So now what? We just go back to how it was?’

He looked at her.

Did he need it spelled out? ‘You ignoring me?’

‘I won’t ignore you, George. I couldn’t, now.’

George. The same nickname her friends used for her. The irony bit hard. ‘So then business as usual?’

Silence was nod enough.

She pushed to her feet. ‘OK, then. Well, my first order of business is to get back to London before dawn.’

‘I’m staying at the Arms. Maybe they’ll have a second room?’

Was he joking? Stay anywhere near him and not want to be with him? While he found her so...ill-equipped?

‘I have a prep session for the personal makeover tomorrow morning. Measuring and stuff.’ Never mind that she’d never felt less like doing anything. Despite—apparently—needing all the help she could get. She grasped her excuses as she found them.

‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ Zander said.

For a guy who had protested so vehemently about her catching the underground home after a couple of wines, he was sure very willing to let her drive a deadly weapon half way across the country with still-scattered wits.

Maybe he wanted her gone as much as she needed to be there?

They walked, in silence, back up the road to her vehicle. The rapid journey from body-against-body and lips-against-lips to this awful, careful distance was jarring, but the cold night breeze helped her to blow the final wisps of desire from her mind like fog from shore.

It was for the better. Almost certainly.

She turned and faced him, a bright smile on her face. ‘See you Wednesday night, then?’

Salsa class.

She held her breath. If he was going to pull out of his pledge to go with her, now was the moment it would happen.

He stared down at her, leaned forward as if to kiss her again, but pulled on the handle of the car door behind her instead. ‘See you Wednesday.’

Him being chivalrous with the door went exactly no way to making her feel any better about what an ass he’d just been back on the bank of the firth. She grunted her thanks, slipped into her front seat, and slammed the door shut on his parting words.

Drive safely.

SEVEN

The best run of his life turned into the worst night of his life.

Not the evening—the evening touched on one of the most special moments he’d ever had. But the night, after Georgia drove off so quickly down Bowness’s quiet main street... He barely slept that night despite his exhaustion and even Sunday was pretty much a write-off.

He spent the whole time trying to offload the kiss he had stolen from her like a fence trying to move appropriated diamonds. Failing abysmally.

After all these months—even after the stern talking to he’d given himself after getting all touchy feely with her at spy school—why had he let himself slip to quite that degree?

Kissing her. Touching her.

Torturing himself with what he couldn’t have.

There were endless numbers of women back in London that he could kiss. And touch. And sleep with if he wanted. Bold, casual, riskless women. Georgia Stone was not one of them. She wasn’t made of the same stuff as any of them. She wasn’t bold or casual. And Lord knew not without risk.

But then she’d walked into his world, the only woman—the only person—ever to watch him race, to wait with a cold drink and a proud smile at the finish line, and he’d let himself buy into the fantasy. Just for a moment. Then one fantasy had led to another until they were lying in the long, cool grass, tongues and feet tangling.

He’d let himself slip further than any time since Lara.

Worse, to trust. And he didn’t do trust.

Ever.

He’d finally tumbled into an exhausted sleep Sunday night, but his mood was no better today.

As evidenced by the way his staff were tiptoeing around him extra carefully. Even Casey, who usually only gave the most cursory of knocks before walking into his office, actually stood, waiting, until he gave her permission to enter.

‘Zander,’ she started, lips tight. She looked as if she’d rather be calling him Mr Rush.

‘What is it, Casey?’

‘I wanted to...’ She changed tack. ‘Georgia just emailed these instructions, and I thought I’d better run them past you.’

That got his attention. Not just because the sentence had the word Georgia in it, but because his assistant and their resident scientist were thick as thieves, so Casey ratting her out meant something big was going on.

She stood across the desk from him. ‘She’s made some changes to the programme.’

No big news—Georgia changed things around regularly. He was getting used to it. He stared and waited for more from Casey.

‘Big changes.’ She held out a sheaf of papers.

‘How big?’ But as he ran his eyes over them he could see instantly. ‘Ankara? Are you kidding me?’ He eyeballed his assistant. She took half a step back. ‘Ibiza’s already booked isn’t it?’ Their flights to Spain were in a few weeks. Georgia’s big holiday. Now she wanted it to be Turkey?

‘Actually I can still make changes—’

Not what he wanted to hear.

Casey’s mouth clicked shut. She started backing out of the room. ‘I’ll leave you to read the—’

‘Stay!’ he barked, though deep down he regretted commanding her like a trained dog. None of this was her fault.

All of it was his. He’d been stupid to give into his baser instincts and kiss her. As though either of them could go back from that.

He flipped to the next page. Georgia had ditched the cocktail-making class in favour of life drawing. She’d dumped aquasphering on the Thames to go on some underground tour of old London. She’d dropped out of salsa and replaced it with belly dancing, for heaven’s sake.

‘I see spy lessons made the cut,’ he snorted.

‘Yeah, she loves those—’ Again, Casey’s jaw clicked shut. As if she suddenly realised she was siding with the enemy.

‘Get her on the phone for me.’

‘I tried, Zander. She’s not answering.’

Right. ‘I’ll take care of it tonight.’ At salsa.

Assuming she went at all.

* * *

‘I wasn’t convinced you’d be here,’ he said as Georgia slipped through the dance studio door, quietly, and joined him on the benches. She smiled and nodded at some of their fellow dance regulars. Twice as big as the paltry smile she’d offered him.

‘I wasn’t sure if the change got approved, so I didn’t want to leave them with uneven numbers.’

‘What’s with the swap to belly dancing?’

She shrugged and glanced around the room. Zander tried again. ‘I had no idea you were such a fan of all things eastern. First belly dancing, then Ankara...’

She brought her eyes back to his. Surprised at his snark, perhaps. ‘You helped me to see that my list was built out of things I thought I should be doing more than things I actually wanted to do.’

‘Come on, Georgia. You actually want to belly dance?’

She kicked her chin up. He might as well have waved a red flag. ‘It interests me. It’s beautiful.’

Uh-huh. It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that belly dancing was a solo occupation and she wouldn’t have to touch him again. ‘And what’s in Ankara that’s of so much more interest than Ibiza?’

Other than less alcohol, less noise, less crowds.

‘Cappadocia.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘A region full of amazing remnants of a Bronze-Aged civilisation. You can fly over it in balloons.’

He just stared. ‘And that’s what you want to do?’

Her hands crept up to her hips. ‘Yes.’

‘Why the sudden change of heart on all your activities?’

‘It’s not all that sudden. I don’t want expensive makeovers or hot stone massages or guidance on how to wear clothes I’ll never be able to afford to buy.’

The dance instructor clapped them to attention.

‘Is this about the cost?’ Zander whispered furiously. Hoping it really was.

‘This is about me. Doing things that matter to me.’

It was her money—her year—to spend however she liked. And it was his job to make even the wackiest list sound like something all EROS’ listeners could relate to. But it was becoming increasingly important that it helped Georgia to find her way back to feeling whole. He wanted her whole.

He just didn’t know why.

‘Partners!’ the dance instructor called.

They knew the drill. They’d done weeks of this. He’d gone a little bit crazy getting all the audio he needed, grabs from Georgia, the dance instructor. That should have been heaps. But he’d interviewed just about everyone else, there, too. Every single one of them had an interesting story, their own personal reasons for learning to dance at seventy, or despite being widowed recently or coming alone. And for every single one of them it wasn’t about dance at all.

It was about living.

There were thirty interesting stories in this room. But he was only paid to tell one of them.

The instructor clapped his hands again. He and Georgia were supposed to partner up. She was supposed to step into his arms, assume the salsa start position. But the stance they were supposed to assume was the vertical version of the one they’d found themselves in a few nights ago: lying there in the long grass as the sun extinguished in the ocean.

A little bit too familiar.

A little bit too real.

She hovered indecisively. And again, this was his mess to sort out. He was the one who’d failed to control his wandering thoughts and hands that night. He was the one who’d lacked discipline. Folded to his barely acknowledged need for human contact.

He stepped closer to her, kept his body as formal and stiff as he could. Raised his hands. ‘Georgia...?’

Her smile was tight, but she stepped into his hold carefully, and stood—just as stiff, just as formal—close to his body. As the music began he did his best not to brush against her unless essential—out of respect for her and a general aversion to self-torture—and they stepped as they’d been taught, though nowhere near as fluid as it had been in the past.

It was as clunky as them, together, now.

But it was functional.

The instructor drifted around correcting posture, demonstrating steps, voicing words of encouragement, but when he got to the two of them he took one look at their total disconnect, his lips pursed and he said in his thick accent, ‘Not every day is magic. Sometimes this happens. You will have the magic again next week.’

No. There would be no magic next week. There would be no salsa next week. And the guilt in Georgia’s eyes confirmed exactly what he’d suspected. This sudden change to belly dancing was about him.

‘I could have just stopped coming,’ he gritted as she moved close enough to hear his murmur.

She drifted away again. But he knew the steps would bring her right back. He tried to read her face and see if she was going to feign innocence or not.

‘I wanted something that didn’t force us to dance together,’ she breathed, her total honesty pleasing him on some deep level. A level deep beneath the one where he hated what she was suggesting. ‘The only other solo option was pole dancing. Belly dancing seemed like a decent compromise.’

And suddenly his mind was filled with poles and Georgia and seedy, darkened venues. He forced his focus back onto the key issue.

‘What about the segment?’

‘You’ve got more than enough for a salsa segment. In fact, why do you have so much? You’ll never use all of that in a two-minute piece.’

Prime-time air was too expensive to dedicate more than two minutes a month to the Year of Georgia. So why had he spent all that time recording everyone else in the session as well? ‘The laws of documentary-making,’ he hedged. ‘Get ten times more than you think you’ll need.’

‘This isn’t a documentary,’ she reminded him, her breath coming faster with the dancing. ‘It’s a stupid commercial promotion.’

Stupid. Nice.

But he was too distracted remembering the last time she’d been this breathless to argue.

He yanked her towards him as the funky music crescendoed. As usual the whole room was slightly out of synch so what was supposed to be a passionate crash of body against body always looked like a vaguely geriatric Mexican wave.

She pressed against his chest, staring up at him, angry colour staining her cheeks. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘About what?’

‘My reluctance to have a stranger come along with me. You can go back to your paperwork and give me the work-experience kid as far as I’m concerned.’

‘You think our schedules are that elastic? That I can just make a change like that with no warning? Disrupt everyone’s plans every time you change your mind?’

‘It’s called dynamism, Zander,’ she gritted. ‘Maybe your station could use some.’

OK, now she was just picking a fight.

He stopped when he should have twirled her into open position. She stumbled at his misstep. Then he curled his hand around hers and hauled her back towards the door. A few eyes followed them, including the speculative ones of the instructor.

‘Next week!’ he shouted at their backs. ‘Magic!’

She shook free as soon as they hit the cool June air. ‘What are you doing?’

‘What’s going on, Georgia?’

‘Nothing’s going on. I just realised that I needed to be true to myself or this whole thing is a crock.’

‘Which part is being true to yourself? The part where you start switching all our plans around or the part where you’ll do just about anything not to get too close to me.’

‘Aberration,’ she parroted back to him. ‘That was your word, Zander. You wanted things back on a professional footing.’

‘Not at the expense of any civility at all between us.’

Her breath hissed out of her. ‘The changes I’m making are trying to keep things civil. So they don’t end up like this every night.’

Boundaries. She was stacking them up and he kept knocking them down. Why? He should be thanking her. He took two deep, long breaths. ‘We just kissed, Georgia. Heat of the moment, influence of the sunset, romance of the wall. Whatever you want to call it.’

He had to call it something, otherwise he was just a jerk for hitting on her while she was still vulnerable from her breakup with Bradford.

‘Who are you trying to convince, Zander? Me or yourself?’

That was a damned fine question. ‘It doesn’t have to change anything. We just agree to let it go.’

‘Just like that?’

Sure. He was a master at denial. ‘I have a job to do and you have money to spend. Let’s just focus on that.’

‘You don’t object to any of the changes?’

‘I don’t care what you do with the money, I just want you to be—’ he caught himself a half-breath before saying happy ‘—comfortable with it.’

‘I’m hoping I’ll be more comfortable this way. Forcing myself to do things way outside of my usual interests was probably a mistake. I was trying to be someone I’m not.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I thought it was what was expected. What your listeners would expect. What you wanted.’

Her eyes flicked away and he struggled with the deep satisfaction that she’d done any of it for him. ‘Listeners are the first to spot falsity on air. If it’s not of interest to you it’s going to show in the segments.’

She nodded. ‘Well, hopefully we’ve taken care of that now.’

We. He liked her accidental use of the collective. For the same reason he liked coming along to these crazy classes even though he had much more efficient things to be doing with that time. It legitimised his being with Georgia. He could play at relationships without actually being in one. Enjoy her company without the commitment. She was generous with her wonder and excitement doing new things and he could live off that for a whole week back in the soul-destroying environment of the station.

If he spaced it out right.

Kisses... Those he could live off for a year.

She chewed her lip. ‘Should we go back in?’

Her reasons for changing classes were valid. The more he had to put his hands on her, the harder it was going to be taking them off. ‘No. Let’s just call it a night.’

‘Sure.’

Courteous but cool. It bothered him enough to glance down the street for the nearest coffee shop. He saw the blinking LED sign a few blocks down. So much safer than having her in his house. So much safer than a bar with a few drinks under his belt. So much safer than the back of a black taxi, pressed together for twenty minutes.

‘Let’s grab a coffee,’ he said and turned her west.

Georgia did her best not to flinch at the feel of Zander’s hand at her lower back. It was just a courteous gesture. Unconscious. It didn’t mean a thing. Even if it did feel more intimate and personal than the salsa clinch they’d been in just moments before. Something about the way it failed to entirely disengage even once she was fully moving...

It took a few silent minutes to get to the Tudor-style coffee shop. Then a few more to get seated and settled and their drinks ordered.

She struggled to not be distracted by his long fingers tapping on the tabletop—fingers that had traced her skin so beautifully just nights ago and curled so strongly in her hair. But if she looked at his face she’d either drown in his eyes or start obsessing about his lips.

All of which were entirely off limits to her now. Despite the torment of the taste-test after the marathon.

So she fluctuated between looking at the place where a lock of his hair fell across his forehead, a spot of fluff on his collar and glancing around the room at the other patrons.

‘Tell me about Ankara.’

That managed to bring her eyes back to his. ‘Now?’

‘I know nothing about it and I’m going to be going with you. Why is it so special?’

‘Cappadocia.’ Amongst other wonders.

He shrugged. ‘Old cities and ballooning. That’s it?’

She pressed forwards against the table. ‘Seriously? You can’t understand why someone would want to float high above a city where houses and chapels are carved into the rockfaces? Where entire communities used to live underground to hide from invaders two thousand years ago? Cities that were founded twenty centuries before Jesus?’

He just stared. ‘You’re serious?’

Excited warmth warmed her cheeks. ‘Where else could you do it? It’s so intriguing...’

‘It’s not to put me off?’

‘It’s not about you at all.’ Lies! ‘It’s something I’d like to do. I saw it in a documentary years ago and I’ve never forgotten it.’ And if Zander came along, bonus. Good things happened to them when they got out of London. Things just tended to go south when they were back in it.

His eyes burned into hers. Deciding. He slid his recorder up onto the table. ‘OK. Tell me more.’

She did. For the next hour and a half. All about Göreme, where she wanted to stay, all about Cappadocia’s extraordinary ancient lunar-scapes and traditional villages and the amazing peoples that had lived there for forty centuries. All about how it had wheedled its way under her skin all those years ago.

‘And you can stay in these underground buildings?’

‘They carve them out of the side of enormous rock faces. And they’ve been modernised. Electricity, water. They even have Wi-Fi. So you won’t be slumming it.’

He’d been smiling for the last five or six minutes straight, though she knew she wasn’t saying anything funny. His eyes practically glittered looking at her.

‘What?’

‘You just...’ He struggled for the right words. And he turned the recorder off. ‘You love life, don’t you?’

Generally, she just endured life. But maybe that was because she’d been missing the best of it. ‘I love the possibilities. I love that you’ve given me this opportunity and I’m going to do something I’ve always wanted to. I couldn’t do this without you.’

‘Without the station,’ he clarified.

Right. Just in case she was thinking he was doing this for her. ‘Without help.’

‘You might have got there by yourself. Eventually.’

‘Maybe not. I was this close—’ she pinched her fingers ‘—to consigning myself to the role of wife and mother. That would have meant a lot less flexibility and freedom for a really long time.’

He shrugged. ‘A different kind of adventure, perhaps?’

His words sank in. If marriage was an adventure, then shouldn’t you enter into it with someone that you’d want to be adventurous with? Discover new worlds with? Fly across a lunar landscape with. Her breath tightened up. She said the first thing that came into her head in order to stop anything more inappropriate appearing there.

‘Is that what you think marriage is? An adventure?’

‘I used to.’ He pressed his lips together the moment those few tiny words voiced.

The unexpected glimpse into his past was tantalising. She wanted more immediately. ‘Is that why you created the Valentine’s promo?’ she fished. ‘To celebrate marriage?’

His answer was fifty-per-cent snort. ‘Definitely not. I created the promo to cash in on the leap year commercialisation. Nothing more.’

Well, that was depressingly cynical. ‘You don’t think matrimony is worth celebrating?’

‘On the whole I think marriage is highly overrated.’

She stared at him. ‘I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. Otherwise you’d have been snapped up ages ago.’

One expressive eyebrow lifted. ‘You don’t think I’d have done the snapping?’

‘You strike me as a man who gets what he wants. If you wanted a wife in that big lonely house of yours there’d be one there now.’

He drained the last of his second coffee. ‘You have a very high opinion of my desirability. Not everyone would agree with you.’

His staff perhaps? ‘Maybe you work too hard keeping people at a distance...’

‘You’re here.’ He tossed it out like a challenge. ‘I can’t seem to shake you at all.’

His light words filleted her neatly along her ribs. Although, she could see he wasn’t saying them to be cruel. In fact, if anything, he looked more engaged and more intent than ever. And positively mystified.

‘I’m particularly uncaring about societal niceties,’ she murmured. ‘I’m sure there’s been a hundred not-so-subtle hints I should have been taking.’

If she weren’t so busy looking for hints that he might be more interested than he was letting on. Maybe than he even knew, himself. But for every sultry look, for every gentle touch, for every unexpected waterside kiss there was a frown, pressed lips, words like professional and aberration. And ill-equipped.

They kind of cancelled each other out.

‘Besides,’ she braved on, ‘I’m not your target market.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Really? Who is?’

She looked around. A lone woman sat reading a thick book in the far corner. Her perfectly manicured nails were the exact same shade as her shoes. ‘Her. Maybe...’ She looked around for someone else. ‘Maybe her?’

Two glamour queens in one coffee shop. Convenient.

Zander looked around far more subtly than she had. ‘They’re both very attractive.’

Of course that would be the first thing he noticed.

‘And stylish,’ he went on.

‘And well educated.’ She nodded to the woman with the thick hardback. ‘She’s reading Ayn Rand.’

‘And that’s who you think my target market is? Stylish intellectuals?’

‘I can see either one of them in your house very easily.’ Much as it galled her to admit it.

His grey eyes pierced her. ‘Can you see them sitting on the side of a weather-beaten old track for an hour making conversation with the locals while waiting to hand me an energy drink?’

She just stared. Because, no, she couldn’t.

‘So maybe my target market isn’t as clear-cut as you think?’ His chin rested on his steepled fingers and he lifted it enough to tilt his head.

Maybe not.

‘It’s a moot point, anyway,’ she breezed. ‘If you’re not actually in the market.’

He started to answer that but then changed his mind. His mouth gently closed again without making a sound.

‘So three weeks before the underground cities?’ he hedged, after a moment.

‘And two dance classes before then.’

‘What about my garden?’

She studied him. This man was more baffling than any of the complex scientific mysteries she’d studied at university. His garden had sat there, untouched, for years. Now suddenly he wanted it to progress immediately? ‘What about it?’

‘Don’t you want to see how it’s progressing?’

Did she want to see what some other lucky sod got to create with? ‘When it’s done.’

It was never too late to implement some self-restraint.

That triggered a couple of lines between his brows. ‘Guess I should trade in my dancing shoes and get onto a visa for Turkey, then.’

‘Ten minutes and ten pounds at Heathrow.’ She nodded. ‘I checked.’

He considered her. Then smiled. ‘You’re really excited.’

There was something looming on her horizon and every cell in her body told her it had something to do with Turkey. It had been swaying her away from Ibiza almost the moment she agreed to Spain. Making her look east. Agitating subconsciously for her to change her mind. And then, the moment she’d made her decision, this odd kind of emotional hum had commenced and it had been slowly building ever since.

Ankara. Cappadocia.

Something was going to happen there. Something life-changing. Something that felt almost fated. Briefly she wondered how she ever would have found her way there if not for the disaster that was her botched proposal, if she hadn’t met Dan before that. And suddenly everything started to feel very...

Meant.

Excited? About standing on the edge of something so huge and new?

‘You have no idea,’ she breathed.

* * *

Georgia stood at the door to the curtained-off change area in the dance studio and hovered awkwardly in the doorway. Possibly she hadn’t thought this through as thoroughly as she might have.

Imagine that.

‘Off you go...’ the woman behind her nudged. Emma. A friendly, motherly sort. A total born-again about belly dancing, given she’d only been coming a few weeks herself.

Georgia took a deep breath to quell her nerves. Maybe belly dancing wasn’t the best choice to get away from the close body contact with Zander, the brushing and heated touching. Salsa was, at least, a partnered thing. It wasn’t Zander sitting on a seat in the corner watching her wiggle and jiggle and cavort around semi-naked.

Even if it was very prettily semi-naked.

Turned out one of the things this class loved the best was a newcomer. A newcomer who turned up in the middle of a semester and in a tracksuit. The lesson of the day went on hold and all the women helped rifle through the dress-up box of spare belly-dancing bits to put a full costume together—educating her the whole time about each piece’s name, purpose, and heritage—then they thrust them at Georgia and thrust her into the change room.

Zander sent his digital recorder in with one of the ladies to capture the sounds of the excited chaos and was cooling his heels out in the dance area, getting the necessary permission forms all ready for their return.

Georgia glanced in the mirror. Her full, beaded skirt fell from her hips down to brush the floor and the matching top-piece they’d selected for her was equally modest—no worse than the vest tops she often wore at home in summer—cupping her small breasts and cascading stringed coins down in a V to point at her exposed belly button. She’d never before mourned her slim build—in fact her curvier friends had envied her for it—but standing here amongst the luscious curves and generous breasts and gorgeous outfits of the other women in the class she’d never wished more to be curvier. Rounded instead of flat.

And Zander was about to get an eyeful of all that flatness.

Emma pinned Georgia’s face veil up behind her ear and gave her a shove.

‘Out you go, love. Get it over with.’

Then they all rushed out, ankle bells ringing, dragging her along in their bright, jangly wake.

Zander’s eyes locked on her the moment she stepped out. How he spotted her amongst so many disguised, Technicolor women was a mystery. Unless he was just looking for the only boyish figure in the room.

She shrivelled up inside, instantly. This had to be her most foolish of fool-moments...

The woman he’d given his digital recorder to returned it to him with a flirty smile, and he flirted right back. In fact, from that moment on he seemed to become entranced by every other woman in the room and—God love them—they enjoyed his presence just as much. Far from being shy about the presence of a strange man in this heavily female environment, the room full of housewives, teachers, and bank clerks dressed in little more than sexy pyjamas lapped it up, escaping into their dance personas and focusing their attention on the only man in the room.

They weren’t gratuitous—they seemed respectful of the awkwardness of Zander’s position—but they were thorough. They zeroed their efforts on him and unleashed the full force of the moves for his benefit.

He grinned his way through the whole thing.

But avoided looking at her at all.

Small mercy, perhaps, given how hot she flamed and how stumbling her movements were. But she’d signed up here for a reason—actually two reasons—and she wasn’t in a hurry to go back to the close, breathy, partnered clinch of salsa nor to be doomed for ever to being not cut out for seduction.

She lifted her chin, willing to bet that every woman in this room turned up in a tracksuit the first time and had to ease their way into the rhythmic gyrations they were currently exorcising on an indulgent Zander. And every one of them must have felt exactly as out of place and outclassed as she now did.

But had they ever felt as invisible? Despite the raunchy outfit?

Or was she deluded in thinking the draped fabrics and accenting jewels were attractive? Maybe where she saw rich, sensual colour, he saw tacky, flashy glitz.

She turned back for the change rooms.

‘Not yet, love,’ the instructor called, leaving Zander to fend for himself against the barrage of oestrogen and turning Georgia away from the gaggle that shielded her from his non-gaze towards the large mirrors lining the wall.

She forced her focus on the instructor, keeping one eye on the professional moves and the other on her own reflection, mimicking the basic choreography, taking correction, and trying to repeat the positions and sequences of the more experienced dancers.

Keeping her eyes steadfastly off the man in the background the whole time.

Belly dancing wasn’t about sex, the instructor told her, correcting Georgia’s too-jerky hips. It was about empowerment. But right now she felt pretty darned sexy. And that wasn’t something she could remember feeling in the past.

Pleasure, sure. But not sexy. Not...sensual.

The fluidity of the moves started to come more naturally, and the way the soft fabric brushing against her bare skin accentuated and teased her senses. It made her feel so...alive.

Between the concentration, the keeping of her arms above her head, and the surprising amount of effort required to gyrate everything that needed to be gyrating, her colour and her breath were up in no time. And with rows of dancers between her and the only distraction in the room she was able to concentrate better, forcing the embarrassment away with her focus and determination. It took no time at all to realise that every woman here wore a mask, something they slipped on with the beautiful fabrics. She might not be naturally seductive but, by God, she’d learn to fake it. Under her veil, she could be anyone she wanted. Sexier, smarter, stronger, more fun, more delightful—everything Zander and Kelly and Dan and her mother thought she apparently should be.

She twisted and twirled and undulated to the throng of the music and kept her eyes firmly locked on her own reflection in the mirror. She took a few more risks. She turned and twirled and kept only half an eye on what Zander was doing as he wandered the room, recording the music and the vocalisations of the women who danced for—and around—him.

He seemed totally uninterested in her presence.

Anger fuelled her moves, turned them more defiant.

Really, Zander? Even this isn’t enough...?

She spun back to the mirror, tired of trying to be what other people wanted and failing. Tired of making her decisions based on priorities that weren’t her own. She was going to be wild and sexy and beautiful just because she could. Here, in this place and in these clothes, she could.

Zander could go jump.

She slowly raised already-aching arms above her head, her concentration focused on the serpentine movements of her hands, the slow twists, the way the dozens of borrowed bracelets jangled and spun on her undulating wrists. She swayed and rolled and let her head fall back, her eyes close, and just felt the music, felt the movement of the women around her.

And she danced purely for the pleasure of it.

And then she lowered her gaze back to the mirror, back to her own flushed reflection and sparkling eyes.

Straight into Zander’s.

Everyone else in the room danced on, the instructor dissolved tactfully back into the throng and the odd person danced across the gap between them. But it did nothing to shake Georgia’s gaze free of Zander’s.

Every part of old Georgia screamed to stop. Still. On the spot.

Yet her body kept moving. Fluid, teasing. Flirting.

And just like that she felt the empowerment kick in.

Two hours ago she wouldn’t have been able to brush up against him without feeling self-conscious, but behind the veil she could do anything. Be anyone. She could look at him as she’d so desperately been wanting.

She danced on. His recorder hung, ignored, by his side.

Around them, the music faded slowly, the chat-level rose. A door opened on the far side and someone’s husband tiptoed in with a small boy in tow, both of them dressed in football colours. The balance between make-believe and real-world started to shift back.

Georgia lowered her arms, and her eyes. And she turned.

Zander still watched her, though his own expression was as guarded as hers must have been.

‘That was fun,’ she said, still breathing out the exertion. Not ready to lose the rush of empowerment.

He looked around them. A few covert glances looked back. ‘For everyone, it seems.’

‘Great workout.’ But all that did was draw his eyes to the heaving rise and fall of her tiny, beaded top. And he didn’t speak, just nodded his agreement.

‘I’ll just get changed. Won’t be a minute.’ She knew what came next. He always liked to interview her right after the first class, to capture her first impressions. She wasn’t sufficiently clothed or her breath sufficiently recovered to do that just yet. She followed a couple of other women into the change area. Most went home exactly as they were so it was just the few of them, all newer participants, returning to street wear.

They chatted excitedly as they stripped off the layers of magic and mystery and slid themselves back into their clothes. Just one hour ago being in her underwear in front of strangers was excruciating. Now they were sisters. Lumps, bumps, big, small. The thing that had shifted inside her wasn’t switching back.

The three others had only been coming weeks and were curious whether she’d enjoyed it, whether she’d be back. She knew, without question, that she would.

‘I hope you’re bringing him every week,’ Emma said. ‘Way to change the dynamic!’

They all laughed.

‘No one means any offence by dancing for your man,’ another said. ‘It’s just the novelty.’

‘He’s not my man,’ Georgia was fast to correct, though low so that Zander wouldn’t hear them through the flimsy fabric walls.

That caused more hilarity. ‘Oh, love,’ Emma whispered, ‘if he’s not I think he soon will be. We all saw his face while you were dancing. He’s wound as tight as a drum. It would be a shame if no one was to benefit from all our good work tonight.’

Georgia stopped one leg halfway into her tracksuit bottoms and stared at the women. They laughed wildly again. She understood exactly. A weird kind of adrenaline was still coursing through her body, too. She would have joined their laughter if the suggestion hadn’t thrown her into such a breathless stupor. And an unshakeable vision of her benefitting from tonight’s endeavours.

She tidied her hair, carefully folded her borrowed costume items, and placed them in the washing pile, and then dawdled a moment longer. Delaying the inevitable. She wasn’t sure she could walk out there and see Zander if the women with all their speculation were still around.

The longer she took, the fewer people would be in the room.

But eventually she couldn’t delay any longer. He needed his interview. She rolled the waistband of her running pants down to be more like the beautiful women she saw at the gym, more like the low-hung skirt that had just caressed her legs. More casual. As if this weren’t an enormous deal. She took a deep breath and stepped out of the change area into the dance space. Only a handful lingered. None of them was male. After the events of the evening she couldn’t really blame Zander for stepping outside so that he didn’t have to face his unexpected seductresses in the full fluorescent light of indoors.

She thanked the instructor warmly and whole-heartedly, assured her she would be back the following week and stepped out into the cool night air.

She looked left.

She looked right.

She looked across the road in case he was leaning on the lamppost, waiting.

Her stomach clenched. Nothing. No Zander anywhere.

They’d arrived separately but she saw him pull up so she knew where his Jag was. Tucking her crossed hands under her armpits, she hurried down the road a way in case he was waiting in his car. But there was just a dry rectangle on the otherwise rain-dampened road where his Jag had been.

Gone.

Her jaw tightened. Maybe he’d gone for a drink with one of the other participants in the class. Maybe he’d formed a connection with someone in particular while she was so busy ignoring how he was ignoring her. But that seemed both unlikely and unfair to Zander—he wasn’t a complete jerk. His absence didn’t automatically mean he’d scarpered with some hot, bejewelled stranger. It just meant he hadn’t stayed to see her.

That probably should have made her feel better.

But it didn’t.

All that power, the erotic blast, the sensual costume...the out and out risk she’d taken forcing herself to let those secret feelings show on the outside. All that had done was sent Zander running. So embarrassed by her display that he couldn’t even stick around to face her.

She’d thought maybe he was being tactful, keeping his eyes averted, trying to make a difficult class that bit easier for her. That maybe he was more affected than he was letting on. She’d thought that burning, blazing moment in the mirror might have been sensual desire pumping back at her.

But what if it was anger? Or discomfort.

A tight ball settled high in her chest. Maybe he was just plain embarrassed. Just because he’d admitted to there being some chemistry between them didn’t mean he wanted it there. Or wanted to do anything about it beyond the kiss they’d shared—some lousy accident of adrenaline.

She hooked her thumbs under the curled waist of her pants and let them unravel back to their usually modest position. She flattened them down with unsteady fingers as deep sorrow washed through her.

That was it.

She was done.

If who she was just wasn’t enough for the high standards of Alekzander Rush, then so be it. She liked Georgia Stone. Lots of people did. And not because she was a carbon copy of everyone else spilling out of London’s entertainment district, but because she was her: loyal and bookish and fond of long, quiet walks in ancient forests and lazy afternoons with girlfriends tucking into a steaming ale pie.

She’d set out on the Year of Georgia to find out who she really was and—surprise, surprise—she’d been there all along. And it only took her half a year.

She turned and walked the block back to her car.

And if Zander didn’t like the Georgia she’d uncovered, well...his loss.

EIGHT

August

There really weren’t enough showers cold enough or long enough to get the haunting, hot mirror scene out of Zander’s mind. It was all too easy to cop out when you were the boss, when you had staff to do things for you.

Minions.

He’d never felt the distinction so clearly until he had Casey ring Georgia up and let her know he wouldn’t be coming to belly-dancing classes with her any more. That she was OK to go to them solo. That he got what he needed that first night. It wasn’t hard to find an excuse. Salsa was on a Wednesday night. Belly dancing was on a Tuesday. He had network meetings until late on a Tuesday.

Not so late that he couldn’t get across town to the dance studio, in fact, but it was too convenient an excuse to pass up. There was no way on this green earth that he was setting foot back in there while Georgia was around.

He’d already been back to see the instructor, to get from her the interview he’d been too much of a coward to get from Georgia right after her first class had finished. It was only the fact that her borrowed car was parked virtually outside the door to the dance studio that made it even remotely OK that he’d just bolted on her. Left her there alone.

What a class act.

She hadn’t called him on it. Or emailed. Or even asked Casey what was up with her coward of a boss. And that said a lot about how she was feeling about his disappearing act. Defiant. Irritated.

Possibly hurt.

But getting hands-on with her was no better an idea now than it had been up at Hadrian’s Wall. And so walking out of there seemed like the most prudent action at the time. He’d spent a lot of time and energy avoiding emotional entanglements, focusing on his career; this was really no different. If spending time around Georgia was making it too hard to keep her at arm’s length, then there was really only one solution.

Getting Casey to do his dirty work for him—well, there was no excuse for that. He’d just needed some space from the mirror scene before they headed off into the wilds of Turkey together.

But that was only effective if he could exorcise the memory branded into his brain.

And three hours in the air and three more in a car—no matter how luxurious—was a lot of nothing to try and fill with other thoughts.

Another cowardly act. Getting Casey to shift his flights so that they weren’t travelling together. That bought him precious more hours to build up his reserves against Georgia. To get through the weekend in Turkey. Both of them had jobs to be back for come Monday morning so this was the most fleeting of Turkish experiences. But he’d re-routed through Istanbul whereas Georgia was touching down in Ankara. Again, precious hours for last-minute fortification.

‘Göreme.’

His driver slowed on the limits of a village. At first glance it looked much like the extraordinary landscape they’d been driving through for some time: gorgeous, golden rock faces, enormous jutting spurs of sandstone. But as they got closer Zander started to notice the details. Square edges, dark windows, balconies, a layer-cake of dwellings carved into the rock face. They drove more fully into town and it looked much like any other, people milling around stone storefronts with brightly painted signs on them, cars angle-parked in front for the convenience of shoppers. But behind it—towering high behind it—a rock face filled with homes.

And hotels. Like the one he was heading for.

They pulled around a corner and the whole city unfolded before him. A mix of enormous stone monoliths surrounded by carved homes. And nearly a dozen bright colourful balloons drifting silently overhead. The sharp protrusions of the rocks contrasted with the square edges of the façades of the cave-houses and the bulbous curves of the hot-air balloons, which dropped insanely low to give their passengers a good look at one of Cappadocia’s underground cities.

The whole thing was bathed in a golden, afternoon light.

Zander wound his window down and breathed in the air—sweet, fresh and carrying a distinctive tang. Was it apples?

He asked his driver.

‘Shisha,’ he said simply. The apple-flavoured tobacco smoked by the locals.

The car stopped in front of a stone hotel that reflected the shapes of the entire city. Square edges of the block construction of the fascia of the hotel, the rolling curves of the darkened archways that led deep into the rock face, and the sharp, zigzagging stairways that led up the mountain face to the dwellings higher up. But the closer he looked, the more detail he saw.

Intricate carved patterns around the doors and windows. Niches everywhere filled with bright intriguing ornaments, and potted colour spilling from every available surface.

Clearly the Cappadocians loved their plants as much as Georgia did.

Georgia.

He looked up the length of the building, at some of the balconies carved into the rock face, as if she’d be standing there waiting for him. A beautiful smile on her face. Bouncing on her toes the way she did when she got excited.

He forced the image away. That kind of thinking was barred, too.

It took a few minutes to register in the small, cool interior of the hotel reception. From where he stood he could see five possible exits. A set of stairs going up, another set twisting Escher-style around to the left and down, a small archway and a larger one to its right and the view behind him after his climb to the hotel’s entrance. A balcony wall dotted with pot plants and with an old shingled sign saying Reception. A ginger kitten rubbed its cheek contentedly on the sign while another slept curled around the base of the plant in the pot. And behind them, the extraordinary expanse of the city.

‘This is amazing,’ he murmured to himself.

‘Welcome to Göreme,’ the young girl said in confident English. Better than his driver’s. And certainly better than his own Turkish. ‘This way.’

He followed her through the labyrinthine interior of the hotel, instantly feeling the heat of the desert afternoon drop off as the earth’s insulation did its job. The walls, windows and stairs of the hotel were all carved from the surrounding mountain.

‘I hope you will be comfortable here,’ the girl said, pausing at a landing with a timber door. She pushed it open. The room inside was enormous and open-plan. Carved entirely out of the ancient limestone, its walls streaked with eons of stratification. On one side, a large window faced the bobbing hot-air balloons outside, streaming golden light in from the west.

Polished timber floors stretched out underfoot and carved archways led off in two directions. One to an external balcony niche and one to the natural flagstone floor of a luxury bathroom deeper in the rock face. The whole place was filled with plump, bright furniture, and traditional rugs and light fixtures.

Comfortable? ‘I can’t see how I could be anything but.’

Truly the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

He thanked the girl and closed the door after her, then set about exploring, following his nose to a new extraordinary smell. His balcony had its own large niche built into it off to the side of his room. Off the side of the rockface. It had an expansive daybed complete with rich linens and a small, low circular fire on the stone floor, on which hot Turkish coffee bubbled away on a piece of roasting hot slate. A ubiquitous hookah was set up ready to go next to it preloaded with fragrant tobacco.

He poured himself a cup of dark, strong coffee immediately. Then he turned and stared at the view down to the hustle and bustle a dozen flights of steps below and out across the valley of houses to the ones lining the hill on the other side.

All so ancient.

Traditionally built. Yet peppered with solar panels, satellite dishes, and modern conveniences as carefully meshed as the hot water, Wi-Fi, and television in his room.

A muffled knock drew his eye back across the room. It took him only a moment to cross to it and open it, expecting the girl that had just left.

‘I asked them to let me know when you arrived,’ Georgia said, standing on the threshold of this amazing place dressed in a light, cotton-weave dress in the style of the locals, her hair peppered with tiny flowers. She breezed past him into his cave.

‘Wow. Yours is much bigger than mine. Oh, you have a window.’

‘You don’t?’

‘I have a skylight. Carved out of the top of the room. My whole room is one big arch, it’s very medieval. But beautiful. And so comfortable.’

‘When did you arrive?’ he hedged, knowing full well because he’d taken such care not to travel with her.

‘This morning. I flew in overnight and slept in the car on the way out here. You wait until you see Göreme bathed in morning light. Stunning.’

She spoke as if she’d been living here for years and he had no trouble believing it. There was something very right about the way she fitted into the natural setting. Like a local come to show him around. She set about poking around every corner of his room and checking out the balcony. ‘Oh! A daybed,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m thinking Casey’s looked after you this trip.’

He didn’t doubt it. He’d been like a bear with a sore head the past ten days so his assistant probably thought a dud room would be more than her life was worth.

‘Oh, my God. Definitely the executive suite.’ That came from his bathroom. He followed the sighs. She trailed her hand over every surface of a room about half the size of the open-room area again, gouged into the rock face. An enormous ornate stone bath filled the corner and he had sudden visions of slaves filling it with buckets of scented rosewater for some Turkish overlord. Or princess. Georgia peered into the void. Then turned and glared at him. ‘It’s a spa!’ she accused.

‘You’re welcome to borrow it.’ He laughed. Given he was only here for two nights it wasn’t exactly going to see a lot of use, otherwise.

He followed her back out into the main room and onto the balcony beyond. To the front of the niche with the coffee and daybed in it was a low timber table and two old traditionally upholstered armchairs. Completely exposed to the outside air.

‘Clearly Göreme doesn’t get a lot of rain,’ Georgia said, sinking into one of the armchairs

His lips twisted. ‘Make yourself at home.’

She peered up at him and sighed. ‘That’s exactly what it feels like. But I’ve only been here a couple of hours.’

‘Hospitality is obviously a traditional trade here.’ Their customer service and presentation was faultless. He felt ridiculous standing over her, still dressed in his Londonwear, while she lounged there looking so comfortable and fresh and assimilated and...Turkish. ‘I’m just going to change. Give me ten.’

‘I’ll order some drinks,’ she called to his back.

The shower in that old stone bath worked as if it was brand new and it rinsed the travel grime off him no time. He pulled on a deep red T-shirt and a pair of brown shorts. As he crossed back out to Georgia he noticed he now matched the floor rug.

His own kind of assimilation.

Weeks of tension started to dissipate.

On the balcony, a different girl from the one he’d checked in with finished placing out two tall glasses of something and then she smiled at him as she ducked around the far side of the daybed niche. Yet another exit. He could well imagine spending his two days in Turkey trying to find his way out of his room. Or back to it.

Georgia leaned on the balustrade in the corner of the balcony, potted colour either side of her legs. The golden late-afternoon light blazed against her white cotton dress, making it partly translucent and thrusting a graphic reminder of the body he’d tried so hard not to ogle in the dance studio back to the forefront of his mind.

He was used to admiring Georgia’s quick wit and her ready opinions and her passion for all things green. He was used to staving off the speculative zing when he brushed up against her or touched her. Or kissed her. But he was neither prepared nor sufficiently armed to manage the explosion of sexual interest that had hit him when she did that little private dance for herself in the mirror back in London. All that rippling and writhing. Nothing different from what the other women had done much more gratuitously for him but somehow so much better.

So much worse.

If she turned around right here and now and started to undulate that body he could see the shape of below her dress it wouldn’t be the slightest bit out of place with the ancient curiosity of Turkey stretched out behind her. And he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about standing, transfixed.

Or possibly about sweeping her up and falling down with her onto that luxury daybed just metres away.

He cleared his throat. ‘Are you about to accuse me of having a better view than yours?’

She turned, smiling. ‘No. The view is the same. I’m just the next level down.’ She pointed down and across to a small balcony with a single chair on it. He liked the idea that he could watch her without her knowing. A small shape on the chair below caught his eye.

‘You have a cat,’ he said, expunging such inappropriate thoughts from his mind.

‘I do. Sweet thing.’

‘I think I saw its kittens at Reception.’

She smiled and it was like that breath of apple-scented air he’d taken after the long drive. ‘I’m guessing there’s a lot of cats in Göreme.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll have to get onto Casey. I seem to be missing mine.’

Her eyes glowed half with the rich light of the evening and half with a rich light all their own. ‘I’ll trade you cat-time for spa-time.’

He breathed her in. ‘Done.’

For moments neither of them spoke, they just stood lost in each other. ‘Want to go for a walk?’

No. He wanted to haul her behind him into that big, comfortable, wasted bed and not come out till morning. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not outside his head. And if he was smart he wouldn’t let it happen inside his head, either.

No complications.

No risk.

No Georgia.

‘Sure. Show me the town.’

* * *

There was a lot to see in Göreme. They roamed all over the maze of paths and stairs and twisted byways, sometimes emerging accidentally in the private areas of people’s homes and then retreating, embarrassed, despite the friendly and unsurprised response of those intruded upon. Clearly, they weren’t the first tourists to end up in someone’s living room. They hiked out on foot a half-hour from the town and spent the last two hours of light poring over the ancient rock-hewn world-heritage monasteries with their immaculate and stunning frescoes. A local kindly showed them back through the warren of now-dark dwellings after the sun plunged unexpectedly quickly below the horizon. Orange light glowed from almost all of them but it didn’t help them a bit with their orientation.

‘Thank you,’ Georgia gushed as the pleased-as-punch man deposited them on the doorstep of their hotel and then waved his farewell. She wasn’t totally sure Zander would find his way back to his room without assistance—she’d needed two attempts the first time for her own room—so she followed him up.

‘Left,’ she dropped in just at the last moment.

He turned and looked at her. ‘Not right?’

‘Not right.’

Left it was. One more corridor and they were at his door. ‘What about dinner?’ he asked.

She groaned. ‘That would have been good to mention back at the entrance. We’ll have to retrace our steps.’

‘Hang on, I’ll just get a jacket.’

He was back in moments with a light jacket over his T-shirt. Whether it was for the evening cool or whether he wasn’t used to going to dinner in a T-shirt, it didn’t matter. He always looked extra good in a collar so the stylish jacket was very welcome from her point of view. He’d morphed back into casual Zander as the afternoon wore on. The same man she’d spent so much time staring at and smiling at back in the King’s Arms.

That was a slight analgesic against the dull ache of his rejection the past fortnight.

Discovering the city with him was a joy. His inquisitive mind and her gentle probing drew fascinating information from the locals. Twice he’d bemoaned not bringing his recorder with him on their walk to capture the lyricism and beauty of the language and the particular sound of voices as they soaked into the ancient limestone. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The hotel had a small outdoor balcony restaurant on its roof and a serve-yourself arrangement inside. Georgia laughed at Zander’s bemused expression.

‘When was the last time you ate at a buffet?’ she said. Though this was no ordinary buffet. Colourful fruits she’d never seen before spread out on one table and dishes of aromatic mysteries on another. She loaded a little bit of each onto a large plate and planned to round off her day of Turkish discovery here.

Some of it was odd, some of it was tasty, and two things were just plain amazing. She went back for seconds of those. They talked about the flight, the drive out, their impending early start for the balloon trip; anything they could think of that wasn’t about London.

As if by agreement.

Here, they could be two totally different people. She didn’t have her purposeless life or her humiliating proposal to deal with. He didn’t have his work or his marathons to distract and absorb. And they didn’t have the Year of Georgia between them.

Or the kiss, and what it meant.

Or his running from the dance studio. And what that meant.

She knew that she never would have achieved this amazing experience if not for the shove that Zander’s radio promotion had led to. She would have drifted along in her rut for who knew how long before eventually bumping to shore and clambering out, miles off track.

‘It’s hard not to sit up here and feel that anything is possible,’ she murmured out over the night lights of Göreme.

‘Anything is possible.’

She laughed. ‘Spoken like a true executive. For most people a lot of things are impossible. Financially, socially, time-wise.’

‘You just have to get your priorities in order.’ He shrugged.

She stared at him. They could make small talk or she could ask him something meaningful. ‘Do you prioritise activities over personal things?’

He looked up. Cocked his head.

She sank back into her over-stuffed chair, stomach full and single drink warming her from the inside out. ‘You keep yourself closed off from people, yet you’re so busy and active all the time. That must be a conscious choice. It would take quite a bit of work, I would have thought, to be around people all the time but not really interact with them on a meaningful level. It must be exhausting.’

Wary eyes considered her. ‘Are we talking about my staff again?’

‘No. But that’s a good place to start. Why do you work so hard to keep them at a distance?’

He thought about not answering. She could see it in his expression. But something tipped him the other way. ‘Because I’m their manager. I don’t want to be friends with them.’

‘Is it that you don’t know how to be friends with them?’ Or maybe anyone.

‘Pay them more and give them half-day Friday off and I’m sure they’d feel more friendly.’

‘You don’t buy friendship.’

‘I bought yours. At fifty grand to be exact.’

That stung. Not because it wasn’t true that it was his money funding her fabulous year of self-revelation, but because it cheapened what she would gladly have given him for free.

‘You don’t think I’d have chosen to be your friend without the Year of Georgia?’

‘We never would have met without it.’

That was true. If she’d run out of his radio station a few moments earlier or later she might have been sitting here alone. Or not at all. So much of who she was finding deep inside was because of Zander’s prompting. His goading.

She sat up straighter. Tired of the subterfuge. ‘If we’d met in a coffee shop and I’d got to know you I would have wanted to be your friend.’ Though she’d never have worked up the courage to speak to him. She’d have considered him way out of her league.

Her sub-conscious use of the past tense suddenly became remarkably apparent. Exactly when did she decide that Zander Rush was in her league?

‘Is that what we are? Friends?’

‘That’s what I think we are. Though I know you wouldn’t call it that.’

‘What would I call it?’

‘Acquaintance? Contact? Obligation?’

‘You’re not an obligation, George.’

But she was just an acquaintance? ‘I’m sure you’re not going to tell me what a great time you have trailing me all over London for my classes. Not when you bailed on the belly dancing at the first decent opportunity.’

He studied the way the dark liquid swirled in his glass. ‘I owe you an explanation about that...’

‘Is there even a Tuesday night network meeting?’

His eyes lifted. ‘There is. That’s real. But I did use it to get out of the dance class.’

She just stared.

‘I wasn’t...’ He paused and tried again. ‘I wasn’t comfortable there.’

Her jaw tightened. ‘Was it me or everyone else?’

He didn’t answer. Her stomach sank.

So it was her.

‘It’s a very confronting form of dance when you’re on the receiving end,’ he said.

‘You didn’t look too confronted.’ Until he’d looked at her. ‘I was just enjoying exploring the art form.’

The intense need to justify why she’d let herself get carried away with the sensuousness of the dance washed through her. And hot on its heels was the blazing knowledge that she owed him no apologies.

‘And you should enjoy it. It’s your thing,’ he said.

‘You’re not up to spectating on a bit of sexy dancing? You didn’t mind the salsa.’

‘Sexy would be fine. It’s just that it’s...’

Colour started to show low on his jaw. Given how dim it was under the shade-sail on the hotel roof, the fact that she could see it meant it had to be a reasonable amount. Was he blushing?

‘It’s what?’ she risked.

Embarrassing? Pathetic? Something that really shouldn’t be done in public?

His eyes lifted to hers, heated. ‘It’s erotic.’

Her breath halted. She sagged back in her seat, dumbstruck, and crossed her hands demurely in her lap. Studying them. Then she looked out into the orange glow of the city lights far below. Then the candle of the table next to them. Taking the time to decide what to say. Taking the time to remember how to speak.

She cleared her throat and had a go. ‘Erotic?’

Didn’t that suggest some kind of attraction? More than just a kiss by the sea kind of attraction? More than just chemistry.

‘It was very seductive.’

A sense of the same empowerment she’d felt dancing there in front of the mirror came back to her now. Dancing in front of the mirror had felt good because it was good, maybe? ‘It’s supposed to be seductive.’

‘We don’t have that kind of relationship.’

Polite Georgia burned to take the hint. To change the subject. But she was tired of being polite. Of doing what everyone expected her to. She kicked her chin up. ‘You don’t have that kind of relationship with the other women there, either, but you weren’t running a mile from them.’

Just her.

The light came on in her mind as slow and golden as the lights of Göreme had glowed to life. But just as certain.

Just her.

She took a breath and whispered, ‘You liked it.’

He didn’t look away. But he didn’t speak. He let her three words hang out there over the city, unanswered, for eternity. But finally he spoke.

‘I loved it. And I shouldn’t have.’

Heat to match his flared up her throat. Her gut tightened way down low. He’d loved her sensual display. ‘Why?’

‘Because we don’t have that kind of relationship,’ he repeated, his frustrated hiss more at himself than her.

She took a breath. Took a chance. ‘Why don’t we?’

He stared. ‘What?’

‘Why don’t we have that relationship?’

‘I’m... You’re... We’re doing business.’

‘Why can’t it be more?’

Those all-seeing eyes suddenly darted everywhere but her. ‘I don’t do relationships. Not of that kind.’

It was true. In the months she’d known him he never once said he couldn’t do a class because he had a date. Never once mentioned anyone in his life. ‘What kind do you do?’

His eyes flicked up. ‘I have...encounters. Short and sharp. Over before they start.’

‘One-night stands, you mean?’

‘Sometimes more. But never much more.’

‘Why?’

His eyes shadowed over.

‘Don’t you get lonely?’ she breathed.

‘There are worse things than being lonely.’

Like what? Being hurt? Making a wrong choice? She wondered again about what had happened to him in the past to give him that view. And what had changed in her that she was about to suggest what she was about to suggest even though she didn’t feel she could ask him about his past.

‘An encounter, then.’ Picking up where they left off that night at Hadrian’s Wall.

She’d never, ever propositioned someone so directly in her life. Even with Dan, their first time was an awkward kind of inevitable. But this didn’t feel wrong. Or loose. It felt exactly as she’d felt dancing in front of that mirror.

Strong. And fated.

‘Right here in Göreme. We have two nights.’ Her own daring made her breathless. Was there a faster way to screw things up between them than to...well...?

‘George—’

‘If you’re not interested, that’s OK.’ Knowing without a doubt that he was interested made it OK. ‘But we’re in a fantasy world for the next two days. We might as well get the most out of it.’

She kept her eyes on his, but it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

‘Is this a Year of Georgia thing?’ he grated.

‘No. This is just a Georgia thing.’ She filled her lungs. ‘I think we should go back downstairs.’

‘What about dessert?’ he asked, and it smacked of desperation.

‘Do you want dessert?’ she breathed, still locked onto his cautious eyes.

As she watched the caution cleared, the relief filled them, then desire. And that— finally—was what made her pulse hammer. After all the newfound confidence of the last few surreal minutes, the old doubts crept back in. Dancing in front of a mirror was one thing. Getting down and dirty—and naked—with a man like Zander was almost completely overwhelming in principle. Let alone practice.

She imagined the light cotton of her dress was the caress of sheer silk. And that helped. She imagined the respectful scarf she still wore from their explorations of the city was a face veil covering all but her eyes. She imagined the expression in Zander’s gaze was the same as the one she’d caught in the mirror.

Only she didn’t have to imagine that because it was. Identical. Only this one was far less repressed and infinitely more terrifying.

And exciting.

They stumbled to their feet.

‘Which room?’ he asked as he stood back to let her out.

Was he kidding? ‘Yours. That spa is wasted on you.’

His hand burned where it pressed into her back, shepherding but also keeping a gentle contact as he urged her down the carved corridor towards the stairs. A teasing kind of torture. A perfect kind of bliss.

He bent to murmur into her ear, ‘It’s wasted on just me, maybe.’

And suddenly her mind was filled with images of the two of them tangled together in the hot opulence of the old stone bath, and her breath just about gave out. It was all she could do to keep her feet moving, but she knew if she stumbled Zander would just sweep her into his arms and carry her down the three levels to his enormous suite with its enormous bathroom and that enormous, luxurious bed.

Just like the conqueror he’d once spoken of.

He stopped at his door, turned her until the timber was at her back, and pressed into her. Peered down on her. ‘Are you sure?’ he murmured.

She didn’t waste breath on words. Instead she pressed up onto her toes and kissed him. Showed him how sure she was. Even though this was totally out of character for her, even though she had to block thoughts of anything more future than Sunday night from her mind.

She was sure about the next two days.

This was her reinvention, and Zander Rush was an integral part of the new Georgia Stone. She’d never felt more certain about anything.

He hemmed her against the door with his body, his heat, and brought his hands to her face so that he could seal her acquiescence in. His tongue and his lips worked a magic just like this entire city as the cool of the earth soaked into her back.

She shivered. From delight.

‘Hot bath,’ he murmured, misunderstanding, and she wondered how long a big tub like the one he had inside would take to fill.

‘Or hot blankets,’ she whispered, but thought of the blanket of his scorching body on hers would do just fine.

He reached out with one hand, turned the doorhandle, and they fell through into the fantasy interior.

NINE

They never made it to the bed, as it turned out. And the hot bath came quite a bit later. They got about as far as the sumptuous pillow-filled conversation niche off to the side of the room before passion got the better of them and, there, Zander made the kind of love to her that she’d never experienced before. And would never forget.

Worship.

There was no other word for it. He took the sort of care of her body—with it—that she’d only ever dreamed might happen. Measured and thorough and poignantly careful. Not tentative—she had enough aches and stretched muscles to know that he’d challenged and pushed her to be the Georgia she’d never let herself be, never needed to be, before. To roam far, far out of her comfort zone. Safe in his embrace.

She lay on her back on the daybed in the balcony niche, her head hanging back over the edge, and stared at the dark sky. Only it wasn’t quite the deep black it had been when they’d first come out here, wrapped in traditionally woven blankets, wrapped in each other. It was a deep blue now, with hints of regular blue at the edges.

‘Remind me to get more sleep before having sex with a marathon runner,’ she murmured. Stamina? Oh, my God... ‘It’s nearly dawn.’

Across her legs, the heavy heat of him stirred. ‘Don’t we have somewhere to be at dawn?’

The balloon.

They’d come all this way to do the Cappadocian balloon experience. Could she really justify skipping it to stay here in heaven with Zander?

She sighed. Almost.

‘Come on... You don’t want to miss it.’ He slapped her thigh gently and pushed himself into a sitting position. Dark or not, there was nothing but sky to look in on them high up on the mountain face, but within the hour the sun would be up and hot-air balloons would be rising over Göreme filled with curious, binocular-holding tourists.

And they were supposed to be in one of them.

That was the only thing that got her moving. They. The fact that Zander would be with her. If he wasn’t booked she’d have blown the whole thing off—dream or no dream.

She padded in silence into the room with him.

What exactly did one say after a night of no-holds-barred sensual exploration?

‘Let’s get ready,’ he said, ‘and we’ll get moving.’

Huh. As good as anything, she supposed.

But he tempered the banality of the words by swooping down behind her and latching onto her throat with his lips. For a bare heartbeat. Then he was gone again, gathering up his scattered clothes and rummaging in his suitcase.

She thought about running back to her room to change but, really, when you’d been awake the whole time it qualified as the same day, so slipping back into her day clothes felt acceptable.

Plenty of time to change later.

Though her eyes roamed back to Zander’s big beckoning bath. She really hadn’t had much chance to get clean while they were in there. Quite the opposite, in fact. She did her best to wrestle her secret, satisfied smile into submission.

It wasn’t dignified to gloat.

The rush and bustle of getting out to Göreme’s airfield in the still-dark of morning did a fine job of distracting her from thought, just as Zander’s talented lips had done all night. Whether kissing her or murmuring conversation. It hadn’t all been lascivious. They’d lain, tangled together and curled in blankets, and talked about anything that came to mind until one or other of them—or the conversation—had turned sensual again and then there was no talking for quite some time.

On arrival at the open balloon fields, four enormous bulbs glowed in the dim morning light. They lay, powerless, on their sides, and the roaring gas fires slowly filled them upright. The palest of the four lit up like its own sunrise.

‘That’s ours,’ Zander said, coming back to her side, his digital recorder in hand.

They crossed to the enormous basket that was tethered to the ground and Georgia said a quick whisper of thanks for its size. They might look tiny in the sky but on the ground they were enormous.

She was entirely distracted and romanced by the lumbering bulbs taking shape along the roadway. Looked as if their dawn flight would be a balloon convoy. But while groups of ten and more waited for the other baskets theirs was just the two of them and their pilot.

Nice work, Casey.

‘Are you my private?’ A uniformed American woman stepped forward.

‘EROS radio station,’ Zander confirmed.

‘That’s you. Come on aboard and I’ll give you the pre-flight information.’

By agreement, Zander recorded the whole safety presentation and the pilot put on an extra-thorough show for the media. But by the end of it Georgia certainly felt very sure about what to do if the balloon failed, and absolutely certain that it would not. The whole thing was far more regimented and controlled than she’d expected.

‘I get motion-sick,’ she volunteered out of nowhere and Zander looked up, surprised.

‘We have bags,’ the unfazed pilot said ‘but you won’t need them. You’ll see. It’s as though the planet is moving and we’ll be standing still.’

Zander threaded his fingers through hers and the gentle gesture filled her with the same golden glow that kept their balloon aloft. She tightened her fingers around his as the pilot closed the door.

‘Ten minutes before sun-up,’ the pilot announced. ‘Let’s get you guys in the air.’

Zander curled Georgia into his body and stood behind her against the basket edge in the centre of the basket. She felt both sheltered and protected.

The balloon didn’t rise straight up as she imagined it would when the ground crew dropped their tethers—then again her entire experience of hot-air balloons was from The Wizard of Oz. Instead, it skirted along, centimetres above the ground, and slowly those centimetres became meters and then Georgia got a sense of what the pilot had promised. As soon as they had some height, it suddenly felt as if the earth had started to treadmill below them and they were stationary, just hanging there in space.

The pilot gave the gas its voice and the entire balloon inhaled the burst of flame, long and steady. It rose again. Then she killed the flame and silence resumed; the only sounds were the clinking of guy ropes and the distant squeals of the passengers in the balloon ascending behind them.

Theirs breathed enormous gulps between long silent stretches and climbed and climbed in pace with the sunrise.

‘Do you want to describe what you see?’ Zander murmured against her neck, crossing his strong arms around her and holding the running digital recorder below her chin.

Golden light fingered out from the horizon and the deep blonde colour of the earth began to glow with a vibrancy and a gentle kind of fire. Georgia described the stunning scene, punctuated by the occasional breath of the balloon, and full of words like God and heaven and other-worldly. And whole and healing and soul-breath.

Zander and the pilot remained silent, letting her speak.

They flew over Göreme and then left it far behind as they floated over the lunar-like deserts. A distant mesa grew bigger and bigger as they approached but the pilot kept the balloon level though the others in their convoy all lifted. Georgia’s adrenaline spiked and Zander’s arms tightened around her, but at the last moment the pilot fired the lungs hard and their balloon soared up and over the lip of the mesa and the vast plains of Anatolia were revealed before them.

Tears filled Georgia’s eyes.

Zander recorded the balloon’s respiration as they drifted over great clefts in the earth and the rolling, twisting, ancient tortures of the granite and sandstone crust. He interviewed the pilot and got some close-up sounds of the clanking guy ropes and a passing flotilla of geese, generally capturing the atmosphere of this amazing experience for his listeners.

Though of course that was completely impossible to do.

This was as close to angel flight as she was going to get.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he murmured, back by her side and pocketing the recorder.

She spoke before she thought. ‘Dying.’

He twisted around to look at her face. She laughed. ‘I mean what it might be like after you die. Ascension. I’m thinking it would be like this. So...gentle and supported. No fear.’

‘I didn’t know you were so religious,’ he murmured.

‘I’m not, generally. But it’s tough to be up here and not wonder...’

They fell to silence, but Zander eventually broke it.

‘I remember wondering... I thought when I was young with so many people queuing up for communion there must be something in it.’

She tipped her head half back and contacted the strength of his chest. ‘You’re Catholic?’

‘Sufficiently Catholic to have had mass at my wedding, but not to get up early every Sunday for one.’

He was close enough and smart enough to interpret the total stillness of her body—as still as the balloon felt in space—correctly.

‘You’re married?’ she whispered.

The pilot shifted away to the far corner of the basket. If she could have climbed out to check the rigging at the crest of the balloon Georgia thought she would have.

Zander was as stiff as she was now. ‘No.’

Part of her sagged with relief, but she didn’t let it show. ‘But you were married?’

That was a hell of a thing to be finding out now.

‘Actually no.’

She turned her back on the spectacular view and looked up at him. ‘But you had a wedding mass?’

His face tightened. ‘We had one scheduled.’

‘It didn’t go ahead?’ This was too important a moment to be playing word games.

‘No. It was... The wedding was cancelled.’

Oh. ‘You broke it off?’

His brows dropped. ‘Why would you assume it was me?’

Because no woman in their right mind would jilt a demigod? ‘I don’t know. Only that you’re not very pro wedding.’

Though suddenly that particular prejudice made perfect sense if he’d had a broken engagement in his past.

The gas flame belched and they rose slightly.

She tried again. ‘Was it mutual?’

Zander looked out to the now blazing dawn horizon. ‘No.’

Empathy washed through her. If anyone could understand the awfulness of being rejected, she could. Though she knew now that she’d never loved Dan. And Zander had clearly loved his fiancée. So how much more would that have hurt. ‘I’m sorry.’

What else could she say? Better to know now than find out later? Just because she considered Dan’s rejection of her proposal a dodged bullet didn’t mean that was how Zander felt. And judging by the tightness of his expression and his general close-mouthedness on the subject of marriage...

Would it ever have come up if not for his slip up?

‘Did she tell you why?’

‘No. She and her bridesmaids fled England while the ushers were doing the friend-of-the-bride/friend-of-the-groom thing.’

Georgia’s jaw dropped. ‘She left you at the altar?’ Didn’t that only happen in movies?

He nodded. ‘Even her parents weren’t aware.’

Oh, my God. ‘Zander, I don’t know what to say.’ Not about how awful that must have been for him. Not about the raging anger towards a woman she’d never met for hurting him so badly. Or the raging jealousy that was suddenly surging through her for some stranger he’d loved enough to marry.

‘There’s nothing to say.’ He shrugged, but it was the least casual thing she could imagine. ‘It’s ancient history.’

‘When was this?’

‘Right out of uni.’

Fifteen years wasn’t ancient. ‘You were young.’

‘And stupid as it turns out.’

She slid over to stand beside him so they could both look out at the beautiful, healing landscape below. ‘It’s not stupid to want to spend your life with someone. It’s brave.’

And that was an odd word to have chosen.

He digested that for a moment. ‘I wasn’t brave. I think I did it because it was the right thing to do.’

‘How long were you together?’

‘Four years. Since final year at school. We both enrolled at Lincoln.’

Excellent. High-school sweetheart, too. ‘You must have loved her a lot.’ Maybe he still did? It would explain a lot.

He thought about that. ‘I think it was one of those break-up-or-get-married moments. So I proposed.’

‘And she broke up.’

‘Pretty much.’

‘In the worst imaginable way.’

He slid his eyes down to her. ‘Strength of character wasn’t one of her strong suits. She had very dominant parents.’

That wasn’t a woman she could imagine him admiring. ‘Hurting you was easier than facing them?’

Dark brows folded. ‘Seems so.’

Cappadocia whizzed by beneath them.

‘Well, I guess now I understand your cynicism about marriage. And your reaction after the promo went so wrong.’

He looked at her for the first time in minutes. ‘I had to face two hundred of our family, friends, and neighbours, and tell them Lara wasn’t coming. The idea that I’d set someone else up for the same public humiliation...’ He shook his head.

That stole her breath every bit as much as the moment the balloon had played chicken with the sharp slope of the mesa. Her stomach lurched the same, too. In crystal-clear replay she saw the moment in the elevator all those months ago that he’d seen her distress, turned and shielded her from prying eyes with his body, and then helped her slink, unseen, from the parking garage. That was a foundation moment for her. And for him it had all been about sympathy.

‘Is that what the whole Year of Georgia thing is about?’

Pity?

‘If I could have started my life over, back then, I would have. Gladly. So I was happy to be able to give you the chance.’

She stepped away, just slightly, and pretended to admire the view. But she was as taut inside as the ropes holding the two parts of their aircraft together. ‘So this is your restitution?’

His voice dropped low. ‘Somewhat. Making sure you got something out of it.’

Right.

Then he stepped up behind her. ‘But not all of it. I can see where you’re going, Georgia. Working your way to assuming I slept with you out of guilt.’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘No. I slept with you because it was inevitable. I’ve been wanting to since we met.’

She slanted a look back up at him. ‘It’s not some twisted Year of Georgia loyalty-programme bonus class?’

His smile rivalled the sunrise. And his chuckle warmed her from the inside out. Even as she fought it. ‘No. Though that suggests you learned a thing or two.’

She blew at the curl that hung over her eyes. ‘You have no idea.’

He nodded slowly. She felt it against her back. ‘Me, too.’

Well...this was awkward.

‘So, the fifty grand was about guilt, but the sex is about...sex?’

It was stupid to hope for more. But it wouldn’t be the first time her heart and her head had operated in opposition. The secret, foolish desire that she would be the one woman who he wanted more from.

His eyes shadowed over briefly. ‘The fifty grand was about keeping us both out of court for breach of contract.’

And the nine hours of intensive loving...?

He lowered his voice, given the proximity of the pilot. ‘Last night was about you and me and this amazing place,’ he went on. ‘And the attraction that’s been distracting me so much for the better part of half a year.’

That sounded a lot like... ‘Scratching an itch?’ It sounded as awful as it felt.

He sighed heavy and hard behind her. ‘Medicating a burn.’

If she needed any clue that they’d be going back to their London lives—separately—on Monday morning, that was it. You only medicated something you wanted healed over.

Zander hadn’t promised her more. She’d made her decision last night despite knowing that. So she had no grounds for complaint.

‘Up ahead,’ the pilot said with the best timing.

They both forced their eyes onto something other than each other and Georgia gasped as they descended amongst a field of giant, jagged pillars that stretched skywards, strong and masculine and potent.

Just like the man behind her.

‘This is extraordinary,’ Zander breathed, his eyes fixated on the ancient geology as their balloon bobbed amongst others over the natural wonder.

This whole weekend had been extraordinary. Living her dream just being here in Turkey, then, overnight, immersed in heaven with Zander.

But extraordinary in a bad way, too. Unravelling the origin of his anti-marriage sentiment and discovering firsthand how that was going to impact on her. No wonder he wasn’t interested in risking himself again.

Zander Rush liked to take holidays from reality. But they were only mini-breaks.

First Hadrian’s Wall and now Göreme. Every time they got away from London he was like a different man; he let himself indulge the attraction between them and be someone totally different from everyday Zander. Someone who communicated. Someone who laughed. Someone who loved.

Except it wasn’t love. It was medication.

As though his connection to her was something he needed to be cured of. A temporary ailment.

Back in the real world, Zander took care to pack himself carefully away—in his big empty house, on his epic, solo marathons, in his expansive plush office. He kept everyone at arm’s length. Absolutely by design.

Georgia stared out, letting the verbal spiel of the pilot wash over her: about the people of Cappadocia, about the heritage. She could hear it later on Zander’s recorder. It was hard to be in this prehistoric place that had seen war and famine and death and entire civilisations come and go and worry about one man’s feelings for one woman.

It seemed so trivial.

But she was that woman. This was her life. And so it wasn’t trivial at all. The Year of Georgia was supposed to have taught her who she was. It was supposed to have given her a taste of what was possible and highlighted the deficiencies in her life. And it had worked.

She was Georgia Stone. For better or for worse.

Weirdly obsessed with plants, content to walk alone amongst Roman ruins, uninterested in cooking or wine appreciation or shoes, but a crack shot with a blank-pistol and the fastest code-cracker the spy school had ever seen. Terrible at the contrived sexy steps of salsa but a natural at the private undulations of belly dancing. A decent rower but a terrible swimmer. She was a lab rat and a loyal and ethical employee.

And she had a heart as protected and hidden as any of the seeds she X-rayed. But at least now she knew, without a doubt, that it was competent. That she was competent.

She was Georgia Stone. She would find her way.

And though she’d enjoyed the detour of the past few months, it dawned on her in realisation as blazing as Cappadocia’s sunrise that her way just wouldn’t include Zander Rush. He’d come into her life bearing the gifts she needed to find herself again. Perhaps his cosmic role was now complete and the last twenty-four hours were just the most amazing swansong.

This conversation, this day, was her marker. He wasn’t sorry about what they’d done but he wasn’t interested in more and he certainly wasn’t interested in for ever.

And she was.

It hit her every bit as dramatically as the Cappadocian landscape had. She wanted a for ever someone. Dan hadn’t just been about keeping up with her friends. He’d been about trying to build something lasting for herself.

She wanted someone to share her life with. To explore with. To commiserate with. She was tired of being alone.

But just anyone would not do. She’d had a taste of something spectacular—someone spectacular. That was going to be very hard to go back from. And holding out for someone worthy didn’t seem as scary after the six months she’d just had.

Her heart buoyed just like the envelope bobbing above their heads.

He was out there. She would find him.

But then, with the same sinking feeling that came with shutting off the gas, she accepted another hard truth.

She just wouldn’t find him in this balloon.

* * *

Stalling the inevitable was easy to start with.

First, there was the business of getting the balloon back down to earth, onto the back of the pickup truck, the air out of the envelope, and the glossy fabric rolled up and stowed in the gondola. Then, there were too many ears in the bus that drove them back to Göreme to do more than smile politely at each other. Once back in the hotel, the exhaustion of twenty-four sleepless hours had claimed them both and it wasn’t too hard to convince Zander that she wanted the comfort of her own room and shower for a very necessary few hours of shut-eye.

When all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep in the circle of his arms.

But now it was late afternoon and Zander stood at her door, an optimistic bottle of wine in his hand.

‘Right now?’ He gaped.

‘My flight leaves in three hours. A car’s coming for me soon.’

The wine sagged towards the stone floor. ‘Why?’

‘Emergency at work,’ she lied.

He lifted one brow. ‘A seed emergency?’

Defensiveness made her rash. ‘I don’t remember signing anything that gave you say over what I do with my private time.’

He didn’t bite, though he did glance around him in the dim hallway. ‘May I come in?’

‘I’m packing.’ Truth was she was already packed because, even though she desperately needed it, sleep had evaded her. But her suitcase lay conveniently open on her luxurious, plump bed. She stood back so he could enter.

‘What’s going on, Georgia?’

‘Nothing. I just have to get back.’

‘Your seed emergency. Right.’ He placed the wine on the table. ‘What’s really going on?’

He had to know. Surely.

She shrugged. ‘We’ve done Göreme. We’ve done the ballooning. We’re done.’ In more ways than one.

‘But you were so keen to see Cappadocia.’

‘And I’m already planning on coming back for a longer stay.’

‘This is about last night.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Last night was...’ What did more cosmopolitan people say at this moment. Fun? Wild? Memorable? ‘Last night was a one-off.’

The eyebrow quirked again. ‘Really? And you felt the need to fly out of the country to avoid a repeat?’

‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.’

He snorted. ‘Right. This is much easier on my feelings.’

His sarcasm triggered hers. ‘I’m not really up on the protocols of dis-entanglement.’

He repeated the word, silently. ‘Wow.’

‘Zander—’

‘For someone inexperienced in the art of casual sex you certainly are a quick study at the kiss-off part.’

‘This isn’t a—’

‘Yeah, Georgia, it is. But what makes you so sure I was even offering a round two?’

‘I...’ That took the wind from her sails. ‘You turned up with wine.’

He held the bottle up. The text was in Turkish but the image on the label was of a big balloon flying over Cappadocia. ‘It was a keepsake. I got me one, too.’

Oh.

‘If I hadn’t knocked would you have even told me you were leaving?’

‘Of course!’ But not until the very last minute. And he seemed to know it.

‘You don’t have to leave, Georgia. If last night was a mistake for you, then fine. We can keep our distance until tomorrow. But this is your trip. You’ve wanted this for ages.’

‘I can’t—’ Be here. With you. And not be with you. ‘It’s time to go.’

‘You don’t trust me.’ Again, not a question.

‘Of course I do.’ She sighed. She didn’t know anyone she trusted more. Dan included.

‘So what’s the problem?’ Awareness blinked to light in his grey eyes. ‘Unless you don’t trust yourself.’

She just stared.

‘That’s it, isn’t it? If you stay you don’t trust yourself to stick to your own resolution.’ Triumph glossed over his anger. He stepped closer. ‘So if you want me,’ he went on, ‘why are you leaving?’

‘I don’t want you.’ I don’t want to want you.

‘Liar.’

Yeah, she was. ‘This was an aberration, remember?’

He frowned. Clearly he didn’t remember saying it.

‘Besides today, tomorrow, what does it matter when we finish it?’ she asked. ‘Or do you just like to control the use-by dates on your affairs?’

Lord. That word sounded both very grown up and very old-fashioned at the same time.

His lips thinned. ‘I just want to understand it, Georgia. To understand you.’

Something made her ask. ‘It would have finished tomorrow, wouldn’t it, Zander?’

He tensed up.

‘Because this isn’t real. You said it yourself, you and me in this fantasy place. We would have ended the moment we touched down in London.’ He didn’t contradict her. ‘So what’s a few hours between friends?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Friends?’

‘Unless I’ve misunderstood you,’ she risked. ‘If you wanted something more long-term, Zander, now’s your chance. Just say.’ Because she’d be up for it.

His lips pressed tighter together. His eyes roiled.

She held on longer than was good for her dignity, just in case. But still he stood silent. As expected.

‘So, now that we’re on the same page,’ she said, heartsore, ‘I’m exercising my right to choose. And I choose out.’

She sounded much calmer than she felt.

‘I guess I should thank you,’ he said after a long, silent age.

‘What for?’ Giving herself so wholeheartedly to him?

‘At least this time I won’t have to explain myself to two hundred people.’

Her heart sank. She hadn’t even considered the similarities to his runaway bride. But the two situations were nothing alike. Were they?

‘I’m not running out on you.’ Yeah, she was. Avoiding the whole situation. ‘I’ll see you in London.’

‘Business as usual.’

‘Is there another way?’

She longed for him to say there was. She longed for him to say, Stay and we can be a couple. She longed for him to tell her she meant enough to him to break his work-only rules for.

But he wouldn’t.

And they both knew it.

He scooped the wine up and placed it carefully in the centre of her open suitcase protected by her intimates. Then he turned back to her and spoke.

‘See you in London.’

And then he was gone.

TEN

November

Thwack.

Her arrow hit the target, not quite as close as she was aiming but at least it found purchase. She lowered the bow.

Indoor archery—the latest on her list. Actually, it was supposed to be outdoor archery but it was the dying days of November and autumn had already dragged as interminably as her mood. The Year of Georgia was galloping by and would be over before there was any further warm weather, so indoors it was.

She and Zander were back to the early days of her Year of Georgia classes—politely civil. He came to exactly as few classes as he needed to get the monthly segments done and he seemed to have lost his enthusiasm for recording everything—much more sound than he needed. But the segments were proving unexpectedly popular with EROS’ listeners and so he had to keep producing them, even when she thought he would probably have preferred to just let the whole thing go. Maybe buy out her contract personally to be rid of the hassle.

They’d had their promotional value well and truly. Twice over. Every time a segment aired people remembered Dan, too, and there was a flurry of general media attention about where he was. What he was doing.

Who he was doing.

He’d been seen around town with someone. A woman. The same woman. So at least one of them had managed to find their way out of the mire to a regular sort of relationship. Although as fast as the gossip had come that they were on, it seemed as if maybe they were off again.

For her part, she surprised herself by discovering that even being given everything money could buy got old. She was tired of the Year of Georgia. She was tired of smiling politely at Zander and speaking into his digital recorder and pretending everything was fine.

Everything was not fine.

He filled her consciousness when he was around and plagued her thoughts when he wasn’t. She sat in life-drawing class looking at a phenomenally proportioned naked male model and all she could think about was Zander’s proportions. The curve of his strong shoulder. The gentle undulation of his throat. If her drawings never looked like the man she was sketching it was because they generally looked more like Zander.

Having asked Casey to strip her schedule of anything resembling Egyptian stone therapy and deep muscle massage, she begged Zander’s assistant to put them back in. If only to relieve the new tension she lived with these days.

They helped, but only for an hour or so each week. Then the lingering dissatisfaction and un-rightness returned and troubled her until the following week.

Float tanks, hypnosis, Bowen therapy—she tried something new every week for months. And nothing helped quite like the moment Zander walked into her class. The precious seconds before her brain reminded her not to get so excited. For those few breaths all the tension drained from her body.

She lived for those moments.

His garden was progressing, he’d told her one week, before passing her his phone to have a look at the design that flourished under the care of his landscaper. Irrational, blazing envy tormented her that she didn’t get to prune it or mow it or love it herself.

But she just smiled and said, ‘That’s great,’ and handed the phone back.

Another week he played her the completed Cappadocia segment and her heart squeezed both for the memories of Turkey and for the sublimely neutral expression on his face. Totally untroubled.

She equally envied and grew infuriated by his lack of concern.

Turning it off like that was a gift. Just not a very nice one.

‘Nice shot,’ Zander murmured, off to one side as a helper ran in and pried her arrow from the target.

Nice condescension, she thought. But aloud she only thanked him. She lined up another arrow. The Amazons must have had some serious upper-body muscles because doing this just once a week had given her a perpetual muscle ache in her chest.

Unless that was just her heart.

‘To the left,’ he murmured from her right side. She ignored him. ‘Your left, not my left.’

She lowered her bow and turned. ‘Seriously, Zander? You’re going to back-seat drive?’

‘Here...’

He stepped in behind her and told her to assume the firing position. Then he slid one hand along her extended bow arm and curled the other around her pulled back firing arm. And he reoriented her the tiniest bit to the left.

‘Just a smidge.’

‘Is that a professional archery measure?’ she muttered through tight teeth.

His laugh was a puff of warm air against her ear and her whole neck broke out in gooseflesh.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘You know this because of your many years of competition in the sport.’ At the very last second she realised he could have archery experience. It was a solo enough sport to be right up his alley.

‘I miss you,’ he said, as though that was exactly what they’d just been talking about. And maybe they had.

‘You miss the sex.’

‘No. I could get that anywhere.’ Charming. ‘I miss you. I miss your conversation and your snark. I just wanted to feel you. Just for a moment.’

She stood stiff and unyielding in his arms. It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Even her eyes didn’t waver from the target across the room. ‘And have you had your fill of feeling me up?’

‘George—’

The way he said her name...it caused her bow arm to tremble. She forced it to stillness.

‘—do you have to drag it down to such a level?’

‘What level should it be at? You’re not interested in a relationship but you’re not above a bit of casual sport at my expense?’

His arms dropped. Not scorched, but definitely not relaxed. ‘I hate this.’

‘Not my fault. You set the rules.’

‘I don’t recall making any rules.’

‘By implication.’ She lowered her bow. There was no way it was safe to fire an arrow while she was this distracted. But she didn’t turn around. ‘Or have you changed your mind about relationships?’

‘Why can’t we just...feel our way?’

She turned. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’

Instantly he stiffened. ‘I’m... No. Aren’t we a bit beyond dates?’

‘So you’re asking me just to sleep with you at your request?’

His brow folded. ‘No. George—’

‘You’re offering me sex with no commitment, Zander,’ she pointed out. ‘And that can’t work.’

And, astonishingly, she saw clearly for the first time why.

But he couldn’t. ‘Why not?’

An insane kind of lightness flooded her. ‘Because I know who I am, now. And I know why I proposed to Dan.’ Even though it had been unconscious. To bring his lack of commitment to a head. And sure enough the very next relationship she walked into was the same. Worse.

‘What’s Dan got to do with this?’

‘Nothing. And everything. Dan had a dozen little ways of keeping me at emotional arm’s length. You have a hundred.’

He lowered his head.

‘I don’t want to beg and scrounge for scraps of emotional intimacy,’ she said. ‘I’m worth more than that.’

‘No one’s going to promise you a ring before you even begin exploring who you are as a couple, George.’

His words cut deep. But she stayed strong. ‘You’ve ruled a commitment out right from the start. Why would I set myself up for that?’

‘Because of what we have?’

‘What do we have? Cracking chemistry? Intellectual compatibility?’ She started packing up her gear. ‘You’re either condemning me to still be waiting for you to throw me a bone when I’m eighty or a courteous breakup in two years when you tire of me. Either way I lose.’

‘You’re losing now.’

It wasn’t conceit. She absolutely was losing. ‘I’m cutting my losses.’

‘So that’s it? New improved Georgia wants all or nothing?’

‘No.’ She looked up at him. ‘I definitely want it all. But I’ll choose nothing if I have to.’

He stared, thinking. ‘Maybe I’ll change my mind?’

‘Really, Zander? Based on what? Give me some criteria for what will mean you can get over what happened to you in the past.’

His lips thinned.

‘Because otherwise you’re expecting me to just limp along hoping I’m being the kind of girlfriend that a man like you changes his mind for. That I’m saying the right things, doing the right things, wearing the right things. Dying a thousand deaths every time I find that maybe I’m not.’

‘George—’

‘I’m not negotiating, Zander, I’m explaining. I’m telling you why I’m choosing nothing, because everything is not on the cards with you.’

He hissed his displeasure.

She took a long breath. ‘I’ll come back for the Valentine’s show but you should have enough audio to carry you through Christmas and January. I’m done rediscovering myself. I’m done with classes.’

‘You still have twenty thousand left—’

‘You can keep the change.’

In more ways than one.

‘Wait...’ But he had nothing to say after that.

She took a breath. Took a chance. Exhausted from holding it in. And lying to herself. ‘I love you, Zander. I love your dedication to your sport, I love your hermit ways, I love your big, pointless garden, and the joy I saw on your face in Turkey. I want it all with you. What are you going to do about it?’

His eyes flared. He stared.

But said nothing.

Her heart crumpled inwards as if it were vacuum sealed. ‘And there we go.’

She picked up her bag and moved to the door. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. Gentle. Uncertain.

‘So that’s it? I’m not going to see you again?’

‘Isn’t that how you prefer your life? As empty as your house? Surely it must be easier to keep yourself from forming relationships that way.’ She curled her fingers around his. ‘This isn’t judgement, Zander. This is my choice.’

He stared, then dropped his eyes to her fingers as she used them to unclasp his from her arm.

‘Goodbye, Zander. Good luck.’

And then she walked out. Straight. Steady.

Just as an arrow through the heart should be.

ELEVEN

February

There was only so much thermal a man could wear and still run comfortably. February meant he moved most of his outdoor exploits indoors. He hit the treadmill instead of the highways, and he did endless laps of his grand staircase and reacquainted himself with his friendly neighbourhood indoor-climbing facility in lieu of hiking.

It kept his event fitness up and his time occupied. In body if not in spirit.

‘Mr Rush,’ the guy belaying his stack said. He’d been coming here every winter for the last six years but still he was Mr Rush to them all. He’d never invited them to call him anything else.

It’s Zander...he imagined saying.

How hard could that be to say? Just a few short syllables. But the words were an overture for something else, something he wasn’t in a hurry to have. Acquaintances. God forbid, friends. You told a guy your Christian name one week and you were helping him move house the next.

Georgia had accused him of having a hundred ways of keeping her at an emotional distance. Maybe that kind of thinking was just one of them. Most people would be too polite to push past that kind of passive resistance. And only some people had what it took to sneak past it.

Georgia had it. Straight in under his skin. Between his ribs. Into his thoracic cavity where his heart hung out.

He’d never imagined that having all his time back just for himself would be such a burden. He’d whinged long and hard to Casey about Georgia’s endless classes, the impost on his time, and she’d tutted and said all the things a boss liked to hear—Yes, Mr Rush. I’ll see to it, Mr Rush—yet, somehow they’d snuck up on him and started to feel normal. So that when they were gone he felt...

Bereft.

As if a part of him were missing. Yet it was much bigger than the sum total of the hours he’d put in at class.

He smiled at his spotter as he finished fixing his rigging. ‘Thanks, Roger.’

See...Roger. How hard was that? But still he didn’t say it. Call me Zander.

He forced his mind off his bloody social skills and onto the stack ahead of him. Newcomers climbed the left—hard but civilised—regulars got the fierce alignment. A good brutal climb was definitely in order.

It worked for about six minutes. People thought the point of indoor climbing was to spider monkey up the fastest, like some kind of country-fair attraction. For a free stuffed elephant. To him, the point of indoor climbing was stamina and endurance. Taking it slow and making it hard. Making it hurt.

Pain had a way of putting everything else into perspective.

Except today. Today it wasn’t working.

Isn’t that how you prefer your life? she’d said. As empty as your house?

No, actually it wasn’t. He liked it quiet. He liked it predictable and undemanding. But he didn’t actually choose empty. Empty chose him. When you worked as hard and as long as he did, when you had the kind of responsibility the network had entrusted him with and the kind of income they offered, then there really wasn’t a lot of room for anything but empty.

Of course Georgia would have called those excuses. She would have asked him what he really wanted to do with his life and then challenged him to do it. No matter what.

Which kind of relied on him knowing what he wanted to do. And he had no idea.

He just knew what he was doing now definitely wasn’t it.

His hand slipped on a misplaced transfer and he slammed hard against the wall, braced only on one foot peg, two fingers taking his entire weight.

Now wasn’t it. The network wasn’t it. EROS wasn’t it.

The enormous gulf those missing classes had left started to make some sense. He’d enjoyed those. A lot. Recording the experiences, capturing people’s stories. He’d exercised creative muscles that he’d let wither over the past corporate decade. He’d plucked remembered strands from something he’d been passionate about before the network. Before Lara.

His roots.

And audio production was a thousand miles from what he was doing now. What he’d grown rich and famous on.

What he’d grown empty on.

He tried not to imagine his big empty house, because every time he did the same thing happened. He saw it full of life, and colour.

And Georgia.

She’d planted the seeds of herself as surely in his imagination as she did plants in her garden. And she’d grown there, like some kind of invasive creeper vine. Tangling. Binding.

Bonding.

Until he could barely separate the reality of what he was left with from the fantasy of his imagination.

‘Bloody hell.’

A grunt to his left drew him out of his self-obsessed focus. How long had he been hanging here, not moving? Roger knew him too well to think he was in difficulty, but while he was off absorbed in fanciful thoughts another climber had managed to get fully rigged and halfway up the wall. Albeit the easier configuration.

He turned to look at the new guy and nearly lost his finger hold again.

Bradford.

No question. He’d been in enough newspaper articles and on enough gossip sites to be recognisable anywhere. Even sweaty and bulging on a rockface. However simulated.

An insane rage overcame him.

This man had rejected Georgia. She gifted him her unique heart—she risked and exposed herself—and this guy thought himself too good for her. He hadn’t fought for her when she ended it and he’d wasted no time in picking up with someone new once he was free to.

Bradford glanced at him, frowning, and then very purposefully climbed ahead.

Every hormone in Zander’s body urged him to speak. To demand Bradford justify himself. Explain in what universe hurting the most gentle, courageous woman on the planet was acceptable. Except then he remembered that he’d done effectively the same thing and much more recently.

Rejected her.

Returned the gift of her love. Unopened.

Let her go without a fight.

And he realised that Bradford was no more suited to for ever with a woman like Georgia than he was. And no more worthy.

He signalled Roger, below, leaned back, and zipped to the floor. He fumbled his way out of the climbing gear in his haste and left it where it lay.

And he got the hell out of there before he asked Bradford the only thing he really wanted to know.

How did you get over her?

* * *

A year.

An entire year had gone past since she’d last sat in EROS’ broadcast studios. Actually, it wasn’t the same studio, it was a twin, the mirror image of the one through the tinted glass that she’d first sprinted from twelve months ago when Dan turned her proposal down.

Back then she’d thought that nothing could be worse than standing in the elevator with the aghast curiosity of the station’s entire staff directed at her, begging the doors to close.

But coming back in here, today, was infinitely worse.

Back into Zander’s territory.

The man she hadn’t seen for over two months. A man she’d longed for over Christmas and cried for at New Year and absolutely dreaded seeing as Valentine’s Day approached.

A day of love and celebration.

Ugh.

‘Can I offer you a coffee?’ the segment producer said.

Yes. A warm drink would take the February chill from her fingers even if it couldn’t do anything for the one in her heart. She knew because she’d been trying these past months. ‘Tea, please?’

The producer shot a look at the teenaged girl by her side and she scarpered off to make Georgia’s tea, flushing.

‘Work experience,’ the producer grunted, tossing her hair.

Dogsbody, Georgia thought and instantly sided with the kid.

‘Have a seat,’ the woman said, and then, as Georgia sat, she added, ‘So you were sent the questions?’

‘Yes.’ And she had notes for her answers. ‘What was the best activity? What will I be keeping up after today? What did I learn from my year?’

‘If there’s anything off-script you’d like to add, you can go for it.’

Anything about Dan, she meant. The station was as good as their word—he’d not been mentioned since she first signed the contract.

‘If it comes up,’ she agreed. But nothing more. She wasn’t going to be pressured on her last moments under EROS’ power.

‘I’ve heard Zander’s final segment,’ the producer said. ‘It’s good.’

Georgia tried not to stiffen at the mere mention of his name.

‘Speak of the devil...’ one of the announcers murmured without the slightest change in facial expression and she did stiffen, then. Fully. But turning to look would have been too obvious.

The producer also pretended not to notice his arrival in the studio next to theirs, but her eyes flicked briefly to the darkened glass behind Georgia. ‘Great. Nothing like being watched to improve performance,’ she muttered while slightly diverting her face.

The announcer laughed.

The disrespect at Zander’s expense irked Georgia. She might have cut all ties with him but this was their boss they were sniggering about. A decent—if complicated—man, with a tough job to do.

‘Don’t worry,’ the producer said, misreading her face and leaning in to pretend to adjust Georgia’s headset. ‘He can’t hear us until I press the button. Soundproof.’

‘Then you’d better hope he can’t lip-read,’ she murmured.

Defending him was strangely pleasurable. Was she that desperate for a connection between them? Walking in here today was fifty per cent pain and fifty per cent anticipation that she might find him standing in the hallway.

Where she’d first seen him.

But no, he’d been predictably absent.

Until now.

‘Guess he’s more interested than usual because they’re his segments.’ The producer tried to cover her gaffe.

Or he just wanted to see her without being seen.

Hopeless optimist.

‘Have I got time to go to the Ladies’?’ Georgia asked, out of nowhere, then tried to add veracity to her lie. ‘Nervous pee.’

The producer huffed. They’d just got her settled and all wired up. ‘If you’re quick.’

She scooted up out of her seat and crossed to the door without paying the tinted glass the slightest attention. Outside she turned right and walked in the opposite direction to the staff toilets.

She opened the next door without knocking.

‘Zander...’

He spun by the tinted glass in the half shadows. The studio on the other side was fully lit and much easier to see than he had been in reverse. She did her best to stay back in the shadows, out of view of gossipy eyes.

‘Georgia.’ He swallowed. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good. And you?’

‘Good.’

Excellent. That meant they were both crap. ‘I wanted to ask you about the cheque.’

‘That money is yours. You shouldn’t be penalised for your thrift.’

Thrift. That made her sound about as exciting as a dusty old book. ‘Twenty thousand pounds, though?’

He shrugged. ‘You earned it. What will you do with it?’

She hadn’t let herself think. ‘Maybe back to Turkey?’

‘You should. See it properly.’

‘There’s so many options once you have actual money in your hands,’ she breathed.

‘You can do whatever you want. I hope you enjoy it.’

His sincerity struck her. And why not? She wouldn’t have fallen in love with a man who wasn’t genuinely lovely.

‘Why are you hiding in here?’ she asked.

‘I’m not hiding, I’m monitoring.’

‘That seems to have upset your staff.’

He smiled, not the slightest bit sorry. ‘I’m sure. Some of them are big on fame and short on accountability.’

Silence fell. Next door the work-experience girl reappeared with her cuppa and glanced around anxiously.

Georgia pushed away from the wall. ‘Well, I should go.’

‘Are you nervous?’ he asked.

Yes, and not just because she was going on air. ‘A bit. This is going to be hard for me.’

‘I’ve been very clear on the limitations. Anyone who mentions Bradford will be collecting unemployment next week.’

The kindness touched her. And his total obliviousness hurt her lungs. ‘Thank you.’

‘I heard about his new girlfriend,’ Zander risked. ‘How do you feel about that?’

Feel? ‘I’m happy for him.’

‘I worried for you. That you might—’

‘Take it personally?’

He dropped his eyes.

‘I’m not going to say I loved the implication of him finding someone so soon. That it must have been me that made the two of us a bad fit.’

‘That’s not how it works.’

‘Yeah, it does. Finding someone you can spend your life with is rare enough so the chances of both people finding that someone in each other...’ She left the rest unsaid. ‘Truly,’ she reassured. ‘He seems really content. It’s been a tough year for him but he’s found his reward.’

Zander stared. Breathed out slowly. ‘You’re a good person, Georgia Stone.’

She lifted her chin. ‘I know. I’d be my friend if I wasn’t already me.’

His lips parted in a classic Zander chuckle.

‘I’d better go. Your producer’s taking my absence out on your work-experience girl.’

He looked into the bright booth and she turned for the door. His voice stopped her just as she reached for the handle. ‘Georgia...’

She turned.

‘You’re looking good.’

No, she looked pretty much the same as she always did. With the exception of the grey smudges under her eyes that she’d worked hard to disguise. ‘Thank you.’

‘And you’re sounding good.’

She could easily have said something flippant, but these might be the last words they ever exchanged. She wanted them to count. ‘I am good. I’m finally doing what makes me happy. Regardless of what everyone else expects. It’s very...healthy.’

‘Healthy.’ He turned the word over on his lips. ‘It’s very compelling.’

Her chest tightened. Two minutes before going live on air was not the time to mess with a woman’s head. ‘See you later, Zander.’

Though, no, she wouldn’t. Not after today.

Today was the end.

She stepped back out into the full fluoro-brightness of the radio station and crossed back to her own studio. She smiled at the young girl who passed her a cup of tea as she walked in and let the producer set her up with her headphones and mic, again. And she did a cracking job of ignoring Zander’s presence. Even though she could barely see him now in the darkened studio next door, she felt his every breath.

The two announcers ran through a barrage of vocal warm-ups, which she figured were mostly for show, and she gave the young girl now inside the control box two thumbs up for a great cuppa.

Amazingly the hot drink did help, just slightly.

‘Thirty seconds,’ the producer announced over the studio loudspeaker, and the sudden sound of commercials filled the room. The announcers sat, smiled at her, and readied themselves.

Georgia took a deep breath and forced her mind off the man whose gaze burned into her back.

* * *

‘You’re listening to EROS: all the best music all the time. We’re back with The Valentine Girl, Georgia Stone, who has just finished the most amazing year of self-discovery. Georgia—’ the announcer was gifted at sounding as if he hadn’t used the last song break to go over in detail what they were about to say ‘—what was the highlight of your year?’

She leaned a little more into the microphone and did her best to imagine she was speaking only to her gran, not to three million Londoners. ‘There was a moment, just a heartbeat really, high above Cappadocia in the balloon, when everything in my life just—’ she struggled for the right word, then found it ‘—reconciled.’

‘Reconciled?’ the younger announcer said.

‘Everything just clicked. Into place. And I knew that I’d found what I was looking for.’

‘What were you looking for?’

She forced herself not to even flinch in Zander’s direction. ‘Myself, mostly.’

‘That sounds very Zen.’ The second announcer giggled, dubiously.

Introspection. Broadcasting death, Zander had warned her all those months ago. She closed her eyes and gave in. ‘And spy school was pretty cool, too.’

And they were off...asking with enormous relief how she’d felt firing a gun and what it was about numerical codes that made her such a natural at solving them.

Empowered and no idea were the respective answers.

‘An empowered woman with a gun in her hands, look out!’ the male announcer said.

Georgia didn’t even bother laughing out of courtesy.

The man’s eyes flicked up to the control booth window where the producer was making uninterpretable hand signals.

‘We’re going to take some of your calls now...’ the announcer said. He glanced at his computer monitor. ‘Lucinda from Epping, go ahead.’

Lucinda from Epping wanted to wax lyrical about belly dancing and how much she enjoyed it since starting it on Georgia’s recommendation. She was easy to enthuse with because the belly dancing was something she’d kept up even after the necessity to go had ended. It was somewhere she could escape back to Göreme in her mind. Back to Zander.

And back to the way he’d made her feel when his arms were around her.

Russell from Orpington wanted to complain about his girlfriend and her high standards and how impossible it was for an ordinary man to meet the expectations of empowered women.

‘Just try, Russell,’ she murmured. ‘None of us are looking for perfection. Just a decent effort.’

That even birthed a knowing smirk between the surly producer and her teenaged slave.

‘Alex from Hampstead. You’ve had your own—’ the young announcer stared at his computer screen and did his best to pronounce what was obviously an unfamiliar word ‘—epiphany?’

‘That’s Alek,’ the quiet voice said, and Georgia tightened up like a barrel bolt. ‘With a K.’

The announcer rolled his eyes. ‘Clock’s ticking, mate.’

Could they not hear it? She glanced between them all and none of them seemed to have the vaguest idea that it was their boss on the line. Her chest started to rise and fall. She forced herself not to turn around but her inner eye was focused squarely on the glass of the mirrored studio behind her.

‘I’ve had exactly the same moment,’ Zander murmured down the line. ‘That moment where everything just falls into place and works. Effortless.’

‘It’s a great feeling,’ Georgia pressed past her dry throat. Was he talking about his engagement fifteen years ago?

‘And once you’ve had it and then you lose it it’s...intolerable. Worse than never having it at all.’

Yeah, he was. Her chest tightened up.

‘But once you’ve had it,’ she whispered, ‘then you at least know what to strive for. You know what your bar is.’

‘True.’

And she didn’t meet his bar the way every man out there would struggle to meet Zander’s.

The announcer glanced at his producer for assistance; clearly this wasn’t his idea of riveting radio.

‘What if you fear you’ll never reach it again?’ Zander said, low and personal.

His voice, in her earphones, was like lying on that daybed in Göreme with him. Intimate. Breathless. She closed her eyes, pressed the ear pads harder to her head to keep him close. To keep it private.

‘If you reached it once,’ she whispered, ‘then you know you can reach it again.’

Even though he was talking about his fiancée, she hated the pain she heard in his voice. She loved him; she didn’t want him suffering. The way she was.

‘Is that what you believe?’ he murmured.

‘I have to. Or I’d go crazy wondering if I let the best thing in my world go.’

The announcer suddenly saw an in. ‘And someone else has snapped him up now,’ he said.

Georgia’s eyes flew open and her stomach heaved. Had Zander moved on already? ‘What?’

‘Your ex. He’s spoken for.’

Relief and anger pulsed under her skin in equal measures. Daniel. Not Zander.

The producer’s lips formed a string of swearwords clear enough to be readable even by her. The announcer seemed to remember he wasn’t supposed to mention Dan. He flushed to his roots. And then paled.

She wondered if Zander hadn’t exaggerated how stern a warning he’d given them all.

Silence screamed live on air. She was so conscious that she had to say something. ‘I still adore Dan.’ She picked her way carefully to an answer. ‘But, no, I wasn’t talking about him.’

‘Aren’t you going to ask me where it was?’ Zander murmured down the line.

The announcer circled his finger above his head, signalling his producer to wind up the call. She moved to disconnect the call.

‘No!’ Georgia said out loud and stilled the announcer’s gyro-finger and the producer’s steps.

‘No?’ The husky voice grew amused.

‘Not you, Alek,’ she corrected, matching the warmth. ‘So go ahead. Where did you have this epiphany?’

How could she be alone in the dark with Zander when three million people were listening? Yet she just didn’t care.

‘There’s a tiny town up near the Scottish border. Great for viewing sunsets.’

Her breath caught.

The radio staff threw up their hands in silent protest as their segment started to unravel before their eyes.

‘I kissed a woman there and it changed my life.’

The blood rushed from her face. ‘A kiss can’t change your life. Only you can do that.’

‘I’m beginning to understand that.’

Both announcers and the producer all snapped their focus behind her and their mouths gaped open. She turned and saw the studio lights now fully blazing next door. Illuminating Zander leaning casually up against the glass, his mobile phone to his ear.

‘You taught me that,’ he said.

Georgia stared, lost in the fixed focus of his eyes. ‘I did?’

‘I watched you week after week, plunging into situations that you weren’t comfortable with, taking the best parts out of them. Always positive. Always interested in the people you met. You only had to do the minimum but you didn’t, you applied yourself fully to it.’

‘I wanted to fix myself.’

‘You weren’t broken. You never were. You’re perfect the way you are.’

‘Perfectly crazy?’ She smiled through her tears.

‘Perfectly competent.’ He tipped his head. ‘I want to be competent, too.’

‘You are.’

‘No. I’m not. I do a job I hate because someone once told me I was good at it. I live a life I hate because someone once convinced me I wasn’t worthy of better.’

Lara.

She stood and tugged her headphones and mic with her. They were her lifeline. An umbilical cord to Zander. She crossed to the glass. ‘She was never worthy of you.’

‘I believe that now. It’s taken a long time. She didn’t have your courage. Your character.’

No, she didn’t. ‘What life would you lead, if you could choose?’ This moment was too important to care whether EROS’ listeners were interested. They might have gone to a commercial for all she knew.

‘I want to go back to my roots. Making audio documentaries for syndication. It’s what I always wanted to do.’

She thought about all those unnecessary hours of additional sound he’d recorded. ‘Is there a market for that?’

‘I’ll make a market. My house would make a great studio.’

She smiled. His optimism was so infectious.

She placed her small hand on the glass, over his large one where he leaned on it. His eyes glowed down into hers. ‘What else?’ she whispered.

‘I’m going to travel more. See amazing things. Record amazing things. My world has grown way too tiny.’

‘You won’t be able to travel.’ She laughed, though it was more of a cry. ‘You’ll be poor.’

‘You forget, I run marathons. I’ll run the world on foot if I have to.’

He would, too, this new Zander. The best of the two Zanders. A tear streaked down her face. She curled her fingers on the glass and wished she could touch his.

‘What else?’

‘I’m going to get a new gardener.’

The rapid change in direction threw her. ‘What happened to Tony?’

He shrugged and smiled, but it was nervous. ‘Tony won’t live in.’

‘You want a live-in gardener?’ He might not be able to afford that, either.

He nodded. ‘If you’re free.’

Behind her, the announcers gasped, as one. And it saved her the trouble.

She had to swallow twice to get the words out. ‘You want me to be your gardener?’

He curled his fingers to match hers. ‘I want you to have the garden. And you’re going to need to tend to it every day.’

‘You want me to live in your house?’ she whispered.

‘For ever, George. With me.’

‘But you don’t want to get married? You told me.’

He shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to get hurt. But that hasn’t worked. I hurt every day because I’m not with you. So I’m cutting my losses.’

All over London women probably gasped, but Georgia knew exactly what that meant.

‘Ever the romantic, Alek,’ an announcer said in both their ears.

Zander didn’t laugh. Neither did she.

‘I love you, Georgia,’ he whispered through the glass, down the line and out of three million radio speakers. ‘I thought I was managing the rest of my life but the moments with you were like a blazing beacon and they spilled light on just how dull the rest of my existence has become.’ He took a breath. ‘It’s lucrative but it’s nothing without you. Totally empty.’

Tears clogged her throat. She struggled to clear them.

‘Are you proposing, Alek?’ the second announcer prompted, scenting a ratings slaughter.

‘Marriage? No,’ he breathed, and her heart lurched. ‘When I do that I’ll do it somewhere infinitely more special than my workplace.’ He tucked his phone to his ear and pressed a second hand up against the glass. ‘But I am proposing a future. A life together. A second chance for both of us.’

Georgia stared at him through the glass, speechless. Then she ripped her headphones and mic off and turned for the door.

The announcers went into panic mode but she didn’t care. They’d talk their way out of it; they always did. They could earn their enormous pay. She threw her gratitude to the young work-experience girl, grinning from ear to ear, who held the studio door open for her so that she could practically run through it.

Outside, the whole office stood, transfixed, staring at the studio doors. She ignored them. Except for Casey who bounced on two feet, tears streaming down her face, both hands pressed to her excited mouth.

Zander met her the moment she burst through the door. Swept her up and locked her to his strong body, turning slowly, eyes squeezed shut.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured over and over.

‘For what?’ she gasped, lifting her face from the crook of his neck. ‘Practically proposing on air?’

‘For letting you go. For making you go.’

‘I needed to stand alone. I needed to find that part of myself and know I could survive it.’

He sighed. ‘Your courage shamed me.’

‘No...’

‘But it inspired me, too. To be authentic. To risk everything.’

‘Did you think I’d say no?’

‘I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t planning on calling in when I went into that studio. I just saw you and you were so radiant and...fine...it boiled my blood.’

She tipped her head. ‘It made you angry that I was doing well?’

‘It made me angry that I wasn’t. I so wasn’t. And I realised why the moment you walked back out of this studio. You took all the light with you.’

‘And you want me to live in your house?’

‘I want us to be together. I think I’ve been sitting in that house just waiting for it to populate itself with a family. A family I didn’t want. But, truthfully, I don’t care where we live. In fact, I’d be really happy to go back to Göreme and grow old underground with you. Whatever you want.’

Heat filled her cheeks. ‘I really want your garden.’

His lips turned up slightly at the corners. ‘Just the garden?’

‘No,’ she breathed. ‘I really want you.’

She lifted her lips and Zander pulled her up closer in his arms to help close the distance. They clung together, sealing their promise in flesh.

On the other side of the glass the two announcers were exploding with mute action, like a pair of mime race-callers. Georgia feared for exactly what was being said but, after the year they’d had, really, how bad could it be?

‘I’m sorry we’re not going to be rich,’ he whispered against her lips.

‘I don’t want to be rich.’

‘I wanted to give you the world.’

She traced his jawline with her finger. ‘You already have. Besides,’ she said, breathless, ‘I’m only cash-poor.’

He frowned. ‘But your flat...’

‘It’s one of four in the complex,’ she reminded him. And he nodded. So she broke the news. ‘I own them all.’

He just gaped.

‘Well, technically the bank owns them all but, you said yourself, I’m thrifty. When all my friends were out clubbing, I was paying the world’s biggest mortgage. Determined never to have to beg for somewhere to live again. Between my neighbours’ rent and my own repayments and the area booming I have more than seventy per cent equity. So maybe we’ll end up closer to equal?’

‘You were so scathing about my money.’

She shrugged. ‘It was so fun do to. That’s the real me. You may want to reconsider...’

‘I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.’

That raised the tiny ghost of the past. ‘You did want to do this with someone else, once.’

He considered her seriously. ‘It took me a really long time to get to the place where I could be objective about Lara. About the whole sorry mess. But our relationship was always about me making allowances for her, and she loved that, she didn’t love me. She did me the biggest favour in getting out before it was too late.’

Just as Dan had. ‘I understand.’

‘Yes. I think you do.’

They kissed again, stepping back out of the view of the viewing window between studios.

‘You were so right about how I treat people at work. To keep them at a distance. And my running. All designed to stop me from having to interact with anyone emotionally. And then you came along.’

‘And bullied my way in?’

‘And looked deep inside me and accepted who I was.’

She beamed up at him. ‘Well, aren’t we a pair of lucky-to-have-found-each-others?’

He smiled. ‘Yeah. We really are.’

‘Mr Rush?’ The producer’s voice boomed out over the studio PA system. Georgia could hear music in the background and knew the segment was over.

She was free.

Free to love the best man in the world.

Zander crossed to the panel and pressed a blue button. ‘Yes?’

Just as fearsome as ever, despite the monumental scene he’d just made in front of his whole staff. His tone must have worked because she spoke to him with more courtesy than Georgia had heard from her all afternoon.

‘Nigel Westerly is on line two, Mr Rush.’

She said it with the same awe she would have used if the Queen of England had picked up the phone.

Zander glanced down at the flashing light on the console, then back at Georgia. He pressed the blue button.

‘Tell Westerly I’m busy.’

And then he stepped away from the panel, towards her. The last thing she saw as his head swooped back down for another kiss was the gaping dread on the face of the producer at having to tell the head of the entire network he wasn’t going to get his way. And the secret smile on the face of the work-experience kid.

‘That was terrible,’ she whispered up at him between kisses.

‘God, it felt good, though. Never did like her.’

‘They aren’t all bad.’

‘No, they’re not. I’m thinking of taking Casey with me, in fact. I’ll need a bomb-proof business partner.’

‘You think she’ll come?’

‘I have a way with women.’

‘Cocky.’

‘I got you, didn’t I?’

‘Yeah,’ she breathed against his lips. ‘You absolutely did.’

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from HITCHED! by Jessica Hart.

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