“Would you like to go for a ride?”

Marco knew Gretchen meant the car, but he couldn’t help but think of the far different, exceedingly intimate kind of ride he would like to take with her. “I don’t know how to drive a stick shift,” he said.

She maneuvered her long legs into the driver’s seat. Looking at him expectantly, she replied, “That’s okay. I do.”

When he hesitated, she patted the leather of the passenger seat with bright red fingernails. “Don’t worry, Dr. Garibaldi. I promise I won’t bite.”

She might not, but he was afraid if he was cooped up in close quarters with her for too long, he might.

“Marco,” he said. “The name’s Marco.”

“Call me Gretchen.”

“Very well, Gretchen.” Swinging the passenger door open, he sank with a sigh onto the soft leather seat. Inhaling a heady breath of new-car aroma, he said, “Take me away from all my troubles.”

“My pleasure.”

Dear Reader,

Once again, Silhouette Intimate Moments brings you six exciting romances, a perfect excuse to take a break and read to your heart’s content. Start off with Heart of a Hero, the latest in award-winning Marie Ferrarella’s CHILDFINDERS, INC. miniseries. You’ll be on the edge of your seat as you root for the heroine to find her missing son—and discover true love along the way. Then check out the newest of our FIRSTBORN SONS, Born Brave, by Ruth Wind, another of the award winners who make Intimate Moments so great every month. In Officer Hawk Stone you’ll discover a hero any woman—and that includes our heroine!—would fall in love with.

Cassidy and the Princess, the latest from Patricia Potter, is a gripping story of a true princess of the ice and the hero who lures her in from the cold. With Hard To Handle, mistress of sensuality Kylie Brant begins CHARMED AND DANGEROUS, a trilogy about three irresistible heroes and the heroines lucky enough to land them. Be sure to look for her again next month, when she takes a different tack and contributes our FIRSTBORN SONS title. Round out the month with new titles from up-and-comers Shelley Cooper, whose Promises, Promises offers a new twist on the pregnant-heroine plot, and Wendy Rosnau, who tells a terrific amnesia story in The Right Side of the Law.

And, of course, come back again next month, when the romantic roller-coaster ride continues with six more of the most exciting romances around.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Promises, Promises
Shelley Cooper

MILLS & BOON

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SHELLEY COOPER

first experienced the power of words when she was in the eighth grade and wrote a paragraph about the circus for a class assignment. Her teacher returned it with an “A” and seven pluses scrawled across the top of the paper, along with a note thanking her for rekindling so vividly some cherished childhood memories. Since Shelley had never been to the circus, and had relied solely on her imagination to compose the paragraph, the teacher’s remarks were a revelation. Since then, Shelley has relied on her imagination to help her sell dozens of short stories and to write her first novel, Major Dad, a 1997 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist in Best Long Contemporary, and all those that have come after. She hopes her books will be as moving to her readers as her circus paragraph was to that long-ago English teacher.

To Charles and Joan Cooper

for raising an incredible son, and for treating me, a daughter by law, like one of their original eight.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Prologue

Eyes stinging and heart pounding, Gretchen Montgomery sat motionless at her desk, staring at the items scattered across the blotter. An empty padded manila envelope. A letter from an attorney named Martin Sanders. A portable tape player. A cassette.

The cassette was what had her thoughts in turmoil. It was labeled “Jill Barnes—Tape for Gretchen Montgomery” and dated eight days prior to Jill’s death three months earlier. The letter, stating that the tape was an addendum to her best friend’s bequest to her, was from the executor of Jill’s estate.

Gretchen reached for the tape with trembling fingers. A minute, then two, passed before she found the resolve to insert it into the tape recorder. After drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she pushed the play button.

“Surprise!” Jill’s voice trilled, weak but full of the humor and vivacity that had been Jill all over. “I bet you weren’t expecting to hear from me again.”

Though Gretchen had steeled herself for it, the sound of her best friend’s voice had emotion swelling her throat.

“I was going to videotape this,” Jill’s voice echoed in the silent room, “but let’s face it, I look like death.”

Gretchen choked out a laugh. Even at the end, when Jill’s pain had been great, she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.

“Are you smiling, Gretch?” the tape continued. “You’d better be, ’cause if you’re sitting there boo-hooing over me, I’m going to be highly pissed.”

“I’m smiling,” Gretchen said softly, her lips turning up as she brushed away a tear.

“Good. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, videotaping. Since that was out, and since I’ve never been much of a letter writer, I chose this method of communicating with you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

Gretchen knew she was talking to the air, that Jill couldn’t actually hear her, and that anyone chancing upon her would think she’d lost it. She didn’t care. She’d been so lonely these past months with Jill gone. It was wonderful to hear her friend’s voice again, even if it was just a recording and not the real thing.

“We’ve been through a lot together,” Jill said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

An understatement, if ever there was one. Best friends since kindergarten, and the only family each had had after the deaths of their parents, it had taken the marauding power of cancer to part them.

“More than the average bear,” Gretchen murmured.

“Matter of fact,” Jill stated, “I can’t think of a single area of our lives we haven’t shared. Training bras and braces. Pimples and periods. The hard times your family went through. Unrequited crushes and failed romances. The struggle to build a successful career. Regrets and unfulfilled dreams.”

There was a pause. “It’s the regrets and unfulfilled dreams I want to talk about today. I can’t tell you how many regrets I have for some of the things I’ve done during my life. But they pale in comparison with the regrets I have for the things I didn’t do. The things I won’t get to do now.

“I have a question for you, Gretch. What is the best thing a person can say about you? And I don’t mean your appearance. I mean you—Gretchen Montgomery the person.”

The tape whirred silently while Gretchen pondered the question. What was the best thing a person could say about her? That she was neat, clean and dependable. That she was loyal to those who had gained her trust. That she showed up at work on time every day and did a thorough job. That she had the respect and admiration of her colleagues.

She felt her lips twist. Just how boring could you get?

The sudden sound of Jill’s voice made her start. “Do you have the answer yet? Well, here it is. Other than that you are the most wonderful friend a woman could ever hope to have, for which I thank you from the bottom of my heart, the best thing a person can say about you is that you never break a promise. Ever. You’ve made quite a few promises over the past twenty-nine years, haven’t you?”

Yes, Gretchen acknowledged, she supposed she had. Her family, particularly her mother, had been great on the making and keeping of promises. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what any promise she’d made had to do with Jill’s unfulfilled dreams, with Jill’s regrets.

As if reading her mind, Jill said, “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m bringing up those promises of yours. Because there’s something I want you to do, and I want you to do it for both of us. In the name of our friendship, Gretch, I’m going to ask you to make a few of those promises you’re so good at keeping.

“First, I want you to celebrate every day by living in the moment. That means you have to let go of the past and stop waiting for the future. Now is the only time that counts. Now is the time to tell the people who are important to you how much they mean to you. Now is the time to not put off, hold back or save anything that will add laughter to your life. Now is the time to tell yourself that the day is special, that each minute, each second, each breath is a gift that must not be squandered. Can you promise me that?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Now for the hard part. I want you to take the money I left you out of the nice, safe money-market account I’m sure you’ve invested it in. You have enough put away for the future, you don’t need any more. This is your mad money, Gretch, and you are to spend every penny of it. You are not to give it to charity. You are not to spend it on anyone else. Every cent must be spent on you, and you are to buy things that you never in your wildest dreams imagined you would find yourself buying. Some necessities, yes, but mostly wild, crazy, impractical things. Fun things. Promise?”

“But why?” Gretchen asked, appalled at the thought of throwing away good money on items she neither wanted or needed. It went against everything she’d been taught, against the philosophy of her chosen career. She was a CPA, for heaven’s sake. Frugality was her middle name, alongside practicality.

Again, as if anticipating her question, she heard Jill say, “It’s important, Gretch. Because, if you keep going on the way you are, your nose to the grindstone, always doing the safe thing, when your time comes you’re going to have as many regrets as I do. You still have a choice. God willing, you have many years ahead of you, a lot of life to live. That’s why I had my lawyer wait three months before sending this tape to you. Surely by now you’ve started questioning the meaning of your life.”

She had. Mostly at night, in the stillness between wakefulness and sleep, when she could no longer escape the discomfiting thoughts with activity.

“Promise me, Gretch,” Jill insisted. “If you promise, I know you’ll follow through.”

“I promise,” Gretchen whispered.

“Good. Remember how, when we were kids, you used to dream of being a concert pianist? Well, I want you to promise to enter a piano competition. ASAP. I want you to find out, once and for all, whether you have true ability. After that you can choose what you do with the knowledge.”

Gretchen’s head whirled. “You have my word. Anything else?”

“One last thing, and I’ll let you go. I gotta warn you, though, it’s a biggie, so prepare yourself. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Gretchen wondered what, after everything she’d already heard, could be left to surprise her.

“Okay, here goes. I want you to promise to have a wild, crazy affair. No more Ms. Practical for you, when it comes to men. No siree, Bob. You are now going to be Wild Woman.”

For a second or two, Gretchen stared at the tape recorder, her mouth slack with shock. Then, giving a small shake of her head, she smiled ruefully. She should have known better than to wonder what Jill could have had left to surprise her.

“I told you it was a biggie.” Jill’s voice sounded amused, but determined. “There are also a few stipulations with this one. The man can’t be anything like the men you’ve dated in the past. He can’t be steady and unimaginative when it comes to both work and play. Especially play. He can’t be more focused on his career than he is on your figure. And he can’t be more comfortable in a suit than he is in a pair of jeans. In a word—and no offense, Gretch, ’cause I’m also describing every man I’ve ever dated—he can’t be dull. Dull, dull, dull.”

“No offense taken,” Gretchen murmured.

“You’ll know you’ve met the right guy, when just a mere look is enough to curl your toes, when your heart all but stops when he smiles at you and when you think you’re going to incinerate on the spot when his fingers chance to brush against yours. And if he sports a tattoo, wears a leather jacket and rides a Harley, all the better. That’s a guy you can let your hair down with. That’s a guy you can have a wild, crazy affair with.”

Of all the promises Gretchen had been asked to make, this one gave her the most pause. In the simplest terms, she was not the wild, crazy affair type. Even if she had been, she didn’t know any men like the one Jill had just described.

Or did she? Her thoughts flew to her tenant, the man who rented the other half of the duplex she’d grown up in, and which had been left to her when her parents died. Dr. Marco Garibaldi. She rarely saw him, but whenever she did she experienced all the reactions Jill had just described, and then some.

“Yeah, right,” Gretchen muttered wryly. She had about as much chance of having a wild, crazy affair with Marco Garibaldi as she did with a movie star. Still, the thought filled her with a restless yearning she couldn’t deny.

“Promise me, Gretchen.” Jill’s voice filled the room with a determined strength. “For the first time in your life, I want you to be totally selfish, to for once do things for you and only you, and to hell with what anyone else thinks or says. I want you to live the life we always talked about living but were too scared or busy with our careers to actually get out and live. I want, when you lie on your deathbed, for you to have no regrets.

“Remember that line from Auntie Mame? ‘Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.’ I want you to feast, Gretch. Feast like no one has feasted before. Promise me you’ll do everything I asked.”

Despite her conviction that Jill’s request was beyond crazy, Gretchen felt a growing excitement in the pit of her stomach. Sitting in her office, listening to the voice of a dead woman and making outrageously impractical promises, she felt more alive than she had in months, maybe even years.

“I promise.” The words slipped out before she was consciously aware she intended to utter them.

Could she really do it? Could she do all the things Jill had asked? Could she actually have an affair with Marco Garibaldi, or any other man like him?

One thing was certain: she had to try. After all, she had made a promise, and promises were to keep.

Chapter 1

Something was up with his landlady.

Marco Garibaldi didn’t know precisely what that something was, only that she was behaving totally out of character. Even worse, her out-of-character behavior was making it impossible for him to sleep.

Gritting his teeth against the swell of music echoing off his bedroom walls, Marco rolled onto his back and stared wide-eyed at the shadows flickering across the ceiling. A wave of frustration consumed him. The sheets were a tangled mess around his waist from all his tossing and turning. Air-conditioning, set on high, did little to cool a body that refused to stay in one position long enough to benefit from the chilled air pumping into the room.

The music ended and silence fell. A blessed silence, during which Marco closed his eyes and prayed for sleep to finally claim him. Just when he thought his prayers might be answered, once again the lilting notes of a piano sonatina filtered through the wall separating his half of the duplex from his landlady’s.

Marco groaned. Would it never cease?

It wasn’t that the music wasn’t nice. On the contrary, it was beautiful. Chopin, if he wasn’t mistaken. Or maybe Beethoven. He was too tired to try and figure out which.

Which was the entire point. Having just come off a sixteen-hour shift in the E.R., he was exhausted. Not only that, he was expected back there, bright and early tomorrow morning at six. And tonight, of all nights, his landlady had decided that midnight was the perfect time to play a CD at top volume, an unprecedented action on her part.

But what really had him stewing in aggravation was that she had programmed her CD player to play the same blasted sonatina over and over again. Thirty minutes listening to the same piece, no matter how beautiful, was about twenty-five minutes too long by his reckoning.

For two years he’d lived next door to her. Two years, during which they’d waved hello and goodbye to each other whenever their paths happened to cross, which wasn’t often since she seemed to work as many hours as he did. Two years, during which he’d dutifully placed his rent check in her mailbox on the first of each month. Two years, during which she hadn’t thrown so much as a tea party, let alone a wild, anything-goes free-for-all. Two years, during which she’d kept her stereo and television volume muted, and during which he’d never heard a peep from her after eleven o’clock at night.

Until tonight.

The sonatina swelled to its now-familiar finale, making Marco’s head throb. He winced. Oh, yes, something was definitely up with his landlady. And he didn’t like it one bit.

The music wasn’t the entire problem, he acknowledged with a sigh as he wrapped the pillow around his ears and turned on his side. Yes, he couldn’t sleep, but the music coming from his landlady’s apartment was only part of the reason why.

During his years as an intern, and then later as a resident when he’d worked practically around the clock for days on end, Marco had perfected the art of sleeping on his feet. Normally he could sleep anywhere, at any time and through anything. But tonight his brain wouldn’t shut off, no matter how hard he willed it.

He’d had a hell of a day. A record breaker, just like the heat wave that was smashing records that had stood unchallenged for decades. Heat always tended to bring out the worst in human nature. Add alcohol, drugs and handguns to the mix, and you got a violent combination that would inevitably, at some point, find its way into the E.R.

Today had been no exception. Since it was only July sixth, and the mercury had already soared past one hundred for three days running, Marco hated to think what the rest of the summer held in store.

His shift had started at 6:00 a.m. By noon, he’d already seen three shootings, a husband and wife who had knifed each other in a domestic altercation, a child that had been shaken mercilessly by his mother’s boyfriend and who might have permanent brain damage, and two drug overdoses.

Things had gone rapidly downhill from there. A bus accident had flooded the E.R. with victims at one-thirty. At three, a heat-provoked quarrel over whose turn it was to walk the dog had sent five members of the same family through the E.R.’s pneumatic doors. Then, at four, just as he was preparing to leave, three of his fellow physicians, who had all eaten a late lunch at the same fast-food restaurant, had come down with a virulent case of food poisoning, and Marco had known he’d be working a second shift.

The icing on the cake, though, had been the appearance of his current steady at six o’clock, demanding a commitment she’d assured him she didn’t want at the start of their relationship. When he’d asked if she could wait until he had time to speak in private, she’d refused, insisting he answer her questions there and then. She didn’t care who was listening. She’d left him no choice but to tell her that he had no intention of ever entering into a commitment with her, at which time she’d told him they were history. He hadn’t wanted things to end that way; he had in fact hoped to enjoy her company for a long time yet to come, but she had given him no choice.

Afterward, the patients who had witnessed the scene regarded him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a tail and horns. At least the nurses, who were even more overworked than the doctors, had gotten some entertainment out of the episode. He knew he’d be the object of a fair amount of ribbing for days to come.

Still, the breakup with Pamela, unpleasant and unexpected as it had been, wasn’t what was keeping him awake. The memory of the shaken baby was what tormented him. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to keep the eight-month-old from slipping into a coma. Given the probable prognosis, he didn’t know whether to pray that the child would succumb or survive.

Most of his fellow physicians did their best to distance themselves from their patients. Distancing helped to numb the pain and grief they encountered on a daily basis. Despite being advised to do the same himself, when he’d graduated from medical school Marco had vowed never to lose touch with the human side of his job. He never wanted to forget that the families, as well as the patient, were in pain. He didn’t want to become immune to that pain, no matter what the personal cost to himself.

Sometimes, though, it all seemed so hopeless. He patched up drug users and battered women who refused to press charges against their abusers and sent them on their way, only to treat them all over again days, weeks or months later. He’d lost count of the number of homeless people who relied on the E.R. to give them some basic human dignity and to help them with medical conditions that were solely a result of their homelessness, and thus totally preventable.

Then there were days like today, when an innocent child was entrusted to his care and he could do little to help. A day like today made Marco question whether what he did made any difference at all. A day like today left him wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling while he prayed for silence and the forgetfulness of sleep.

Five minutes, he thought in desperation. Like the woman married to a chronic snorer, five minutes of uninterrupted silence was all he would need to drift off into lullaby land. After that, his landlady could play that blasted sonatina a thousand times, and he wouldn’t hear.

When the song repeated yet again, Marco knew the only way he was going to get those five minutes was to demand them.

Wearily he climbed out of bed. For the sake of propriety, he shrugged a seldom-worn bathrobe over his naked body, then trudged in his bare feet to the front door.

The night air felt like a hot breath on his skin. Raising his right hand, he loudly rapped his knuckles against the aluminum screen door marking his landlady’s side of the duplex.

He had to repeat the motion three more times before the music stopped. A few seconds later he heard the soft patter of feet across hardwood. The pattering was followed by a pause while his landlady peered out at him through the peephole.

Then she was opening the door and regarding him through wire-rimmed glasses. It had been months since they’d actually spoken face-to-face, and he’d forgotten how tall she was, just an inch shy of his own six feet.

“Dr. Garibaldi,” she said, clearly surprised to see him. “Is there a problem?”

Something was different about her tonight, he realized. He was used to seeing her in suits, so the sleeveless, calf-length sundress was a surprise. But her attire wasn’t what had caught his attention. Maybe it was just a trick of the light that silhouetted her figure in the doorway, but he could swear her face was flushed with excitement and that her eyes actually sparkled behind the thick lenses of her glasses.

Was she entertaining? Had his unscheduled visit interrupted a languid seduction scene? Was that what was up with his landlady?

He’d never seen her like this before, so animated, so alive. Prior to that moment, if anyone had asked him to describe her, he would have said she was a woman who took life seriously and who dressed the part. She wasn’t plain, nor was she pretty. Sensible looking would be an apt enough description. He’d always thought of her as quiet and self-contained, a woman content to fade into the background with her books and ledgers, while other, more vibrant personalities hogged the limelight.

Since when had he turned so poetic?

Since he’d realized that his landlady had gorgeous, thick, waist-length hair. Normally, or at least whenever he’d seen her, she wore it in a French braid or in a bun fastened at the nape of her neck.

Suddenly, Marco was looking at her in a whole new light.

“Dr. Garibaldi?” she repeated, seemingly puzzled at his nonresponse.

He gave himself a mental shake. Given the acrimony with which his most recent relationship had ended, he was in no hurry to jump into another one. Even if he had been, Gretchen Montgomery would be the last woman he’d choose. For one thing, Marco was fairly certain she was a marriage-minded woman, and he was definitely not a marriage-minded man. What was more important, she was his landlady. Never mix business with pleasure, that was his motto.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Ms. Montgomery, but I was wondering if you could turn your CD player down.”

She looked more puzzled than ever. “My CD player?”

He felt a surge of impatience. “The piano music. It’s keeping me awake.”

“You think—” She broke off. A quick glance at her wristwatch, and her eyes filled with contrition. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was this late. Of course I’ll turn the music down. I apologize for disturbing you, Dr. Garibaldi. I won’t be so thoughtless again.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I do anything else for you?”

You can let me run my fingers through your hair.

The unexpected thought shot a tingle of awareness through him. Before he could control the impulse, he actually felt his arm reach out as if to do just that. He definitely needed to get some sleep.

“No,” he said, quickly backing away. Snatching back his outstretched arm, he thrust his fingers through his own hair. “Nothing else.”

“Have a good night, Dr. Garibaldi.”

“You too, Ms. Montgomery.”

“Dr. Garibaldi?”

Hand on the door to his own apartment, Marco slowly turned. “Yes?”

“Before I forget, I should probably warn you that I’m having some cosmetic work done on the outside of the house over the next few weeks. Most of it should be carried out between nine and five, but if it causes a problem, please let me know. I realize your hours can be erratic, and I don’t want to disturb your sleep again.”

“Thank you. I’ll notify you if there’s a problem.”

She seemed to hesitate. “Well, good night.”

“Good night.”

He’d just settled back into bed and closed his eyes, the blessed silence cocooning him like a soft, cotton blanket, when the phone rang. Marco swore. He wasn’t on call. Unless there was a huge disaster in the making, or a member of his family needed him, his phone had no business ringing at this hour.

“What?” he barked into the receiver.

“It’s me,” Brian, his best friend, said.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Sorry, buddy. It’s just… Well, it’s Val.” A long sigh traveled the phone lines. “We had another fight. A big one. She’s threatening to file for divorce. Can I come over? I really need someone to talk to.”

Marco swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Sure,” he said, running his hand over the stubble on his cheeks. “I’ll put the coffee on.” What had ever made him think he was going to get some sleep?

As he stumbled into the bathroom to toss cold water on his face, Marco’s thoughts turned to Brian and Val. Married just four years, they had already separated and reunited twice.

The problem was that, like him, Brian was a physician. A pediatrician who’d just started a practice of his own, he often worked more than eighty hours a week. And that didn’t take into consideration the hours in the middle of the night that he was on call. With a new baby to care for, it was no wonder Val often felt overwhelmed and neglected as far as attention from her husband was concerned. For his part, Brian justifiably felt torn between the pressures of the practice he’d built to assure his family’s financial security and the emotional demands of that family.

Marco was thankful for one thing. The day he’d promised to never forget the human side of medicine, he’d also promised that he would never marry. The marriages of too many physicians ended as a result of the very issues with which Val and Brian were now struggling. Issues they would continue to struggle with in the future. If, that is, they stayed married.

During those rare times when the thought of a wife and family to come home to became too tempting, all Marco had to do was think of Brian and Val, and his weakness would vanish. The one thing he never questioned were the promises he had made. His determination to keep them remained steadfast.

So why, even though he knew it was inappropriate, couldn’t he stop thinking about the light in his landlady’s unexpectedly bewitching eyes? And why couldn’t he stop hoping that she wasn’t entertaining a gentleman caller, that some other man wasn’t this very minute running his fingers through her beautiful, long hair?

Gretchen stood with her back pressed to her closed front door. Her heart thudded and her cheeks felt hot.

“‘Well, good night,’” she muttered in disgust. “Is that all you could think to say to him? What about, ‘You make my toes curl and my heart pound, and I was wondering if there was any chance I could do the same to you?’ Or, ‘I made a promise to my best friend that I’d have a wild, crazy affair. You game?’”

Groaning, she buried her head in her hands. She really was hopeless. Having a wild, crazy affair with any man, let alone one as virile as Marco Garibaldi, wasn’t going to be easy. In truth, she had to face the fact that it might prove downright impossible.

Gretchen felt herself grow as hot as the air outside as she remembered the way her tenant had looked, his thick, nearly black hair tousled, his well-muscled legs and broad chest on view in a way she had never glimpsed before beneath his loosely belted bathrobe, his smoky, heavy-lidded eyes half-closed from exhaustion. Heaven help her, if he had smiled that slow, crooked grin of his, she would have melted into a puddle at his feet. And the heat would have had nothing to do with it.

There was no denying that he possessed all the qualities Jill had stipulated. Just as there was no denying that, since Jill had put the notion into her head, having a wild, crazy affair with Marco Garibaldi was just about all Gretchen could think about.

She had always pictured herself as the PTA-baking-cookies-and-sewing-Halloween-costumes type of woman. And, if no man ever gave her a chance to exercise those skills, she gave a bang-up presentation before a board of directors and could summarize a company’s financial situation in thirty words or less.

When asked for a résumé, seductress and temptress had never made the list. For heaven’s sake, she wore high-necked cotton nightgowns in the summer and flannel pajamas in the winter. She never slept in the nude, something—if that loosely belted bathrobe was any indication—she suspected Marco Garibaldi was quite comfortable doing. Face it, she knew as much about having a wild, crazy affair as she did about flying a rocket to the moon.

Her recent encounter with the doctor in question more than bore out that conclusion. She hadn’t exactly gotten off to a rousing start, so far as seduction was concerned. Although she could have sworn that, for the briefest of seconds, she’d actually seen a flare of interest in his eyes. She’d even imagined that he’d reached out to her. Of course, the minute he’d all but tripped over his feet in his haste to get away from her, she’d realized how mistaken she’d been.

Good thing Jill hadn’t given her a time limit to accomplish everything she’d promised she would do, because something told Gretchen her powers of seduction needed a complete overhaul.

She was making headway on the rest of her promises, though. Over the three weeks that had passed since she’d listened to Jill’s tape, she’d done a lot of thinking on how she would spend the money Jill had left her. To date, she’d solicited bids to have the years of grit and grime covering the outside of her duplex sandblasted away and to have the bricks themselves repointed. Next week, central air-conditioning would be installed, and she and her tenant could throw away the window units that were working overtime in this heat. While the expenses could hardly be called impractical, it was money she normally wouldn’t have spent.

She’d also filled out an application to compete in a piano competition in Morgantown, West Virginia, next November. The age cutoff was thirty, which meant she would just squeak in under the wire. This truly was her last chance to find out whether she had any talent, and, if she was accepted, she had only a little more than four months to prepare. She was nervous, but she was also excited.

Filling out the application and writing the check for the entry fee had been the easy part. Much harder had been sitting down at the piano itself.

Though she’d kept the upright in tune, she’d rarely played it these past years. She didn’t know why, other than that when she’d given up her dream she’d also given up playing. She’d even, after her parents died, had the piano moved from the living room into the spare bedroom on the second floor. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposed.

Tonight, however, the minute she’d rolled back the lid from the keyboard, she’d lost herself in the wonder of the music. It had been obvious from the first note that she had a long way to go before she was ready to compete. But, oh, the joy of playing again. She’d forgotten how wonderful it felt to run her fingers over the keys and the sense that always filled her when she sat down to play—that the world was a wonderful place and that all things were possible.

She’d played the same piece over and over again, a Beethoven sonatina that was perfect for stretching lazy fingers. Marco Garibaldi had thought she was playing a CD. Surely that was a good sign. Surely that meant she hadn’t grown irredeemably rusty and that she had a chance.

Yes, she decided as she pushed off the door and turned to see that it was properly bolted, she was making progress. She was doing everything she could to keep the promises she had made.

Everything, that is, except try to find a way to seduce her tenant. She’d been putting off the hardest task for last, which was totally unlike her. When it came to work, she had always done the thing she least wanted to do first, getting it out of the way so she could enjoy the tasks that made her job such a pleasure.

She supposed she was dragging her feet because she had little confidence that she would succeed. Also, she’d never been lucky where affairs of the heart were concerned. An engagement had ended when she’d decided to care for her dying father. Subsequent relationships had all been unsatisfying. When Jill got sick two years ago, Gretchen had abandoned dating altogether, in order to spend as much time as possible with her friend.

She thought of the men she’d dated: sedate, sensible, dependable. Or, as Jill had so succinctly put it, dull, dull, dull. Then she thought of the women she’d seen on Marco Garibaldi’s arm. Beautiful. Vibrant. Vivacious. Anything but dull. She’d have to do something drastic, if she was ever going to compete with them.

Just how did a person go about having a wild, crazy affair? How could she make Marco Garibaldi look at her like she was one of the beautiful women he frequently squired, instead of his landlady? Gretchen didn’t have the first idea, but she knew someone who might.

“Do you have a minute?”

Gretchen peered around the office door of the senior partner of Curtis, Walker, Davis and Associates. Gary Curtis had been her mentor and friend from the day she was hired to work for the firm. Aside from Marco Garibaldi, he was the most virile-looking and devastatingly handsome man she had ever met. Good thing she loved him like a brother because he was also gay. She’d seen more than one smitten woman delude herself into believing she could change the way nature had made him, only to wind up heartbroken in the end.

Gary closed the file he was reviewing and smiled at her. “For you, I’ve always got time. Come in.”

After carefully closing the door, Gretchen took a seat.

“What’s the problem?” Gary asked. “Is this about the Harrison account?”

“No.” She made a show of crossing her legs at the ankles and smoothing her skirt while she gathered her thoughts. “It’s…personal.”

“Sounds serious.”

She drew a deep breath. “It is. I need your advice, Gary. About men.”

A light of interest gleamed in his eyes. “What about them?”

“This is going to sound stupid, but I was wondering if you could tell me how I should go about attracting one.”

Gary spread his arms. “Gay men I know. Straight men…” He shrugged. “That’s a whole ’nother story.”

“Your brother’s straight, isn’t he?”

“As a ruler.”

“Does he look like you?”

“People have been known to remark on the resemblance. Why?”

“That means he’s a handsome devil, which means women must like him.”

Gary’s lips curved. “Let me put it this way. They often come to blows over the favor of his company.”

“That’s what I was hoping for,” she said. “I want you to pretend you’re him for a few minutes. Can you do that?”

“I think I can manage it.”

Like an actor preparing for a role, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. When he opened them again he said, “Okay. I’m a macho, heterosexual male who is irresistible to women. What do you want to know?”

She knew he expected her to smile, but she regarded him intently instead. “What would I have to do to get you to want me?”

“Are we talking purely physical here, or something deeper?”

“Purely physical.”

He nodded. “You want it flat out on the table, or sugar-coated?”

She squared her shoulders. “Flat out on the table.”

Tilting his head, he ran his gaze over her. “Okay. For starters, stop slouching. You’re tall. Accept it. And lose the suits. They’re way too businesslike, and I assume you have a figure under there, somewhere. Your legs, what little I can see of them, seem nice. You need to accentuate them. Buy lots of dresses. Short dresses. By short, I mean nothing longer than the top of your knees. And a push-up bra. It’ll give you cleavage.

“You also need to have a total makeover. Hair, nails, makeup, the works. Take notes. You need to get fitted for some contacts. And you need to go to the bookstore.”

Her eyebrows raised. “The bookstore?”

“The bookstore. I want you to buy every book you can find on attracting a man. Study them the way a theology student does the Bible. Once you’ve done all that, come see me, and we’ll talk some more.”

Gretchen couldn’t help laughing. “You sure you’re not secretly straight, and just waiting for the right moment to burst into the closet?”

He grinned back at her. “Not a chance. So, I assume this all has a purpose. Whom are we trying to attract?”

She told him about Jill, the tape and Marco Garibaldi.

“It must have been hard for you to listen to Jill’s voice like that.”

“In the beginning it was. After a while, though, it was just comforting. I miss her a lot, Gary.”

Sympathy filled his eyes. “I know you do. What do you plan on doing with the money?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I’ve scheduled some maintenance work on the house. I’ve also made an appointment for lasik surgery, so you don’t have to worry about me wearing glasses anymore.” She spread her arms. “Other than the makeover and a new wardrobe, I’m still thinking.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“Buy a sports car.”

“Why a sports car?”

“Because the car you’re driving now is ten years old, and there’s nothing sporty about it.”

“It’s a Volvo, Gary. It’ll still be going strong ten years from now.”

“And what does Volvo say, when the man you’re trying to seduce sees you in it? Especially a ten-year-old Volvo.”

Her smile was wry. “Point taken.”

“Good. Buy a sports car. Park it in your driveway. I guarantee it won’t be long before the illustrious Dr. Garibaldi will be begging to take you for a test drive.”

She raised her eyebrows at the vision Gary’s words formed in her brain. “The double entendre was deliberate, wasn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“You really think I have a chance?”

“Why would you doubt it?”

“Look at me, Gary. I’m not exactly the temptress type.”

“So what if you’re not a raving beauty. Neither are most supermodels before the makeup department gets their hands on them. All you need is a little confidence in yourself. A makeover and the appropriate wardrobe should give you that.”

“If you say so.”

“Smile for me, Gretchen.”

She curved her lips in a perfunctory motion.

“No.” He shook his head. “Really smile.”

This time the smile she gave him let him know how precious he was to her.

“Honey,” he said gently, “when you smile like that, you make me wish I hadn’t been born to an alternative lifestyle.”

“Have I ever told you how good you are for my ego?”

“A time or two.” Gary regarded her for a long minute. “Can I ask a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Are you a virgin?”

Gretchen felt her cheeks heat. “I was engaged at one point, remember?”

“So?”

“No, Gary, I’m not a virgin.”

“Thank God.” He looked relieved. “There are some things I just can’t teach.”

Gretchen laughed. “I love you, Gary.”

“Where did that come from?” he asked, looking startled.

“From Jill. She told me to tell the people who are most important to me how much I care for them.”

He seemed to think it over, then his expression softened. “I love you, too. Now get a move on. You’ve got a lot of work to do. And I don’t mean in the office.”

“Thanks for the advice.” She headed for the door.

“Anytime. Know something? I like this. I’m starting to feel like Professor Higgins in My Fair Lady. Between you and me, I always thought the man was gay.”

Gretchen laughed. “Well, Professor Higgins,” she said, “I’ll let you dress me up and make me over. But I’m telling you right now, this Eliza Doolittle draws the line at filling her mouth with marbles and singing about the rain in Spain.”

“We’ll see about that.” Gary waggled an eyebrow at her.

Chuckling, Gretchen returned to her office. As she opened one of the Harrison files, she thought about what she’d jokingly told Gary. When it came down to it, for Marco Garibaldi she just might fill her mouth with marbles and sing about the rain in Spain. Because he was worth it.

Chapter 2

His landlady had legs. Killer legs. Eye-popping legs. Long, gorgeous, endless legs. How had he never noticed?

As Marco unfolded his body from the car he’d just parked on his side of the garage, he let his gaze travel the length of Gretchen Montgomery’s legs to the simple black dress she wore, and he had his answer. He’d never noticed her legs because, before today, he’d never seen her hemline above her calf.

In his wildest imaginings, he’d never pictured her permitting said hemline to climb to thigh level, as it did now, or allowing the fabric of her dress to cling so tightly it looked as if it had been glued onto her. His mouth went dry when his gaze fastened on the low, square neckline. Not only did she have great legs, she also had cleavage. And one stunner of a figure.

“Wow,” he murmured under his breath, thinking that it was about time Gretchen Montgomery broke out of her shell.

Leaning back against his car, he loosened his shirt collar. The weather might have cooled to a balmy eighty degrees, but looking at his landlady in that dress definitely had him hot under the collar. Uncomfortably hot.

Sometime, during the three-and-a-half weeks since their midnight conversation on the front porch, she’d undergone a complete transformation. It was incredible. She was the caterpillar who had emerged a butterfly, Cinderella after her fairy godmother had outfitted her for the ball.

She’d cut her hair, he realized. Now he would never get a chance to run his fingers through its lustrous length. Instead of feeling regret, he couldn’t help admiring the appropriateness of the new style. Her now shoulder-length brown hair curled gently around her face, emphasizing her cheekbones, the curve of her chin and the elegant length of her neck. Should the occasion ever arise, her hair was still plenty long enough to run his fingers through.

She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and he saw that her eyes were a rich, chocolate brown. They still gleamed with the intelligence she couldn’t hide, but there was something else there, too. Amusement? Awareness of the effect she was having on him? As she leaned against her car, he saw that his landlady was inspecting him as closely as he was her.

Something was still up with her, that was for certain. Whatever it was, today Marco liked it a lot. After the day he’d had, she was a sight for sore eyes. Or, to take the trite analogy one step further, she was just what the doctor had ordered—he being the doctor in question.

It had to be a man, he decided, and wondered at the sour taste the thought left in his mouth. In his experience, no woman went to such trouble unless a man was involved.

“You like?” she asked.

It took him a beat to realize she meant her car. Expecting the aging, sedate Volvo, he did a double take at the sleek, black Dodge Viper that now graced his landlady’s half of the garage.

Marco gave a low, appreciative whistle. “That is some car. When did you get it?”

“An hour ago. It has an 8.0-liter V10 engine, 450 horsepower and six-speed manual transmission. It can accelerate from zero to sixty miles per hour in 4.1 seconds.”

To Marco, she sounded as if she were reciting painfully memorized facts, much like a second grader reciting her times tables.

“You know what all that means?” he asked. His heart skipped a beat when she grinned impishly.

“I haven’t a clue. All I know is that the salesman made a big deal out of it, and that the car can go fast.”

He laughed. “Mind if I look it over?”

She stood aside. “Be my guest.”

Slowly he walked around the vehicle, running a finger over the sleekness of its gleaming curves. It was the kind of car he’d always dreamed of owning. Once he paid off all his school loans, that is. It cost a small fortune, he knew, more than most people earned in a year. More than he’d be able to afford for quite a few years to come.

How, he wondered suddenly, and with a start of concern, had his landlady afforded it? Now that he thought about it, she had spent a lot of money lately. That outfit didn’t come cheap. Nor did the ongoing repairs to the duplex. Like the music that had kept him awake three weeks earlier, the way she was dressed today, not to mention buying a vehicle like this, seemed so out of character for her that he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Was she involved in something—or with someone—that, in the long run, would only bring her trouble?

Before he let his imagination run away with him, Marco decided a note of caution was in order. After all, what, if anything, did he really know about her? Maybe she’d scrimped and saved for years, just to savor this moment of ownership. As for the improvements to the house, it only made sense for a homeowner to keep up her property. Probably a tax write-off, as well.

And the new clothing? The answer to that one was also simple. She couldn’t drive around town in a car like this wearing a three-piece suit. Could she?

“I removed the hardtop myself,” he heard her say. “It was surprisingly easy.”

“So I see,” he replied, peering into an interior that was all cognac leather and fancy gadgets.

“Impractical, isn’t it?”

Straightening, he returned his gaze to hers and smiled. “The most impractical thing I’ve ever seen. That’s what makes it so great.”

“It is great, isn’t it?”

Was that a flicker of doubt in her eyes? Did she need him to convince her that she’d done the right thing?

“Sure is,” he said with a heartiness he didn’t feel, his own doubts resurfacing. “You don’t see many cars like this around here.”

“Which means,” she said, surprising him with her candor, “you’re wondering how I could afford it.”

Again he thought of the improvements she’d made to the duplex. And to herself. As for the duplex, it was a comfortable, middle-class home. Nothing about it, or Gretchen Montgomery herself, had ever indicated she could afford to spend money the way she had been lately.

Had she won the lottery? Received an inheritance? Robbed a bank? He felt his lips curve at that last, fanciful imagining.

“The thought may have crossed my mind,” he admitted, deciding to be as frank with her as she had been with him.

“Just think of it as creative financing,” she replied. “I am a CPA, after all.”

Which told him nothing, even though it wasn’t any of his business in the first place. Whatever the source of her newfound wealth, it did seem to be accomplishing one thing. It was definitely pulling her out of her shell. And that was a good thing.

“Let me reassure you,” she added with a smile. “I’m not going to lose the roof over your head.”

“I’m happy to hear it.” Relieved was more like it.

The conversation underscored how little he knew about her, even though he had been her tenant for two years. Was he really so shallow that a change in her looks, and a flashy car in her garage, were what it had taken to arouse his curiosity?

No. There was more to it than that. Part of the reason had to do with the fact that Gretchen Montgomery had always put up walls around herself. Now that she’d pulled them down, he should probably take advantage of the opportunity to learn more about her.

So long as he remembered that she was his landlady and nothing more, he cautioned himself.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” she asked.

He knew she meant the car, but he couldn’t help thinking of a far different, exceedingly intimate kind of ride that, landlady or not, he’d like to take with her. “I don’t know how to drive a stick shift,” he said.

She maneuvered those long legs of hers into the driver’s seat. Looking up at him expectantly, she replied, “That’s okay. I do.”

When he hesitated, she patted the creamy leather of the passenger seat with fingernails that had been painted a bright red. “Don’t worry, Dr. Garibaldi. I promise I won’t bite.”

She might not, but he was afraid that if he was cooped up in close quarters with her for too long, he might.

“Marco,” he said. “The name’s Marco.”

“Call me Gretchen.”

“Very well, Gretchen.” Swinging the passenger door open, he sank with a sigh onto the soft leather seat. Inhaling a heady breath of new-car aroma, he said, “Take me away from all my troubles.”

“My pleasure.”

When she started the engine and began backing down the driveway, he glanced over at her. “Don’t you need your glasses to drive?”

“Lasik surgery,” she explained. “You are now looking at an emancipated woman. Twenty-twenty vision, both eyes.”

She was emancipated all right, he thought, eyeing her body in that tight dress. Any more emancipated, and he might not be able to contain himself.

“Must feel good,” he said, mentally adding the cost of the lasik surgery to the growing column of cash outlays she had made in recent weeks.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied fervently. “To have the weight of glasses off my nose is heavenly. And the exhilaration of waking up in the morning and being able to see—”

She broke off, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you with all the details.”

Bore him? How could she bore him, when the light of pleasure gleaming in her eyes had his pulse rate accelerating like mad? How could she bore him, when all he could think of was how exhilarating it would be to wake up in the morning and see her lying next to him? He, Marco Garibaldi, who made love to women but who avoided sleeping with them.

He forced his gaze out the window and shoved his inappropriate thoughts to the back of his mind. “Trust me, I’m not at all bored.”

Ten minutes later they were out on the open highway.

“Let’s see what this baby can really do, shall we?” she said.

Marco felt the rhythm of the engine change as she shifted gears and the vehicle picked up speed. In fascination, and not a little trepidation, he watched the speedometer needle edge past sixty, to seventy, then eighty, until it finally rested at eighty-five.

Outside, the scenery rushed past, wildflowers and trees melding together in one big blur. Thank goodness they were on a flat stretch of road and there wasn’t another car in sight. Of course, that wouldn’t help them if a deer darted out from nowhere, or an unseen patch of oil sent the car into an unexpected skid.

Tossing her head back, Gretchen laughed. It was the delighted, triumphant laughter of an explorer discovering a new land.

“Quite a kick, isn’t it?” she said.

“Oh, it’s a kick all right,” he replied tensely. “A real boot to the backside.”

“I’ve never felt so exquisitely free in my entire life.”

And he’d never felt so exquisitely terrified.

“You do know that the posted speed limit is fifty-five, don’t you?” he felt compelled to say.

Her hair blew wildly around her face, and she raised one hand to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. “I know.”

“Just thought I’d mention it.” He watched carefully until she’d placed her hand back on the steering wheel.

“Consider it mentioned.” She glanced at him out of the corner of one eye. “Did you know that the top speed this car can reach is 189 miles per hour? That’s why the manufacturer doesn’t install anti-lock breaks. Without them, the driver can maximize the car’s acceleration potential.”

He hadn’t known that, could have lived a long and happy life without knowing it, and prayed fervently she wasn’t going to try to attain warp speed this outing.

“Let me guess. Part of the salesman’s pitch?”

“Uh-huh.”

Suddenly she turned to him again, and her eyes flashed with an emotion he could only describe as regret. There was a self-accusatory tone in her voice when she said, “Do you realize that I’m almost thirty years old, and I’ve never gotten so much as a traffic ticket? Worse, I’ve never even been stopped by a policeman. Isn’t that a crime?”

Swiftly, and to his relief, she faced forward again.

“Well, I’m thirty-four,” he said tautly, fingers clenched against the dashboard, “and I’ve never had a traffic ticket or been stopped, either. You ask me, a lot of people would envy your record. I’m sure your insurance company appreciates it. Of course, if you keep traveling at this speed, you’ll most likely discover the thrill of being stopped and ticketed. Any second now.” If they were lucky.

She flashed him a look of surprise. “Am I making you nervous?”

He didn’t know what scared him more: the speed at which they were traveling or Gretchen Montgomery herself. He’d never met another woman like her, one minute shy and quiet, almost reserved, the next vibrant and outgoing, and totally unpredictable. Talk about a paradox; he was looking straight at one.

“Terrified,” he admitted.

“I’m sorry.” She eased up on the accelerator. “I thought all men loved to go fast.”

“Only with women, and only when they feel like they’re in control,” he muttered, watching in relief as the speedometer nosed its way back to a sedate fifty-eight miles per hour.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t have to worry, you know. I’m an excellent driver.”

“I’m sure you are.”

It was just that he had a thing about excessive speed. He’d seen its tragic aftermath too often in the E.R. not to respect that there were some things best left to the professionals. Traveling at a high rate of speed in an automobile was one of them.

Several miles flew by without either of them speaking. Relaxing at last, Marco leaned back against the seat, closed his eyes and wallowed in the feel of the fresh air washing over his face.

“Long day at work?” she asked.

“Long week,” he said.

“You work at Bridgeton Hospital, right?”

“Yes. In the emergency department.”

“Been there long?”

“Three years as a resident. Three years now on staff.”

“You must find it very rewarding.”

“It has its moments. What about you, Gretchen? Do you enjoy your work?”

There was only a slight hesitation before she replied, “Very much. It’s quite challenging. If you’re like most people, though, you think accounting, and CPAs in particular, are deadly boring.”

Eyes still closed, he smiled. “I suppose I’ve fallen victim to that stereotype once or twice.”

“Who hasn’t? By the way, you wouldn’t happen to own a Harley, a leather jacket or have a tattoo, would you?”

He ranked Harleys up there with driving at a high speed: too dangerous. Leather jackets were okay—his brother Carlo practically lived in one—but tattoos were definitely out. Why subject himself to needless infection?

Bemused, he swiveled his head toward her and opened his eyes. “No. Why?”

She shrugged. “I just realized we’ve been next-door neighbors for more than two years now, and I really don’t know very much about you.”

His thoughts precisely. “What would you like to know?”

“For starters, why do you rent from me?”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

“Only that you’re a doctor. I assume you could afford a place of your own.”

He grimaced. “You haven’t seen the bill for my medical school loans.”

“I’m not the type of landlady who steams open her tenants’ mail,” she said lightly.

“For which I’m heartily grateful.” After a pause he added, “I suppose I could swing a house if I wanted to. I just don’t want to.”

“Would you mind my asking why not?”

“It’s simple, really. I have a job that demands a lot of my time. What little I have left over, I’d rather spend with my brothers and my sister, and not have to worry about the care and upkeep of a house.”

“Makes sense to me,” she said.

“Me, too. Anything else you want to know?”

She startled him by pulling to the side of the road. Car idling, she removed her hands from the steering wheel and placed them in her lap before turning in her seat to face him. She seemed oddly tentative.

“Are you involved with anyone?”

The unexpected question knocked him totally off balance. “Not at the moment,” he replied carefully.

She digested that for a minute before asking, “Do you find me…attractive?”

“I think the answer is obvious.”

“Is it?” She seemed to be holding her breath.

He ran his gaze hotly over her, paying particular attention to her legs and her cleavage. When he returned his attention to her face, he saw that her cheeks were red.

“Do you still doubt it?”

“No.” She licked her lips. “In that case, what do you think of the idea of us having a wild, crazy affair?”

His heart surged into his throat. “An affair?”

She nodded. “No strings attached.”

“And when it’s over?”

“We go our separate ways.”

“No hard feelings?”

“None.”

“Now?”

Her lips curved. “I was thinking of someplace a little more private.” She nodded at their surroundings. “Also, a little more romantic. And roomier.”

He didn’t smile back at her. He couldn’t. He knew he was stalling, asking questions to put off having to give her an answer. The real question was, Why?

Because he would have staked his reputation on the wager that she was not a woman who entered into an affair lightly. Considering that they’d spoken to each other more today than they had in the sum total of their conversations over the prior two years, he was at a loss to explain why she had made the offer.

“Well?” she repeated. “What do you think?”

What did he think? That it was the best idea he’d heard all week. That it had been a long time since a woman had made him so aware of his maleness and her femaleness. That he’d be a fool to say no.

The best thing about it was that she was offering what every man dreamed of: a no-strings-attached, fleeting affair. She was offering what he offered every woman he got involved with. So why was he hesitating? It wasn’t like him to be gallant.

Yes, she was his landlady, which offered up all sorts of potential complications. But there was more. Despite the come-on, he sensed a loneliness about her and an underlying tension. Something wasn’t right here. She wasn’t herself, and until he knew why, Marco couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. He had no choice but to say no.

“I think,” he said carefully, reluctantly, “that the timing isn’t right.”

She looked away from him, but not before he caught a flash of what he could swear was relief in her eyes. He had been right. Something was definitely going on here. If only he could figure out what it was.

“So you’re saying no,” she said flatly.

“Have you had an accident at work?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you fallen, hit your head? Perhaps a reaction to a new medication? You’re not acting at all like yourself today.”

Her body went rigid. “Oh? And just how should I be acting?”

“This isn’t you, Gretchen.”

Her gaze met his, her eyes defiant. If relief was what he’d glimpsed in them a minute ago, it was absent now.

“What isn’t me?”

“This.” He swept an arm out. “The car, the clothing, the come-on. Especially the come-on.”

She bit her lip and looked down at her lap. “So, what you’re saying is that I look ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous,” he replied gently. “Not even close. You just seem a little…well, uncomfortable.”

For a long minute she didn’t say anything. Then, with a rueful smile, she tugged at the hemline of her dress.

“You’d be uncomfortable, too, if you’d poured yourself into this thing. It’s so tight I can barely breathe. It may fit like a second skin, but it feels like a tourniquet.”

“For what it’s worth, you look great.”

“Not great enough to make you want me.”

If only she knew how wrong she was. “I have my reasons, Gretchen.”

“And I respect them. Don’t worry. I won’t bother you anymore with my unwanted attentions.”

“They’re not entirely unwanted,” he admitted.

“They’re just…”

“Inconvenient?”

It was as good a word as any. “The dress really isn’t you, you know.”

“Why?” Her voice took on a bitter note. “Because it isn’t practical?”

“Yes. No. I guess so,” he ended lamely, not knowing what to say.

“And I’m a practical woman.”

“I’ve always thought of you that way.”

“Well, maybe I’ve decided to erase the word practical from my vocabulary.”

“What’s wrong with being practical?”

“Let me ask you something,” she retorted. “When’s the last time you took a practical woman like me to your bed?”

When he didn’t answer, she gave a hollow laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

Shifting, she pulled back onto the highway. At the first exit she turned around and headed for home. The sun was setting when she pulled into her garage.

“Thank you for the ride,” Marco said, feeling awkward.

“Anytime.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Next time, though, I’ll leave out the seduction scene.”

“Gretchen,” he began.

She held up a hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I’m a big girl. I’ll be just fine.”

There was so much he wanted to say to her. That he thought she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. That he wanted her. That he regretted his clumsiness in his handling of the situation. That, under the proper circumstances, he would kill to have a wild, crazy affair with her. That he was there for her if she just wanted to talk.

The way she held her body, stiff and unyielding, told him the words wouldn’t be welcome, so he remained mute. When they parted at their respective front doors, Marco felt more confused than ever.

She’d blown it. Big-time.

Bracing one hand on the edge of the kitchen sink, Gretchen pressed a frosted mug of root beer to cheeks that still burned with embarrassment. Outside her kitchen window the sun dropped below the horizon. A romantic scene if ever there was one, and she was watching it all alone. Which was a good thing, because she had never felt more mortified in her entire life.

How could she ever face him again?

She hadn’t set out to try to seduce him. For one thing, she was in the middle of her period, which made things logistically difficult. The only purpose of the dress and the drive was to get his attention and to, hopefully, pique his interest. No one—except maybe Marco himself—had been more surprised when the words rolled out of her mouth. If she had piqued any interest on his part, it was whether or not she was playing the cards of life with a full deck.

What hurt the most was that she’d planned it out so painstakingly. For the past three and a half weeks, during which time she’d recovered from lasik surgery, had her hair styled and bought a whole new wardrobe, she’d been careful to keep out of his sight. She’d been especially careful to confine her piano practice to times when she was certain he wasn’t home.

While she’d waited for the perfect time to put her plan into action, she’d read books on flirting, along with car brochures. She’d found herself listening for Marco and trying to ascertain his schedule. Then, when she was ready, she’d dressed herself up and shamelessly placed herself in his path.

The naked appreciation in his eyes had made her giddy. For the first time in what seemed forever, a man wasn’t looking at her for just her mind. On the contrary, Marco had regarded her solely as a sexual object. Though she had known that officially she should be offended, she hadn’t been able to summon up any indignation. The look in Marco’s eyes was heady stuff for someone who was used to having men’s glances slide away from her to more attractive women.

Never before had Gretchen felt such confidence, such an incredible sense of her power as a woman. And it had all fallen apart the minute she’d thrown caution to the wind rushing through their hair and propositioned him.

She heaved a heavy sigh. What had every flirting book instructed? Dress your best. Be mysterious. Play hard to get. Keep him off balance.

If Marco’s reaction was anything to go by, she’d gotten the dressing-her-best part down pat. The mysterious part was harder to judge. As for being hard to get, what a laugh. She was the mouse who had baited its own trap.

She had kept him off balance, though. She’d driven him to the middle of nowhere at a speed that had shaved a year or two off his life. Then she’d pulled to the side of the road and ambushed him. He hadn’t even seen it coming.

No wonder the poor man had seemed so terrified. Had they been any closer to home, he probably would have jumped from the car and run.

Which all went to prove that she was no good at seduction.

She’d kept her promise, and that was all that mattered, she told herself. She’d asked, and he’d said no. What more could she do? Besides, with Marco out of the picture, she could now concentrate on the piano competition, which was only a little more than three months away. She should be relieved. Why, then, did she feel so disappointed? So empty. So…restless.

Gretchen drank deeply from the mug, then placed it in the sink. “So Marco Garibaldi turned you down,” she said to her reflection in the window. “Big deal! Is the world going to end? Sure, your pride’s a little dented, but you’ll recover. The condition isn’t terminal.”

Like Jill’s had been.

Jill. Gretchen drew herself up straight. The revelation that came to her was like a flash of lightning in the darkest night. What was the one lesson she should have learned from Jill’s untimely death? That life was short, precariously short. And that she, Gretchen Montgomery, was wasting precious time.

When all was said and done, after the makeover and all the new clothes, what had really changed? Nothing. She was still the same Gretchen inside that she’d always been.

The one promise that Jill had extracted, and which didn’t cost a cent, was the very promise Gretchen had overlooked entirely. By dutifully spending a huge sum of money on a flashy car and a new wardrobe, she’d carried out the law of her promises, but not the spirit. She’d adopted the outward appearance while ignoring the inward attitude.

This wasn’t about seducing Marco Garibaldi. It wasn’t about seducing any man. It most certainly wasn’t about buying a flashy sports car and blowing her inheritance on impractical things.

It was about living and enjoying life. It was about appreciating every moment in a way she never had before.

What was it Jill had said to her? Remember that line from Auntie Mame? “Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.” I want you to feast, Gretch, feast like no one has feasted before.

Jill was right. She’d been going at it all wrong. No book, no wardrobe, no flashy car, and certainly no man was going to teach her how to get the most out of life. That had to come from inside of her. Just as a wild, crazy affair had to happen spontaneously. It couldn’t be planned. She knew that now.

Gretchen recalled the exhilaration of flying down the road at eighty-five miles per hour. That was the way she wanted to feel every day of her life. That was the way she wanted to feel when a man took her into his arms.

It was all so clear now. Why had it taken her so long to see it, to understand what Jill had really been doing when she’d extracted all those promises from her? Life was too short. Too short for regrets, too short for fears, too short for embarrassments, too short for not doing all the things she’d always wanted to do.

Sometime, between now and the end of her life, she would have a wild, crazy affair. But not with a stranger, no matter how much he made her toes curl. She’d have that affair with the man who ultimately ended up owning her heart, the man who would love her and cherish her as much as she did him.

Until that time, though, Gretchen was done being timid. She was done being hesitant. She was done living her life for her career and ignoring everything else. She’d keep the car and the wardrobe, and she’d use them to bring her pleasure. From now on, she was going to live as if there was no tomorrow.

“How’s it going?” Gary asked.

“Fine.” Gretchen sank down into a chair and crossed her legs. “I should be wrapping up the Harrison account today.”

“Good to hear. By the way, I like your dress. It’s very flattering.”

She glanced down at the camel-colored silk coatdress. Though not as tight as the black dress she’d worn the day before when she’d taken Marco Garibaldi for a ride, it was just as short. She was growing accustomed to the length of leg it exposed. Just as she was growing accustomed to, and even enjoying, the admiring glances the outfit garnered from the other men in the office.

“Thanks. I like it, too.”

Leaning forward, Gary placed his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. “Can I ask you something I’ve been wondering about, but never quite had the courage to ask?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

“Why is it you had to come to me for advice on how to attract a man? Why didn’t you already know these things?”

It was a subject she’d given a lot of thought recently. “I was an only child. My parents were older when they had me, and they were very old-fashioned in their behavior and their dress. I guess it rubbed off on me.”

“You never rebelled? Not even as a teenager?”

“No. You see, I wore the label ‘smart’ all through school. It wouldn’t have mattered how I dressed or behaved. The popular kids just looked right through me. Besides, I was too busy studying and taking care of my mother when she got sick. Then, in college, when my dad got sick, I took care of him, too. It wasn’t that I was unaware of the way my peer group dressed and behaved. I just didn’t have time to join them.”

“Do you regret it?”

She thought for a minute. “No. The only thing I regret is that Jill didn’t have more time.”

“So, this is your time,” he said.

“Yes.” She smiled. “I plan on making the most of it.”

“Good to hear.” He drew a breath. “How’s the seduction campaign going?”

“Oh, that.” She waved a hand airily. “Dead in the water. He turned me down flat.”

Gary peered closely at her. “You don’t seem upset about it.”

“I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know now it wasn’t meant to be. Actually, that’s why I came to see you. I know it’s short notice, but I need to take next week off.”

“The whole week?”

She nodded. “Every single day.”

“I’m not sure we can spare you that long.”

“It’s not like it’s busy season, Gary. April fifteenth is still a whole eight and a half months away. The Harrison account will be wrapped up, and Laura and Jack will easily be able to take up the slack.”

“It’s that important to you?” he asked.

“It’s that important,” she confirmed. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“All the things I’ve never done.”

“All of them?”

“Well,” she amended, chuckling, “as many of them as I can cram into one week. The rest I’ll just have to get to as I can.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Rising, she headed for the door.

“Just because he turned you down, it doesn’t mean you have to give up,” Gary said.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I know. But you see, I realized something. I’m the one who’s not ready for a wild, crazy affair. Not yet. But I will be someday.”

“Maybe after the week off,” he said.

“Maybe. I’ll know when the time is right.”

“Have fun,” Gary said.

She flashed him a smile. “Thanks. I intend to.”

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