About the Author

CAT SCHIELD lives in Minnesota with her daughter, their opiniated Burmese cats and a silly Doberman puppy. Winner of the Romance Writers of America 2010 Golden Heart® for series contemporary romance, when she’s not writing sexy, romantic stories for Mills & Boon Desire, she can be found sailing with friends on the St. Croix River or in more exotic locales like the Caribbean and Europe. You can find out more about her books at www.catschield.net

The Rogue’s Fortune

Cat Schield

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-472-00266-2

THE ROGUE’S FORTUNE

© 2012 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2020

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

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

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

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Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

About the Publisher

To my Aunt Sophie

One

He sauntered through the well-dressed crowd, bestowing his lazy smile on those who gushed their congratulations. Tall and powerfully built, he’d been ogled by half the women he’d passed. He, in turn, seemed uninterested in the stir he created as he charmed his way through the two hundred guests assembled for the premier wine auction.

As he scanned the room like a secret service agent, only his penetrating eyes gave away the fact that he wasn’t as relaxed as he appeared.

Most people wouldn’t have noticed Roark Black was on edge. Most people didn’t have super-sensitive radar for the dangerous types.

Elizabeth Minerva did.

“The shrimp is running out!”

Jolted out of her ruminating by Brenda Stuart, her quick-to-panic “assistant” on this event, Elizabeth ripped her gaze away from the handsome adventurer and skimmed damp palms from her waist to her hips.

“I just checked and there’s plenty of shrimp left,” Elizabeth told Brenda. Annoyance with herself fed her impatient tone. There was also plenty of champagne and canapés and a dozen other things Brenda had fussed about in the last hour. “Why don’t you make yourself a plate and go relax in the back?”

Anything to get rid of the former wedding planner to the middle class. Josie Summers, Elizabeth’s boss, had saddled her with Brenda because as always Josie had underestimated what Elizabeth could handle. It was the woman’s second event as Elizabeth’s second in command, and rubbing elbows with Manhattan’s rich and famous was spotlighting exactly why Brenda wasn’t ready to be here. Instead of projecting a confident, capable vibe as she moved invisibly through the party, Elizabeth’s assistant had badgered a server in front of Bunny Cromwell, one of the city’s most prolific hostesses, and scolded a bartender for not making a city councilman’s drink properly.

“I can’t relax,” Brenda exclaimed, her sharp tone catching the attention of two nearby guests. The women exchanged disgusted expressions. “And you shouldn’t either.”

Plastering on a serene smile, Elizabeth seized Brenda’s arm above the elbow, fingers pinching ever so delicately. “I’ve got everything under control here. The auction will be starting in a half an hour. Why don’t you head home?”

“I can’t.” Brenda resisted Elizabeth’s grip as she was hauled toward the screens set up at one end of the enormous loft space to conceal the food prep area from the party-goers.

“Sure, you can.” Elizabeth used her soothing voice as she marched the older woman away from the party. “You’ve put in so many hours this week. You deserve to get out of here. I can handle the rest.”

“If you’re sure.”

As if Elizabeth hadn’t handled larger parties in the three years since she’d graduated from college and taken a job with Josie Summers’s Event Planning. Granted, this was Elizabeth’s first A-list crowd. The first event that had given her butterflies before the guests arrived and began to murmur their approval over the way she’d transformed a dull, empty loft space into a sophisticated, elegant venue.

“I’m positive,” Elizabeth said. “Go home and tuck your beautiful daughter into bed.”

It was well past ten and Brenda’s six-year-old daughter was probably already fast asleep, but Elizabeth had figured out the first day she’d worked with the woman that everything Brenda did was for her little girl. It was the only thing about the woman Elizabeth liked. And envied.

“Okay. Thanks.”

Elizabeth waited until Brenda had gathered her purse and disappeared down the long hallway toward the elevator before she headed back to the party.

“Well, hello.”

She’d almost managed to forget about Roark Black in the ten minutes she’d been dealing with Brenda, but here he was, less than five feet away, leaning his broad shoulder against one of the two-foot-wide columns that supported the ceiling.

Damn. Up close the energy of the man was astonishing. He practically oozed lusty masculinity and danger. He’d forgone the traditional bow tie with his tux and left the top buttons undone on his white shirt. Rakish and sexy, he set her pulse to purring.

You swore off bad boys forever, remember?

And Roark Black was as bad a bad boy as they got. Even his name gave her the shivers.

Yet earlier, there she’d stood, daydreaming about what it would be like to slide her fingers through his thick wavy hair. Brown in color, the shade reminded her of her great aunt’s sheared beaver coat. She’d loved the sensual drag of the soft fur against her bare skin.

“Can I get you something?” she asked.

One side of his mouth lifted. “I thought you’d never ask.”

His tone invited her to smile at his flirting. His eyes dared her to strip off her black dress and give him a glimpse of what lay beneath.

She swallowed hard. “Is there something you need?” The second the question passed her lips, she wished it back. Was she trying to play into his hands?

“Sweetheart—”

“Elizabeth.” She shoved out her hand all professional like. “Elizabeth Minerva. I’m your event planner.”

She expected him to take her hand in a bone-crushing grip. Instead, he cupped it, turned her palm upward and dragged his left forefinger down the middle of it. Her body went on full alert like a state penitentiary with a missing prisoner.

“Roark.” He peered at her palm, the skin glazed blue by the indirect lighting that illuminated the space. “Roark Black. You have a very curvy…” His attention shifted and the next thing Elizabeth knew, she was drowning in his penetrating gaze. “Head line.”

“A what?” Her dry mouth prevented anything more from emerging.

“Head line.” His fingertip retraced its invigorating journey across her palm. “See here. A curvy head line means you like to play with new ideas. Do you, Elizabeth?”

“Do I what?” The air in the loft had grown thin in the last sixty seconds. Light-headed, she was having trouble getting enough oxygen.

“Do you like playing with new ideas?”

Bad boy. Bad boy.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and retrieved her hand in a short jerk that made Roark’s crooked smile widen and heat rush to her face.

“I like creating unique party spaces, if that’s what you mean.”

It wasn’t. His smirk told her so.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

More comfortable talking about her job than herself, Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and surveyed all she’d accomplished in the past twenty-four hours.

“There wasn’t much to it when I got started. Just a concrete floor and white walls. And those incredible arched windows with that spectacular view.” She pointed out the latter, hoping to steer his unnerving stare away from her.

“I heard you came up with the idea of a slide show to honor Tyler.”

Tyler Banks had died the year before. A thoroughly disliked human being, no one had any idea that he’d been behind twenty percent of all major New York City charitable donations in the past decade.

“While he was alive, he might not have wanted anyone to know all the wonderful things he’d done, but so many people were helped by his generosity. I thought he deserved a proper tribute.”

“Beautiful and smart.” His eyes devoured her. “Okay, I’m hooked.”

And so was she. Naturally. Bad boys were the bane of her romantic existence. The worse they were, the more she wanted them.

From everything she’d heard and read about Roark Black, she’d expected him to be an arrogant, unprincipled jerk. Gorgeous and sexy, to be sure, but with questionable ethics. The sort of guy she’d have tumbled head over high heels for a year ago.

But after what had happened with Colton last October, she’d sworn on her sister’s grave that she was done with all bad boys.

Unfortunately, since those seemed to be the only sort that tripped her trigger, her love life had been in sad shape these past twelve months. Which explained why her hormones had jerked to attention the instant Roark strolled into the party.

“I suggest you get unhooked, Mr. Black,” she said, hoping her tart voice would counteract her sweet, gooey insides. Honestly, it was embarrassing to let a man, even a sexy, gorgeous one, turn her into a marshmallow.

“You don’t like me?” He didn’t appear particularly concerned that she didn’t. In fact, he seemed as if he might just relish the challenge.

“I don’t know you.”

“But you’ve formed an opinion. How is that fair?”

Fair? He wanted to play fair? She didn’t believe that for a second. In fact, she suspected if she gave him the slightest encouragement, she’d find herself in a bathroom with her hem above her ears.

To her dismay a tingle erupted between her thighs. Annoyance added more heat to her next statement than she intended. “I’ve read things.”

“What sort of things?”

He was the reason this party was happening. If he hadn’t talked Tyler’s granddaughter into letting Waverly’s auction off the rarest of Tyler’s vast wine collection, there would have been no reason for this event and she would not have been selected as the planner.

All at once she wished she’d just kept her mouth shut. The man was too confident. His personality too strong. And she’d overstepped her role as event planner the second she’d let him engage her. “Things.”

Bold, dark eyebrows twitched above keen green-gray eyes. “Oh, don’t get all coy with me after throwing down the gauntlet.”

No one had ever accused her of being coy before. “Look, it’s none of my business, and I really need to make sure everything is all right with the party.”

He moved to block her path. “Not before you answer my question.”

At six feet three inches, he was a big barrier as he crowded her against the concrete pillar that had hidden their encounter from the prying eyes of the rest of the guests. To Elizabeth’s dismay, her body reacted positively to his intimidating size. Lightning flashed in her midsection and zinged along her nerves, leaving a disquieting buzz in its wake.

“You have an opinion.” He placed a hand on the column above her shoulder. “I’d like to hear it.”

“I don’t understand why.”

From what she’d heard about him, he didn’t really care what anyone thought. Or said. He did his thing and to hell with the rules or what was proper. And to the detriment of her anti-bad-boy pledge, his absolute confidence excited her.

“Let’s just say you’re the first woman in a long time that’s not just playing hard to get. I believe you mean it.” He leaned closer. “I’d like to know why.”

Rattled by the way his nearness affected her heart rate, she blurt out, “Waverly’s is in trouble. If it goes down, you could be the biggest reason why.” Mortified by what she’d just said, Elizabeth held her breath and waited for the fallout.

“And where did you read that?” He looked neither surprised nor annoyed with her blunt proclamation.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “It’s none of my business. I should be getting back to the party.”

“Not so fast.” He surveyed her through narrowed eyes. His charm had vanished. Mouth tight, every tense muscle promising dire consequences if she denied him, he said, “I think you owe me an explanation.”

“I spoke out of turn.”

“But with a fair amount of knowledge.” The dashing man of adventure had given way to a flint-eyed hunter.

Elizabeth quivered, but not in fear. The reckless part of her she’d worked so hard to refine responded to Roark’s dangerous vibe. “Look—”

Before she had to explain herself, she was saved by the appearance of Kendra Darling, Elizabeth’s old school friend and assistant to Ann Richardson, CEO of Waverly’s.

“Mr. Black, Ann sent me to find you.”

“Can it wait? Elizabeth and I were having a little chat.”

Behind her tortoise-shell glasses, Kendra’s large hazel eyes widened as she recognized whom Roark had cornered with his charismatic presence. “It’s important,” she said. “Some men showed up to talk to you.” Kendra’s slim body practically quivered with anxiety as she clasped her hands at her waist. “They’re with the FBI.”

Teeth clenched in irritation, Roark pushed away from Elizabeth and nodded to Ann’s flustered assistant. “Tell her I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“I think she’d like you to come right now.”

In other words, the assistant didn’t want to return without him. She was used to dealing with wealthy, sometimes difficult clients, not law enforcement. Otherwise she’d know that the FBI liked to chat with him whenever something questionable happened with Middle Eastern antiquities. He’d been both the subject of inquiries and the expert that helped them take down the thieves.

Before heading back to the party, Roark gave Elizabeth one last look. The stunning blonde hadn’t moved during his brief exchange with Ann’s assistant. In fact, she looked as if she’d like to melt right into the concrete support behind her.

He considered how many times he’d held a relic in his hands and immediately known whether the artifact was genuine or an excellent forgery. His gut had never been wrong, and he’d backed up every authentication with careful, detailed analysis.

This encounter with Elizabeth had hit him the same way. He’d held her hand in his and recognized she was the genuine article. No artifice. No games. Pure attraction. And he intended to have her.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” he assured her.

Her eyes said: don’t count on it.

“Mr. Black?”

He strode away from the petite event planner with the lush figure and unforgettable indigo eyes and made a beeline toward the two obvious outsiders bracketing Ann. Unlike her assistant, Waverly’s CEO wasn’t in the least bit flustered that FBI agents had crashed the party. Her calm under pressure was one of the things Roark liked most about the head of Waverly’s.

Her gaze locked on him as he neared. Eyes hard, she offered him a neutral smile. “Roark, these are Special Agents Matthews and Todd. They would like to ask us a few questions in private.”

Roark eyed each in turn, recognizing Todd as an agent he’d seen in passing, but had never had any direct interaction with. Agent Matthews was brand-new. Tall and lean with black hair that spilled over her shoulders in abundant waves. Her dark brown eyes had tracked his progress across the room toward them, and Roark knew this one looked at him and thought career advancement.

“We can speak out on the terrace.” Whipping off his tuxedo jacket, he draped it over Ann’s shoulders as they headed to the door that led out onto a small outdoor space. Elizabeth’s deft touch could be seen here, as well. With white lights tangled in white pine boughs and candles in modern hurricane lanterns, the terrace oozed romance.

After three months in the jungle, Roark appreciated the cool November evening as he enjoyed the glow of Manhattan visible beyond the terrace’s cement half wall. Most of the time he found the city too tame for his taste. But there was no denying it sparkled at night.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Roark spoke.

“What can we help you with?”

“This is about Rayas’s missing Gold Heart statue,” the first FBI agent said. “We’ve had a new report from Prince Mallik Khouri that a masked man with Mr. Black’s exact build stole the statue from his rooms at the royal palace.”

“You can’t possibly think Roark stole the statue,” Ann protested, but it was all for show. She didn’t look a bit surprised that Roark was being accused of theft.

“We have reports that he was in Dubai at the time,” said Agent Matthews. “It wouldn’t be impossible for a man of his talents…” the FBI agent twisted the last word to indicate what she thought of Roark’s abilities “…to slip into Rayas, get into the palace and steal the statue.”

“It’s completely within my power to do so.”

Ann’s grim glance told him to let her handle the accusation. “He wouldn’t.”

“Just like a thousand other illegal things are in my power to do,” Roark continued, staring Agent Matthews down. “But I don’t do them.”

“Sorry if we can’t take your word for it,” Special Agent Todd said.

“There’s no proof that Roark was involved.” Ann showed no sign of believing otherwise and Roark appreciated that whatever her opinion of him, she hadn’t thrown him to the wolves.

“The thief made the mistake of cursing during the scuffle.” Matthews nodded. “The voice was deep and very distinctive.” Her gaze locked on Roark. “He claims it was your voice, Mr. Black.”

“We met briefly once in Dubai years ago. I can’t imagine that he’d remember my voice.”

But Roark recognized that he was the perfect scapegoat. And Mallik had another reason to suspect that Roark would break into his rooms at the palace.

“Why is this the first we’re hearing about this thief?” Roark demanded.

“Prince Mallik was embarrassed to explain his failure to stop the thief to his nephew, the crown prince.” Matthews arched her brows. “But he’s convinced it was you.”

“He’s mistaken,” Roark snapped.

Ann put her hand on his arm and spoke in a calm, but firm voice. “I’ve met Prince Mallik. He seemed like an honest, gracious person. However, in the midst of a fight, I imagine being overwhelmed by adrenaline, with heightened senses, he may only think he heard Roark’s voice. Didn’t you say the thief wore a mask?” Ann didn’t wait for the FBI to confirm her statement. “Perhaps his voice was distorted by the cloth.”

Roark was working hard to keep his temper at a low simmer. “Have you questioned Dalton Rothschild about the theft?” The rival auction house owner had been a thorn in Waverly’s side for years. “He’s got a bone to pick with Waverly’s and I wouldn’t put it past him to send one of his minions to Rayas to steal the statue and pin the blame on me.”

“Dalton Rothschild doesn’t share your controversial methods for procuring artifacts, Mr. Black,” Agent Matthews said. “We would have no reason to question him in this matter.”

Of course they wouldn’t. It wouldn’t surprise Roark to find out that Rothschild was the one that pointed the FBI to Waverly’s in the first place. The guy was a slick operator, but as greedy as they came.

While Ann escorted the FBI out, Roark stayed on the terrace and let the chilly fall air cool his ire. Through the large half-circle windows he searched the party for Elizabeth Minerva. She drifted through the well-dressed guests like a wraith, her blond hair confined in a neat French twist, stunning figure downplayed by the simple, long-sleeved black dress.

Hot anger became sizzling desire in seconds. From the moment he’d set eyes on her an hour ago, he’d been preoccupied. Petite, curvaceous blondes weren’t really his type. He preferred his women long and lean with flashing black eyes and golden skin. Passion ruled him when it came to antiquities and lovemaking.

His sexual appetites would probably break a dainty, graceful creature like Elizabeth.

“Roark, what are you staring at?”

Without his notice, Ann had returned to the terrace and stood beside him. Roark cursed his preoccupation. Being caught unaware could get him killed in many of the places he ventured.

“How can I get in touch with your party planner?” he asked.

“My assistant made all the arrangements.” She sounded surprised that he’d asked. “I’ll have her email you the contact information.”

“Wonderful. In a few weeks we’re going to have reason to celebrate.”

“You mean because of the Gold Heart statue?” Ann paced toward the terrace wall. “Are you sure it’s not the one stolen from Rayas?”

“Are you asking me if I stole it?” He’d grown weary of her lack of trust in him these past few years.

“Of course not,” she said, her tone smooth and unhurried. “But you’re sure your source for the statue is completely legitimate?”

“Absolutely.” He touched her arm. “You can trust me.”

Some of the tension seeped out of her. “I know, but with this new accusation, we have to be more careful than ever.”

And careful wasn’t something he was known for.

“I need you to bring me the statue,” she continued. “The quickest way to resolve this issue is for me to take the statue to Rayas and have the sheikh verify that it isn’t the one stolen from the palace.”

“It’s not.”

“Neither the FBI nor Crown Prince Raif Khouri are going to take your word for it.” A determined firmness came over Ann’s expression. “You’ve been missing for three months, Roark. Waverly’s is in trouble.”

He might have been off the grid, but that didn’t mean he was out of the loop. Roark knew about the collusion scandal that had rocked Waverly’s and Ann Richardson’s link to it. His half brother, Vance Waverly, was convinced the CEO had never been romantically involved with Dalton Rothschild and that there was no truth to the rumor of price fixing between the rival auction houses. Roark trusted Vance’s faith in Ann where illegal practices were concerned, but he wasn’t as convinced that Rothschild’s hostile takeover of Waverly’s was just hearsay. Nor was he sure Ann hadn’t fallen for Dalton. Which meant Roark wasn’t sure how far he could trust Ann.

“It’s important to clear up the matter of the statue,” Ann continued, handing him back his tuxedo jacket.

“I understand, but getting the statue here quickly is going to present a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean with all the publicity surrounding the statue and Rothschild’s obvious determination to cause a problem with the auction, it’s more important than ever to safeguard it.”

“Get it here as fast as you can. Or it may be too late to save Waverly’s.”

Ann Richardson’s resolve resonated with Roark. He faced difficult situations with the same strength of purpose. It was part of the reason why he was willing to do what it took to help her save Waverly’s.

In a thoughtful mood, he escorted her inside. While Roark slipped back into the jacket, he noticed a pair of eyes on him. They belonged to a very influential member of Waverly’s board. Something behind the man’s stare piqued Roark’s curiosity. He snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and strode over to shake the man’s hand.

“Nice collection you secured,” George Cromwell said. “I had no idea Tyler was such a connoisseur.”

“He was a man of many secrets.”

Cromwell lifted his glass. “Here’s to hoping he takes most of them to the grave.”

Roark offered a polite smile while impatience churned in his gut. Was he seeing trouble where there was none? Had his instincts been wrong about what he’d glimpsed in the man’s manner? Or was he growing paranoid after years of dodging danger and the past three months spent in a deadly game of hide and seek with a bloodthirsty cartel?

“What were the FBI doing here tonight?” Cromwell asked.

Reassured that his instincts were right on track, Roark offered the board member a dismissive smile. “They’d received some bad information and came to clear up the matter.” In its own way, this concrete jungle was just as perilous as the tropical one he’d left behind.

“And was it cleared up?”

Roark wasn’t going to lie. “I believe they still have some doubts.”

Cromwell grew grim. “I’m concerned about Waverly’s future.”

“How so?” Roark sipped at his champagne and played at nonchalance. He hated all the political maneuvering and missed the familiar danger inherent in guns, knives and criminals who didn’t hesitate to kill anyone who got in their way.

“A number of Waverly’s shareholders have been approached about selling our shares.”

“Let me guess,” Roark said, annoyance flaring. “Rothschild?”

“Yes.”

“Selling to him wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest.”

“With the troubles of late, there is concern that Waverly’s is being mismanaged.” Cromwell was both stating his opinion and digging for information.

Roark’s true connection to Vance Waverly wasn’t mainstream knowledge, but a few people knew Vance and Roark shared a father. If Cromwell assumed Roark would divulge what he knew about Waverly’s problems, he’d be wrong.

“That’s ridiculous. Ann is the perfect choice to run Waverly’s. Any troubles we’ve had recently can be attributed to one person. Dalton Rothschild.”

“Perhaps. But your activities of late haven’t helped.”

Roark remained silent. It would do no good to protest that what he did had no bearing on Waverly’s, but as long as he remained connected to the auction house, anything he brought in would be suspect. Being someone accustomed to operating alone, Roark found a sense of discomfort stirring in him to have others relying on him.

“What I do is completely legal and legitimate.”

“Of course.” The board member nodded. “But the world of business is not always interested in facts. Markets rise and fall on people’s perceptions of what’s going on.”

“And I’m being perceived as…?”

“Too freewheeling in both your professional and personal lives.”

Roark couldn’t argue. He based his actions on his needs and desires. Taking others into consideration wasn’t part of the equation. But the older man’s assessment poked at a tender spot, bruised earlier by the scathing opinion of a petite blonde.

His attention wandered in her direction. He knew exactly where she was. Her presence was a shaft of light to his senses.

Pleasure flashed like lightning along his nerve endings when he caught her staring at him. He winked at her and grinned as she turned away so fast she almost plowed into a passing server.

Oblivious to Roark’s momentary distraction, the board member continued, “I think if you could demonstrate that you’re committed to Waverly’s, I could convince the other board members that you, Vance and Ann are the future we want.”

“And how would you suggest I do that?”

“Show us and the world that you’ve settled down.”

In other words, postpone any dangerous operations for the near future. That could be problematic. Roark was now in pursuit of a new rare artifact—the second half of a pair of leopard heads that had once graced the throne of Tipu Sultan, an important figure in Indian and Islamic history. The first head, encrusted with diamonds, emeralds and rubies, had been discovered in a long-forgotten trunk in Winnipeg, Canada, and auctioned several years earlier.

The buyer was a collector of Middle Eastern art and had offered Roark access to the one-of-a-kind documents in his private library if Roark could find the second leopard. The knowledge locked up in the collector’s home was worth way more to Roark than the half million dollars that the man had originally offered as a finder’s fee.

Roark’s gaze swept the party guests until he located Ann Richardson. “I’d planned to leave New York in the next few days.”

“That’s not a good idea if you’re at all concerned about the future of Waverly’s.”

Roark tensed as the jaws of responsibility clamped down on him. “I have business in Dubai.”

“Do you think that leaving town is a good idea while the FBI is interested in you?” George Cromwell nodded sagely at Roark’s scowl. “Stay in New York. Demonstrate that your personal life has stabilized.”

“Stabilized how?”

“Your romantic exploits are legendary. If you could settle down with one woman, that would convince everyone you’re the man we need at the helm.”

Roark ignored the sensation of a noose being tossed over his head and kept his body relaxed. Settle down with the love of his life. Not so easy for a man whose one true passion involved dangerous, globe-hopping adventures. No woman, no matter how lush, blonde and adorable, could compete with the thrill of discovering what had been lost for centuries.

But the prospects of Waverly’s depended on his ability to project a stable, reliable image. What he needed was a woman who could play the part of his adoring girlfriend. Someone who understood this was for the good of Waverly’s.

That way, when it ended, he wouldn’t need to worry about breaking her heart.

Roark grinned. “It’s funny you should bring this up now because I’ve been seeing someone for a while and we’re very close to taking our relationship public.”

“Wonderful.” The board member covered his surprise with a relieved smile. “Bring her around for dinner tomorrow night and we’ll discuss your future in more detail.”

“We’ll be there.”

“Looking forward to it. What’s your lady’s name?”

“Elizabeth.” Roark glanced toward the screened-off section of the loft. If he had to be settled down by a woman, he intended to choose one who intrigued him. “Elizabeth Minerva.”

Two

Elizabeth barely noticed the exuberant buzz filling the offices of Josie Summers’s Event Planning as she navigated the halls. A large coffee clutched in her hand, she thanked the coworkers who congratulated her on the success of the previous night’s wine auction. Normally, the well wishes perked her up. She’d worked hard to become Josie’s top earner and enjoyed the prestige it brought her.

Success had come easily since she had started immersing herself in her work a year ago, to keep despair at bay after her sister’s death. If she was busy, she had no time to fall prey to the depression that lurked in the shadows. It wasn’t long before she discovered that running herself into a state of exhaustion wasn’t something she could do forever.

She needed a personal life, but thanks to her rotten taste in men, dating brought her more heartache than happiness.

What had struck her hard after losing her sister, brother-in-law and niece in a car accident was how alone she was. Her parents had moved from upstate New York to Oregon right as Elizabeth started her freshman year of college. In the seven years they’d been gone, they’d never returned to the East coast. It was as if with both their children grown, they’d started this whole new life for themselves.

When they’d first announced that they were moving Elizabeth had been bothered by their abandonment. But after she moved to New York City and started college, she’d fallen in love. Not with a man, but with the city. The excitement and the possibilities of living in such a wonderful place. And she’d never once felt lonely.

It had helped that her sister was a couple hours away by train. But with Stephanie’s death, a hole had appeared in her heart. What she wanted was a family. That’s when she decided to make a family of her own. Unfortunately, as fabulously as her career was progressing, things on the baby front weren’t going so well. Two rounds of in vitro had failed.

She was all out of money. Her dreams of motherhood wouldn’t be coming true this year.

Elizabeth’s heart wrenched in dismay.

She should be flying high. Last night’s triumph was yet another step upward professionally. She was crossing career goals off her list ahead of schedule. But what good did all her success do her when the reason she was working so hard was to provide for the child her body refused to conceive?

Maybe if she’d been more positive during the second in vitro try. Kept her hopes up. Spent her days and nights visualizing a baby in her arms rather than bracing herself for disappointment. Maybe then things would have turned out better.

If her sister could hear her thoughts, she’d agree. Stephanie had been an advocate for positive thinking since she was a freshman in high school. Top of her class. Head cheerleader. Captain of the women’s volleyball team the year they won state. Whatever Stephanie visualized, she made happen.

And what would her sister say about Elizabeth’s pity party for one? Stephanie would tell her to pull out a piece of paper and write her goal at the top, then list all the things she could do to move forward.

Elizabeth settled her purse in a drawer and hung up her coat. Flopping into her desk chair, she set a yellow legal pad in front of her and wrote Motherhood at the top. Below that she doodled dollar signs.

How to afford more in vitro treatments? Save money until she could afford to try again. Economizing wasn’t the answer. She already lived in the smallest apartment she could stand, a tiny studio in Chelsea with a view of the neighboring building’s wall. What she needed to do was increase her income. And the fastest way to do that? Demand that Josie make her a partner. She was already bringing in more money than all of Josie’s other planners combined. It was time she reaped some of the benefits of all her hard work.

Feeling more determined than when she’d left her apartment an hour ago, Elizabeth headed for her boss’s office. With each step she took, she gained confidence in her plan.

It was the perfect opportunity to make her pitch. Last night’s party had been a huge success. She’d made a dozen contacts and fielded interest from at least eight people who wanted her to help with their holiday parties. Her career was about to go from fast track to supersonic.

“Josie, do you have a second?”

The fifty-eight-year-old head of Josie Summers’s Event Planning sat like a queen on a cream damask sofa in her enormous corner office. A silver tray with an elegant coffeepot sat on the low table before her. On the round table that stood halfway between the door and her boss’s ornate cherry desk was a vase overflowing with the most gorgeous long-stemmed red roses Elizabeth had ever seen. Things must be going better between Josie and her boyfriend of twelve years.

Her boss waved Elizabeth in. “Darling, we’re a triumph.”

“Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves,” Elizabeth said. “The auction raised three million for children’s cancer research.” She sat beside Josie and accepted the cup of coffee her boss handed her. “Kendra called me this morning and said her boss was pleased with our handling of the event.”

Even though Josie hadn’t been involved with any aspect of the planning, she claimed credit for every success.

“Well, I should say so.” Josie crossed her legs and leaned forward to pour coffee into a second china cup. She sipped and eyed Elizabeth over the rim. “Josie Summers’s Event Planning offers nothing but sublime perfection.”

“Absolutely.” Having her boss take credit for her successes didn’t sit well with Elizabeth, but she needed her job and wanted to keep it.

Until coming to work for Josie, she’d never been one to tout her accomplishments. She’d always done her best without expecting anyone to praise her. But it hadn’t taken more than six months in the cutthroat world of event planning for her to realize that if she wanted to get ahead, she not only needed to be the best, she had to make sure everyone knew it.

“I’ve already received a half dozen calls this morning about upcoming events thanks to the work we did last night.” The diamonds in Josie’s ears winked. “Josie Summers’s Event Planning is the best in New York. It’s about time everyone recognized that.”

Thanks to all Elizabeth’s hard work. She forced a smile. “That’s great. And part of what I wanted to talk to you about this morning…”

“Oh, and those came for you.” Josie indicated the roses. “They were delivered to me by mistake.”

Elizabeth regarded the extravagant bouquet. She felt oddly light-headed. It was the sort of thing a man sent the woman he loved. “For me?”

Josie picked up a small white card and handed it to Elizabeth. “Another admirer, from the looks of it.”

Stifling her resentment that her boss had already read the card, Elizabeth slid it out of the envelope and stared at the bold script.

I have a proposal I’d like to discuss with you. RB

She had no trouble imagining the sort of proposal Roark Black had in mind. Proposition was more like it. Remembering the way his gaze had slipped over her last night, heat rushed into her cheeks. Conscious of her boss’s avid curiosity, she mastered her expression and held very still. Difficult when she wanted to run from the room and the implications of that message. But fleeing would do her no good when the danger lay inside her. The searing curiosity about the enigmatic treasure hunter. What would it be like to have those mobile lips capture hers? His hands gliding over her skin as if she was a priceless artifact he’d been searching for all his life?

“Elizabeth?”

“Hmm?”

Josie’s voice held amusement. “Who is RB?”

She dug her nails into her palm to disperse the sensual fog that she’d gotten lost in. Lying would do her no good. Josie’s curiosity was fully engaged. She would dig until she was satisfied she knew everything that was going on with Elizabeth.

“Roark Black.”

“Really?” Interest flared in Josie’s brown eyes. “I didn’t realize you knew him.”

“He was at the wine auction last night.” Elizabeth could see her boss jump to the wrong conclusion. “He was impressed with the work I’d done for the party. Perhaps he wants to hire me.”

“This is a first,” Josie purred, her opinion about the true reason for the bouquet already formed. “I’ve never seen two dozen red roses accompany a job offer before.”

“Mr. Black is a unique individual.”

“With unique tastes, I imagine.”

Elizabeth responded with a tight smile. “I’d better go give him a call.” She stood, eager to escape her boss’s keen gaze. She was halfway to the door when Josie stopped her.

“Don’t forget your roses.”

“Silly me,” Elizabeth said, her teeth gritted together.

“And let me know what he has in mind. This is the opening I’ve been waiting for. A chance to move Josie Summers’s Event Planning into a whole new level. Event planner to the rich and famous.”

“Thanks to me,” Elizabeth muttered into the sumptuous roses.

It wasn’t until she returned to her office that she realized Roark Black’s proposal had distracted her from her plan to ask Josie about making her a partner. How much longer was she going to build Josie’s business without getting the rewards she deserved?

Setting the roses on her desk, Elizabeth perched on one of her guest chairs and dialed the number on the back of Roark’s card.

“Hello, Elizabeth.”

His deep voice, rich with amusement, sent a tingle up her spine. With two words he’d sparked a chain reaction inside her. She flopped back in the chair and closed her eyes to better concentrate on his seductive voice.

“Hello, Mr. Black,” she responded, her tone less professional than she wanted. “Thank you for the roses.”

“Roark,” he corrected, his tone somewhere between a command and a request. “I’m glad you like them.”

She hadn’t said that. “They’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful roses for a beautiful lady.”

His smooth compliments were having a detrimental effect on her professionalism. Flutters attacked her stomach. Warmth flooded her as delight scampered along her nerve endings. Her body appeared to have a mind of its own, wanting to curl up in the chair and cradle the phone like some smitten teenager.

“The card mentioned you had a job for me?”

“A proposal,” he corrected, caressing the word.

“What sort of proposal?”

“I’d like to discuss it in person.”

And she’d prefer to arrange everything over the phone so his enticing sex appeal wouldn’t prove her undoing. “Would you like to come to my office this afternoon?”

“I was thinking perhaps you could meet me at my apartment. Say in an hour?”

“Your apartment…” She trailed off, at a loss for words since she didn’t dare accuse him of hitting on her when she wasn’t completely sure what was going on.

“Don’t you visit a client’s apartment when you’re planning a party for them?”

“You want me to plan a party?” Her relief came through loud and clear.

“Of course.” He sounded amused. “What did you think I wanted?”

The arrogance of the man.

Elizabeth fumed for about five seconds and then reminded herself that this was business and she was a businesswoman. She’d worked with demanding clients before. Just because Roark Black was sinfully handsome and dangerously exciting was no reason to let her baser instincts get the better of her. He was a client. Nothing more.

“An hour and a half,” she countered, feeling ridiculous the second the words were out of her mouth. It was silly to try to play power games with this man when all he had to do was hit her with his crooked grin and every sensible thought fled her mind.

“I’ll text you my address.”

At one minute to ten, she stood outside Roark’s loft in Soho. She recognized her nerves had gotten the better of her when she’d gone home to change into a sweater dress in a silvery blue. She loved the color. It intensified the gold tones of her hair and drew out the flecks of cobalt in her eyes. But most important, the outfit gave her confidence.

Briefcase clutched before her, weight on the balls of her feet, she awaited the appearance of the first man in a year who’d imperiled her no-bad-boys edict. Pulse hammering, she dredged up every hurt and disappointment caused by the men she’d chosen over the years. Remembering past injuries took the edge off her unwelcome excitement at seeing Roark again.

And then, the door opened, revealing him in all his male splendor. He was dressed casually in worn denim and a long-sleeved gray shirt that intensified the smoky tones in his eyes.

“Elizabeth.” Her name sighed out of him like a lover’s exhalation. “You are even more beautiful than I remembered.”

Crap. Her heart fluttered like some idiotic debutant at her first cotillion.

“And you are more charming than ever.” Her voice snapped like a whip, snatching the compliment right out of the words.

He grinned at her, unfazed by her tartness. “Come in.”

The loft was as incredible as she’d expected. Sixteen-foot ceilings, enormous arched windows, exposed brick everywhere she looked. Wood floors gleamed beneath couches slip-covered in white. The living space was so huge he was able to have three separate sitting areas. One flanked the stone fireplace at the far end. One clustered in front of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves near an opening that she guessed led to the bedrooms. A third near the open kitchen with its dark granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances.

“This is nice,” Elizabeth murmured, reflecting on the shoebox she lived in. “Perfect for entertaining. How many people are you inviting?”

“I was thinking about a hundred or so.”

Elizabeth pulled out an electronic tablet and began jotting notes. “Did you have a date picked out?”

“I was thinking next Saturday.”

“That is short notice.”

Mentally running through her bookings, she keyed up her schedule, already knowing she had the Hendersons’ tenth wedding anniversary on that evening. The arrangements were all made. It was the sort of party Brenda could handle on her own.

“I’m happy to compensate you for any inconvenience it might cause.”

Elizabeth offered him a bright smile as she mentally calculated her commission. “What sort of party did you have in mind?”

“It’s an engagement party.”

“How nice.” And how surprising. She’d never pictured Roark Black hosting something like that. The man had commitment issues written all over him. “Who’s the lucky couple?”

“We are.”

Incomprehension fogged her indigo-blue eyes as she looked up at him. “We are what?”

“The happy engaged couple I’m throwing the party for.”

Her crisp professionalism wrinkled beneath the weight of her confusion. “We’re not engaged.”

“Not yet.”

The expression in her eyes went from shell-shocked to resolute. “Not ever.”

“I’m crushed.” He shouldn’t enjoy teasing her so much, but it seemed the only way to get past her guards and reach the woman behind the event planner.

“I doubt it.” She’d recovered her equilibrium and now regarded him with open skepticism. “Perhaps you should explain what’s going on.”

“Last night you jumped all over me about how I was going to be the downfall of Waverly’s.”

“I merely suggested you might be a contributing factor.”

“You weren’t the only one thinking that way.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not surprising. But what does that have to do with why I’m here?”

“A certain member of the Waverly’s board mentioned that he’s been approached by Dalton Rothschild about selling his shares and has been asked to persuade others on the board to follow suit. He doesn’t want Rothschild to take over Waverly’s, but needs a good reason to continue to support the current leadership at Waverly’s.”

She nodded, but remained silent while her steady gaze encouraged him to proceed.

“He thinks that leadership needs to include me, but recent events have raised questions about my activities. He indicated if I could demonstrate that I’m leaving behind my proclivity for trouble, the board would feel more confident about the stability of Waverly’s.”

“And you think an engagement will make you more respectable.”

“It was suggested a stable personal life would inspire confidence in my upstanding behavior.”

“Why me?”

While his address book was bursting with women who would jump at the chance to play his fiancée, Elizabeth was unaffected by his money or his charm. She intrigued him.

“After last night’s passionate denouncement of me and your concern for the future of Waverly’s, I thought you would be the perfect choice for a pretend engagement.”

His last two words caused a profound reaction. Her muscles relaxed and she almost smiled. “Find someone else.”

“I’ve already decided on you.”

“Surely there are more suitable women in the circles you frequent that would be happy to perpetrate this ruse with you.”

“None more suitable than you.” And he meant it.

The concern she’d shown for Waverly’s had inspired him to make her his co-conspirator in his scheme to improve his image. And the active dislike she was struggling so hard to maintain intrigued him. Winning her over presented an enchanting challenge. And if he was going to be stuck in New York for the uncertain future, he would need something exciting to occupy himself. Elizabeth Minerva fit the bill.

“Does it strike you at all counterproductive that you’re trying to inspire confidence in your upstanding behavior by presenting a fake fiancée to your friends and family?”

“See, this is why I need you. Not one other woman I know dives straight to the heart of my shortcomings the way you do.”

Her full lips twitched. “And somehow you perceive this as a good thing?”

Despite her skepticism, Elizabeth hadn’t slammed the door on his proposition. Or at least, she hadn’t stormed out of his loft and put an end to the conversation. If he could keep her around for a few more minutes, he knew he could convince her how much he needed her help.

“Last night you were right. Waverly’s is in trouble. Dalton Rothschild is after the board members to sell. I’m in a perfect position to stop him.” He hit her with all the seriousness in his arsenal. “And you are in a perfect position to help me do so. Think of what will happen to all the employees who’ve been with Waverly’s for years. If Rothschild takes over, what do you think he’s going to do with them?”

“You aren’t playing fair.” Her gaze skidded away from his.

At that moment, he knew he had her. “We’ll make this a business arrangement. Consider it a contract job. Six months and you’re free of me. In the meantime, think of all the contacts you’ll make as my fiancée. Manhattan’s elite will be vying to have you as their event planner.”

“A business arrangement,” she echoed, eyes narrowing as she searched his expression. “Nothing more?”

“Well, of course there will be public appearances and equally public displays of affection.”

She chewed on her lower lip, attention fixed on the far side of the room where floating shelves housed some of the less valuable artifacts he’d brought back from around the world.

“But just public displays of affection. Don’t expect to reap any benefits of our engagement in private.”

Keeping her in the dark about all his intentions was completely necessary if he hoped to secure her agreement. There would be plenty of time later to demonstrate all the ways their arrangement could be mutually beneficial.

“I promise not to do anything you don’t want me to.”

Her brows came together. “That didn’t answer my question.”

“I assure you, anytime I’m involved in a relationship it’s the women who have expectations, not me.”

“No wonder people find you untrustworthy.” Elizabeth shook her head. “You couldn’t give a straight answer if your life depended on it.”

“And I assure you, from time to time, it has.”

“Let me be blunt. I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Who said anything about sleeping.” He knew he should stop teasing her, but she was so damned adorable when she got riled up.

“If you think I’m some sort of weak-minded bimbo who will tumble into your bed at the first snap of your fingers, you’ve picked the wrong girl.”

“Easy, sweetheart, I think you’re no such thing. I fully expect you to resist me at every turn.”

With her blue eyes snapping in ire, color flooding her cheeks and her soft lips parted to deliver scathing retorts, it took all his significant willpower not to draw her into his arms and take advantage of that simmering passion.

His facial muscles twitched as smiling became irresistible. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”

Most single New York women would be flattered that Roark Black had chosen them to play the part of his fiancée. Elizabeth suspected a whistle launched from his loft window would bring a dozen or so running. They’d scoff at her reluctance to get cozy with a handsome, eligible bachelor of Roark’s financial and social standing even as they trampled her in their rush to vie for his attention.

Was she crazy to hesitate?

There’d been an intense light in his eye as he said he expected her to resist him at every turn that told her she was smart to be wary. Her heart hadn’t stopped its distressed thumping the entire distance to Chinatown where her best friend lived. Allison and Elizabeth had been roommates freshman year and had bonded over their pathological need for organization and their mutual dislike of the girl across the hall, Honey Willingham.

“Elizabeth.” The leggy woman with dark blond hair and dark circles under her eyes looked at her with delight. “Your timing is perfect. I just got Prince Gregory down for his nap.”

“Sorry to stop by without calling.” Since Allison had given birth five months ago, Elizabeth hadn’t seen her friend more than once a month. To Elizabeth’s shame, it stung that Allison was so happy being a mom when Elizabeth struggled to conceive.

“No. It’s fine. I’m happy to take any time you can spare.”

Her friend didn’t mean anything by the remark, but Elizabeth flinched anyway. “I’m a terrible friend.”

“No. You’re just busy.”

So was Allison. She had her hands full with a colicky baby, but she managed to call three times a week. Elizabeth felt even worse.

“How’s Greg?”

“Getting better.” Allison led Elizabeth into the tiny kitchen and fetched a couple diet sodas out of the refrigerator. “He sleeps almost four hours a night now.”

“Yikes.”

Elizabeth tried to imagine how she was going to make things work on her own with a baby and no help. She glanced around the kitchen. Dishes were piled in the sink and baby bottles sat upside down in a drying rack. Beyond the breakfast bar, where once there had been a pristine living room with glass tables, expensive accent pieces and tons of plants, only the black leather couch remained and it was piled with a basket of unfolded baby clothes. Colorful toys and a baby swing competed for space on the hardwood floors.

“Can I babysit for you and Keith one night? Maybe you could go out for a nice dinner?”

Allison looked so hopeful, Elizabeth’s heart clenched.

“That would be great. Get you ready for your own bundle of joy.” This last was said with such weariness that Elizabeth wondered if her envy over her friend’s perfect life had been a tad off base. Gasping, Allison leaned forward and grabbed Elizabeth’s hands. Her eyes burned with hope. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me you’re pregnant?”

“No.” Elizabeth shook her head. “The last round didn’t take.”

“Damn.” Allison’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”

“Try again.”

“But I thought you didn’t have enough money.”

“I’m going to ask Josie to make me a partner.”

Allison blew out a breath. “Good luck with that.” She looked immediately contrite. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what you needed to hear. How are you going to approach it?”

In the face of Allison’s doubt, Elizabeth pushed aside her frustration and squared her shoulders. “I just handled my first A-list party and it was a huge success. All sorts of bookings are coming in and they all want me.”

“How wonderful. Does Josie know they all want you?”

On the topic of Elizabeth’s career, Allison had all sorts of strong opinions about Josie Summers. All of them negative.

“In her own way, she knows.” But that didn’t mean Josie would ever admit it.

“You could quit,” Allison suggested with a far too innocent expression. “Start your own event planning company.”

“You know I can’t do that.” It was a conversation she and Allison had engaged in often in the past three years.

“I know you’re afraid to do that.”

“I like the security of a job with a steady paycheck.”

Allison didn’t appear convinced by Elizabeth’s determined tone. “You could put off having a baby for a couple years while you get your business going.”

Elizabeth rejected her friend’s suggestion with a firm shake of her head. “I’d rather put up with Josie for the next five years than wait to have a baby.”

“You’re so sensible.” The baby monitor on the counter next to the sink erupted with cries. Allison stared at the device and held her breath as if even that small noise would further disturb the restless child.

“Do you need to go check on him?”

“No. He should settle down.” But the cries became more insistent and Allison heaved a weary sigh. “I guess fifteen minutes is going to be all he can handle today. I don’t know why he doesn’t collapse with exhaustion. I’m tired and he gets less sleep than I do. I’ll be right back.”

Elizabeth expected to have to finish her conversation with Allison over the wails of the baby, but almost as soon as she vanished into her son’s room, the monitor stopped emitting noise. She returned with her son in her arms.

“Can you hold this momma’s boy for a second?” Without waiting for Elizabeth to answer, Allison handed her the baby. “I swear he lives to drive me crazy. Just like his father.” The last she muttered, the words almost intelligible, but Elizabeth heard.

And grinned.

She buried her nose in the baby’s neck and inhaled his scent. This is what she was working toward. Why she’d accept Roark’s offer to pretend to be his fiancée. She needed to bring in more clients and strengthen her position as Josie’s top producer. Becoming a partner would assure her financial security and she could afford to try in vitro again.

Her phone vibrated, reminding Elizabeth that she had work to do. As much as she wished she could linger for the rest of the afternoon, there were clients to contact and arrangements to oversee. If she was gone too long from the office, Brenda might take it upon herself to organize something and that would be extremely bad.

The sun fell across Elizabeth’s shoulders as she made her way to the nearest subway station. Visiting Allison’s domestic haven had done her good. The parts of her psyche that had seemed frantic and out of control were calmer. She was thinking clearly instead of freaking out. Before she headed down the stairs to catch her train, she pulled out her cell phone.

Almost as if he’d been expecting her call, Roark picked up before the second ring.

“Okay, Mr. Black, we have a deal.”

“Just like that?” Despite his words, he almost purred with satisfaction. “We haven’t even discussed what you want in return.”

“All I want is the chance to make the sort of connections that will further my career.”

“And you’ll meet plenty of people who will want to hire you. But I’m going to take up a significant amount of your time and I intend to compensate you for it.”

“How much time?”

“To be credible we need to be seen together four hours a night, twice maybe three times a week for six months. Twenty thousand dollars is a nice round number, don’t you think?”

She stared at the sky and blinked back a sudden rush of tears. Her relief was so profound, for a moment she couldn’t breathe. With that much money she could afford to try in vitro again almost immediately. A twinge of conscience returned her to reality.

“That’s too much. I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”

“The money is for your time, nothing more.”

And although every one of her brain cells told her she was crazy, in her heart, she believed him. “It’s still too much.”

“Very well.” A hint of exasperation entered his tone. “What sort of number did you have in mind?”

“Thirteen thousand, four hundred twenty-eight dollars and ninety-seven cents.”

A long hesitation followed her words. When he spoke, his voice was rich with laughter. “Are you sure you don’t want that rounded up to twenty-nine dollars?”

“No, thank you.”

“Care to share what you’re going to do with that particular sum?”

She smiled as she imagined the look on his face as she said, “I’m going to use it to get pregnant.”

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