“I Don’t Know Why You Hide Yourself, Lane, But I See It,” Tyler Said.

Lane wasn’t going to ask what he saw. It would erect barriers she didn’t want right now. That should have warned her, but she ignored the warnings.

“And instead of my dreams haunting me with what making love to you might be like, I have that to keep me company.”

She blinked. “You dream of me. Of us?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Lane didn’t think she could be more stunned. And more pleased. She’d given him absolutely no reason to think she wanted more, and here he was, making her feel incredibly sexy and wanted.

“I want to strip you down right now and taste every inch of you, but I won’t. We won’t. Not tonight.”

“That implies there will be another night.”

He smiled. “I was hoping you’d caught that….”

Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing Silhouette Desire—where passion is guaranteed in every read. Things sure are heating up with our continuing series DYNASTIES: THE BARONES. Eileen Wilks’s With Private Eyes is a powerful romance that helps set the stage for the daring conclusion next month. And if it’s more continuing stories that you want—we have them. TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE STOLEN BABY launches this month with Sara Orwig’s Entangled with a Texan.

The wonderful Peggy Moreland is on hand to dish up her share of Texas humor and heat with Baby, You’re Mine, the next installment of her TANNERS OF TEXAS series. Be sure to catch Peggy’s Silhouette Single Title, Tanner’s Millions, on sale January 2004. Award-winning author Jennifer Greene marks her much-anticipated return to Silhouette Desire with Wild in the Field, the first book in her series THE SCENT OF LAVENDER.

Also for your enjoyment this month, we offer Katherine Garbera’s second book in the KING OF HEARTS series. Cinderella’s Christmas Affair is a fabulous “it could happen to you” plot guaranteed to leave her fans extremely satisfied. And rounding out our selection of delectable stories is Awakening Beauty by Amy J. Fetzer, a steamy, sensational tale.

More passion to you!

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Awakening Beauty
Amy J. Fetzer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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AMY J. FETZER

was born in New England and raised all over the world. She uses her own experiences in creating the characters and settings for her novels. Married more than twenty years to a United States Marine and the mother of two sons, Amy covets the moments when she can curl up with a cup of cappuccino and a good book.

For the

R.H.S. Southern Pearls

With whom secrets are sacred

Fun is learning to be really lazy

And dessert before dinner takes on new meaning.

I love y’all.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

One

It was moments like these that made Lane Douglas glad she’d changed her name. Elaina Honora Giovanni didn’t get involved with the police. Police reports meant giving your ID and putting the incident on the blotter, and that was open season for the press.

There was one particular member of the press corps out there just waiting to read her name somewhere and come hunting like a wolf for its prey.

And something as simple as a car accident would be enough to lead him right to her.

When the sound of screeching tires, splashing water and a loud solid crunch had registered, Lane knew before she whipped around that her car was the victim.

Attacked by a low-slung, silver sports car.

The impact popped open the trunk of her car.

“Buona fortuna as usual, Elaina,” she muttered to herself, dropping a box full of books on the porch of her shop, then rushing down the steps to the curb. Cold winter rain soaked through her clothes, matted her hair.

She could feel the tightly twisted bun on the top of her head sagging already.

Never good in a crisis, she looked first at the books in the trunk, then at the man still behind the wheel of his car. His loud cursing told her that he at least was uninjured. The car door opened and he climbed out, glaring at the damage before meeting her gaze.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and whipped out a cell phone.

“Fine, fine. I wasn’t in the car, remember? Are you okay?” she shouted over the rain.

“Yes, dammit.” He kicked the tire, then winced.

“Smart move,” she said.

He smiled at her, tipping the phone away for a second. “Tyler. Tyler McKay.”

She knew who he was. It was hard to live in Bradford, South Carolina, and not know the McKays. Rich, handsome and eligible didn’t begin to describe Tyler. With dark hair and light-blue eyes, he was the most noticed man in town. And that wasn’t even counting that long, lean body in a leather jacket and jeans.

She swung her gaze to their cars.

His hadn’t fared well against hers.

The sports car looked like an accordion halfway through a song.

Then she noticed the rain pouring over the crushed metal of her trunk like a stream over rocks and dribbling onto the carton of books.

“Oh, no, my stock!”

He barely glanced at it, still talking into the phone. Then he closed the cell phone and observed, “They’re ruined.”

She glared at him. “Yes, thank you for pointing that out. What was your first clue?” She tried shutting the trunk, but the twisted metal refused to oblige.

He took off his jacket and like Sir Walter Raleigh, covered the books. “How’s that?”

“A Band-Aid to a bleeding head wound.”

“Gallantry is never appreciated.”

“Perhaps when it’s sincere it would be.” She threw off his jacket and lifted out a soaked carton of books.

He picked up the other carton and walked behind her. “The cops will be here in a couple of minutes.”

He probably pulled someone’s chain for that quick service. When your family owned practically half the town, it wasn’t hard. “Good.” She unlocked the shop door and pushed inside.

“Look. It’s my fault.”

She paused at the doorway to look back at him. It was a mistake. He was too close, his front to her back, and she got a full dose of him in one flash. Vivid blue eyes pinned her, as if the chance to look at her would be snatched away any second and he needed to get in a good stare while he could. The little crinkles at the corners of his eyes spoke of countless smiles, and rainwater dripped off his dark hair onto his leather jacket.

When she caught a whiff of his warm woodsy cologne, Lane wanted to inhale deeply. Instead, she said, “The rain, the curve off Bay street and a slick road are to blame.”

He grinned. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he said softly.

That smile lit something inside her and made her pulse jump hard. Her chilled skin was suddenly warmer, and ignoring the way she reacted to him wasn’t as easy as she expected. He probably knew exactly the effect he had on a person. “Do you need my forgiveness?”

“No, but I’d like to have it. Being neighborly and all.”

That smile came again and she hurried into the shop and set the box on the counter before looking at him again.

“Then, yes, you’re forgiven. But I reserve the right to needle you.” She smoothed her hair back off her face. Her glasses steamed up and slid down her nose. “Although since I didn’t put any change in the parking meter, with my luck I’ll be getting the ticket.”

“You won’t. I promise.”

She arched a brow. “Falling on your sword for me? Now that’s gallantry.”

He smiled and Lane felt her insides shift and bow. This was so not good, she thought.

“And your name is?” he asked.

“Lane Douglas.” It tripped easily off her tongue after nearly two years, she thought. Sad that lying about who she was had become second nature. He held out his hand. She shook it once, quickly, then jerked back. Okay, so his skin was delightfully warm, and though she might have expected smooth and pampered, it wasn’t. She’d felt at least one callus. He probably got that golfing.

She turned her back to him, inspecting her sodden books and mentally calculating the cost to replace them.

“Nice place,” he said. “Is it new?”

“It’s been here for 150 years, Mr. McKay,” she said, although she knew he meant newly remodeled.

“Call me Tyler, please. Mr. McKay is my dad.”

She hunted in her purse. “I don’t want to get that personal. I may have to sue.”

His gaze narrowed. “I will make full restitution, Miss Douglas.”

She faced him, holding out her driver’s license and insurance card. “Good. Why don’t you hail the cops?” She nodded to the windows. The blue lights of the police car flashed against the watery glass.

Tyler stared at her for a second, then, with a sharp nod, took her information and stepped out onto the covered porch. She wasn’t worried about the police, for Lane Douglas had nothing to hide. While he talked to the officers, Lane tried to salvage the books, but there really was no hope. A water-damage sale was in order, and she’d just cut her losses as usual.

Like she’d done with her family.

Stay a Giovanni and live in a cage. Become Lane Douglas and live like a normal human being.

Hmm.

Tough choice.

Heiress to a winery or not.

Now if she could just get Tyler McKay out of her store without piquing his curiosity, she’d be fine. She’d spent the past year avoiding McKay—and anyone else in his family. There were quite a few, and they attracted the attention of the media like the Kennedys. And like the Giovannis. Tyler McKay was wealthy enough, affluent enough, to have traveled in the same social circles as her family. Not to mention that her face had once been plastered over every newspaper and tabloid in the country, and someone might recognize her.

Her identity had to stay a secret.

With the exception of her father, even her own family didn’t know where she was. She’d do just about anything to keep it that way.

The woman couldn’t be more chilling, Tyler thought, glancing back into the shop as the deputy filled out the report. She was rummaging in a box of books, and his gaze traveled from the round glasses and the reddish-brown hair falling out of its tight bun and drooping onto the collar of her sweater to her skirt, wet and hanging to ankles, hidden by what looked like combat boots.

She reminded him of a spinster schoolteacher, but there was something about her that was far from spinsterish. He couldn’t put his finger on it yet, but she had incredible eyes, deep-set, long-lashed and the color of Irish whiskey that those glasses couldn’t shield.

She was reserved, businesslike, but he had the feeling she was trying too hard. Tyler had never seen her before, which was strange. He’d thought he knew everyone in Bradford.

“I need to speak to Miss Douglas,” the cop said.

Tyler nodded and they stepped back inside. Cold rain turned the sky a little darker gray and dreary, but inside the house-turned-bookshop, it was warm and smelled like cinnamon. She wasn’t visible now, and he called her name.

She appeared from the back of the store with a tray of steaming coffee and cups.

“To take the chill off.” Lane told herself she didn’t have to invite friendship or anything, but she didn’t have to be rude to McKay. He knew everyone and everyone read books. So it was good for business.

Tyler took a cup, warming his hands.

The cop declined, asked her a few questions, then handed them each a copy of the report and left. Tyler tucked his copy in his jacket and sipped coffee.

Lane wished he would leave, too. The man unnerved her, and if the FBI’s constant questions about what she knew about her brother Angel’s alleged illegal business deals hadn’t done that, it was saying something. She’d just as soon not listen.

“How come I haven’t seen you around before?”

“Well, I sell books. Do you read?”

“Of course I do.”

A smile teased her lips and she peered at him through the round glasses. Tyler was struck again by the beauty of her eyes.

“Apparently not enough, Mr. McKay.”

Tyler grinned. “You’re still upset about the car.”

“No, not really,” she said. “Maybe I can get a new one out of it.” He liked the little smile she was trying not to show.

“It would have to be totaled for that.”

“Well, I could leave it there, and if you go driving again, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

He laughed, a soft rumble that matched the thunder outside. Just then the little bell above the door tinkled as a boy of about twelve entered the shop, shaking off the rain. Lane smiled at him.

“Man, what a downpour,” he said. “Hey, Mr. McKay.”

“Hi, Davis.”

The kid frowned out the window, inclining his head. “Is that your car all smashed up out there?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Aw, man, that’s an insult to a car like that.”

“It can be fixed.”

Lane glanced between the two. “Can I help you with something?”

The boy held up a plastic packet of flyers. “Winter Festival flyers. Can I put one in your window?”

“Sure.”

Setting down her cup, she crossed to the boy, gathering tape and a small towel as she went. She handed him the towel to dry his face and chatted softly with him as she put the flyer in the front window, asking him if the location was what he needed.

Tyler saw a different woman just then, one with kinder eyes than she’d had for him. He didn’t get it. There weren’t many women who could resist the McKay charm. Or so his mother told him. And he was turning his on high.

“See ya later, Mr. McKay.”

“Later, Davis.”

“Watch the traffic,” Lane said. “There are some reckless drivers out there.”

“Being the graceful victor is out of the question, huh?” Tyler said after the boy left.

“It’s not every day the town playboy slams into my poor defenseless car.”

“You forgave me, and who said I was a playboy?”

She let out a long-suffering sigh and walked behind the counter. “Who hasn’t, McKay?” She slid an extra flyer in front of her, reading the list of events and ignoring him. Which was next to impossible.

“Lies, I swear.”

Lane looked up. He was smiling, and she thought, he’s dangerous, get him out of here. “You needn’t defend yourself. I form my own opinions and though I know who you are, I don’t care what you do.”

“Intriguing,” he said. “A woman who doesn’t care what gossips have to say?”

She lifted her gaze, looking at him over the rim of her glasses. What did he know about gossips? A few locals musing about his love life? Hah. He should try life in the big leagues. When people in Outer Mongolia knew what you had for breakfast or what you wore to bed. Now that took gossip to a whole new level. And put it on the front page of a tabloid that every person in America who goes through a checkout line at the grocery store can see.

Oh, yeah. There was gossip and then there was gossip.

“Isn’t there someplace you should be?” she asked, anxious to get him out of her shop, out of her life. “Like work?”

Tyler felt something in him pitch by just looking into her eyes. She could probably give a man frostbite without even trying. And yet, something told him, it might be worth it just to see if he could start a fire in solid ice. “Nope.”

“Ahh, the life of Riley.”

“It’s raining,” he reminded her. “You won’t get many customers today.”

“You’d be surprised what people will do for a good book on a day like this. It’s perfect curl-up-and-read weather.”

He wouldn’t mind curling up right here. The stray thought surprised him and he blinked as if to catch it back. After all, she with her waterlogged-librarian look wasn’t exactly the stuff of dreams. But still…those whiskey eyes of hers continued to draw him in. Whether he wanted to be or not.

“Are you working the festival?” He pointed to the flyer she’d taken from the boy and was taping to her counter.

“No.”

Now that surprised him. The Winter Festival was the one time a year when every merchant in Bradford banded together. Good for the town, good for business. Plus, it was a hell of a lot of fun, with different events scheduled every day for a couple of weeks. People came from all over the state for it. “How come?”

“I chose not to.”

“Party pooper.”

She was trying not to smile again. He could tell.

“All the local businesses join in,” he said.

She arched a brow, still looking over the rims of her glasses. “The gas station does? The carwash?”

“You bet. Dennis at the gas station gives away tickets for a free carwash with every fill-up. And Mike at the carwash gives away ten dollars worth of gas with every wash and wax.” He took another sip of coffee and rocked back on his heels. “So how about it?”

“I sell books and I don’t do it from a vendor’s cart.”

“You sell coffee, too.” He gestured to the small coffee bar surrounded by cozy overstuffed chairs.

“Oh, sure, big contribution—mocha lattes.”

“On a cold afternoon, sure. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Who are you, the mayor?” she asked, shaking her head and smiling.

“Hmm.” He pretended to give that some thought. “Mayor McKay. Kinda like the sound of that.”

“Uh-huh. Why don’t you go to work, make more money?” She took the coffee cup from him midsip and set it behind the counter.

He blinked. “You show all your customers that charm?”

“I save it for the really big spenders.”

Tyler’s lips twitched. He loved her sense of humor. “You’ll go under in a month with that attitude.”

She scoffed. “I’ve been here over a year, McKay, and survived just fine.”

“Ah, but is surviving ever really enough?” he asked.

She gave him a look that said he’d just stepped into too-personal ground. “You don’t have to hang around, McKay. You’ve done your civic duty.”

“Hey, is it me you don’t like or the McKay name?”

The McKays. Wealthy, privileged. And he stood here thinking she was a struggling businesswoman. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she knew what life was like with unlimited funds. What it was like to be the talk of not only the town, but on two continents. Giovanni Wines. Suspected Mafia ties of money laundering, her sibling’s picture in the paper with some questionable businessmen. Then there was the sublime thrill of seeing her own face on the cover of a tabloid—and her career as a clothing designer ruined. All because reporter Dan Jacobs had said he loved her when he really only wanted to use her to get an “inside” story on her family. The worst part was that she’d loved him, and he’d used it to betray her.

She stared at the floor, her chest suddenly tight as a drum, as she pushed at the hurt still wedged in her heart. She had closed herself off because people she’d loved had lied. People hurt you, and didn’t care how much if they got what they wanted. People like Dan Jacobs.

Books, on the other hand, never wounded you so hard that you didn’t think you could ever get back up.

Books took you away…

“Miss Douglas?”

She looked up, forcing a smile.

Tyler frowned, wondering where she’d gone just then. “You okay?”

Her expression changed from brooding to falsely cheerful, and all it did was heighten his awareness of her. Which was bordering on overload. She had a regal quality about her, not arrogant, but dignified and sophisticated. And even the librarian clothes and glasses didn’t hide it from him.

“At the risk of sounding redundant, I’m fine.”

Tyler didn’t get the cold shoulder from women often, and he admitted it rattled him. It was suddenly a challenge to get a real smile out of her.

When he continued to stare, she said, “Shouldn’t you be calling a wrecker? Calling your office or your girlfriend?”

No, he thought, no girlfriend, or at least no one steady. Right now, he was having fun doing the love-’em-and-leave-’em-graciously game. Because not so long ago, he’d come damn close to saying “I do” to the wrong woman. A woman who’d wanted the McKay money, but not the man.

It had been two years and though it didn’t hurt anymore, the memory of how blind he’d been still stung. And the sudden flash reminded him that he would never know if a woman wanted him or a key to his family’s fortune.

“No girlfriend to call, thanks for asking. And I called the wrecker when I was talking to the deputy.” He tipped his head a bit and leaned on the counter, closing the space between them. “You’re real hot to get me out of here, aren’t you. Why is that?”

Lane kept right where she was, refusing to back off. It wasn’t a smart move. He smelled wonderful. Warm and spicy. And the brown leather jacket and tan shirt made him look downright yummy. She sucked in a breath that unfortunately brought his scent down deep inside her. “Unlike the idle rich, I have a business to run.”

Her voice was like smoke, low and throaty, and Tyler tried placing her accent. Not Southern for sure, but the region wasn’t definite, and it sounded slightly European sometimes.

“Mr. McKay?”

“Yes?”

“I believe your pocket is ringing.”

He blinked and reached for his cell phone.

“Fan club?” Lane asked.

He winked at her and her insides did a dance she’d almost forgotten. “Hello, Mom, yes, I’m fine.”

Lane smothered a laugh.

“Good grief, how did you hear about this so soon?” A pause and then he said, “Tell Mrs. Ashbury I’m fine. Yes, yes, I will on my way home.” He closed the phone. “I have to give her proof I’m not lying on a stretcher with my head split open.”

“I could accommodate you if you want some sympathy?” She hefted a resin statue of a gnome reading a book, her lips twitching with a smile.

“I’ll pass.” He chuckled and stepped away before she gave in to the urge to bean him. “Send me the bill for the books,” he said as he strode to the door.

“I will.”

“Or better yet, I’ll stop by tomorrow and pick it up.” Tyler somehow knew that would get her riled.

“The U.S. postal system is fine, Mr. McKay. It works for most people.”

Half out the door, Tyler grinned back at her. “I’m not most people, Miss Douglas.”

He shut the door and trotted down the steps, hailing a cab and leaving behind his wrecked car.

And Lane felt as if she’d just been warned. This wasn’t the end for Tyler McKay. And that, for her, was dangerous.

Two

Tyler leaned against the kitchen counter in his parents’ house and bit into a sandwich. Since the accident hadn’t left him bleeding on the side of the road, his mom allowed him to snitch it from her kitchen.

Good thing, because his own fridge didn’t have anything in it that wasn’t growing fuzz. He really should remember to shop and then actually stay home long enough to eat it.

“I can’t believe that you haven’t been in that bookstore before today.” His mother poured herself some hot tea.

“Have you?”

“Once, with Diana.”

His mother and her friend Diana Ashbury had known each other since they were in high school and were as close now as they’d been then. Tyler had grown up with Diana’s children and her son, Jace, was a good friend of his.

“So…what did you think of the owner. Diana shops there all the time. She adores Miss Douglas.”

“Adores?” Tyler almost choked on a sip of soda. He couldn’t imagine anyone adoring the Lane he knew. The woman was witty, yes, but she was very cool. And she had eyes that said, “Don’t even think about it,” and that just made him want to think about it.

“Oh, yes, Di says she can find any book and doesn’t charge extra for getting it.”

That was good business sense and Tyler appreciated that. Too bad Lane didn’t spend more effort on charm. Then again, maybe it was just him she didn’t like. “She isn’t participating in the Winter Festival.”

His mother looked up from stirring her tea. “Oh? How come?”

Tyler finished off the sandwich, and when he grabbed a dish towel to wipe his mouth, his mother tossed him a napkin and muttered, “I swear, Tyler McKay, your manners are terrible sometimes. I know I taught you better.”

“You did. Sorry.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I don’t know why she’s not joining in. I got the feeling she just wanted to be left alone.”

“Well, she’s fairly new to town and she should meet the other shopkeepers. Everyone talks about what a wonderful job she did restoring that house. And as a member of the historical society, I’m delighted. If she hadn’t restored it, the town council would have torn down that lovely old place.”

Tyler admitted the two-story house did look spectacular. Painted soft yellow with green shutters and door, it had a white wraparound porch with some curly fretwork in the eaves. But what killed him was that he hadn’t noticed it until today.

Had he had his face that deep in work not to see the simple things going on around him? He’d been working long hours lately. Getting McKay Enterprises into the big-league competition with larger construction companies had been his father’s dream before he died. His father had taken the business regional last year, and in another year Tyler would take the company statewide.

“Yes, I agree Ms. Douglas should join in,” his mother said, breaking into his thoughts. “Perhaps I’ll ask her myself. Diana is the festival chairperson, you know.”

“When is she not?” His mother and her friend headed nearly every committee that existed in Bradford, South Carolina.

“I’d rather you two didn’t march over there and instigate something.” Lane would blame him for it, he thought.

“Really? Why?” When he didn’t jump in with a response, his mother eyed him for a second, then her face lit up.

Oh, man.

Before he could stop her, she blurted, “You’re attracted to her!”

“No, of course not. Well, maybe. It’s hard to say.” Heck. He rubbed his face for a second. It was plain strange. Lane was definitely not his type, whatever his type was. But this was something he sure didn’t want to speculate about with his mother. “I don’t know her at all, but she doesn’t let anyone get close, that’s for sure.”

“Anyone—or you?”

Tyler hadn’t seen her with anyone else but Davis and to the kid she was kind. But to him…well, she’d practically kicked him out the door. “Me.”

“Oh, nonsense. You’re making assumptions, Tyler. You just met her. And let’s remember, you met her after wrecking her car. Not exactly the best first impression, son. But as I recall, she isn’t like the women I’ve seen you date before.”

“It wouldn’t matter. I’m not looking for a wife, so get that gleam out of your eye, okay?”

His mom made a face. “Clarice was never the woman for you. Can’t you get beyond it?”

“No, and you liked her.” It sounded like an accusation, even to him.

His mother frowned distastefully. “I tolerated her because you loved her.”

Well, this was news. “Good grief, Mom, why didn’t you say anything before?”

“It’s a mother’s duty to accept and love the woman her son loves.”

There was no doubt in his mind that she believed that bunk. And no doubt she’d meant well. “In the future, I’d like to hear your opinion.”

She blinked, obviously taken aback. “Why?”

“Because you’re a good judge of character, and besides, it might have saved me the humiliation of learning the truth when I did.”

The week of his wedding. Literally just hours before people were getting on planes to come witness the event. He’d been at a party that some friends were giving them when he heard Clarice say to one of her bridesmaids that she could “put up with anything, even him, for McKay money.” Tyler had ended his engagement in the middle of the party, taken back his grandmother’s ring and left on his honeymoon trip, alone. It still hadn’t been easy coming back to gossip. And he hadn’t told a soul what had happened except his best man—his brother Kyle—and his parents. They had a right to know the truth, but no one else.

He hadn’t cared what Clarice had told anyone. He’d heard enough of her lies to last an eternity, and he wasn’t rising to the bait to defend himself, either. As far as he was concerned, the door was closed on that part of his life. He wasn’t about to repeat the mistake by opening it again. Ever.

“It’s been nearly three years, Tyler.”

“Who’s counting? I’m enjoying myself, Mom, so leave it alone,” he said, then kissed the top of her head and was out the door before she had a chance to hunt him down and reopen the wound.

And just the reminder of that staggering humiliation told him he couldn’t trust his own judgment. Especially when his heart was in for the ride.

Lane curled up in an overstuffed chair, setting the teacup on the end table and wrapping herself in an afghan she didn’t really need. It was a process, she thought, preparing for a ritual evening of reading. Tea, blanket, soft lights and music. The scent of cinnamon cookies on the plate beside her teacup from the bakery next door. Simple pleasures.

She’d never had rituals before moving to Bradford. Never thought she wanted them, never thought how lonely she was, only how alone she wanted to be. In her old life she’d be getting ready for a late dinner and the theater. And turning away from flashbulbs, and microphones shoved in her face.

She shivered and pulled the afghan closer. Her apartment, above the bookshop, had four rooms with a small kitchen. Another kitchen was still downstairs, and she’d had its old breakfast area retooled for moments just like this. A place out of the store traffic where her customers could curl up and read for a bit, chat with friends, discuss a new book.

A small sound broke the silence.

She glanced over her shoulder toward her bedroom. “Hello, Ramses. Too wet outside to prowl?”

The coal-black cat purred, prancing toward her, then paused to rub his cheek against her foot. Satisfied that Lane knew he was gracing her with his presence, the cat lowered his bulk on the braided rug.

The phone rang, startling her. She blinked at it, thinking it might be her father calling to badger her again. At last she answered it.

“Hello, Lane.”

Tyler McKay. He was the last person she’d expected to call. “This is a private number. How did you get it? I should sue the phone company.”

“Can’t. I got your number from Diana Ashbury.”

“I’ll have to overcharge her for the next batch of books she buys.”

He laughed.

“What do you want, Mr. McKay?”

“First, for you to call me Tyler.”

“Will that make you go away?”

“Can’t bet on it. I’m calling to ask if you’ll help with some community service.”

“And what service might that be?”

“The children’s pageant.”

“Oh, no.” Lane shook her head as if he could see her. “I’ve never worked with children. Besides, I have no talent to contribute.”

“Come on, you can swing a hammer.”

“You mean at an actual nail?”

He laughed softly, it was an intimate sound, and for a second she wondered if he was in bed. “I love it when you talk tools.”

“You’re pathetic.” But the smile she wore was starting to hurt.

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you wear those ugly boots in your house?”

“No, they’re sitting on the back steps standing guard against the fashion police. They’re outlaws, you know.”

His chuckle melted through her blood, and she curled more deeply into the chair.

“Let me guess—you’re wearing flannel up to your throat.”

Lane looked down at the satin chemise and matching blood-red robe. “Yes, with little flowers on it and a pink bow. And they’re footie pajamas too. Now the point of this conversation is…?”

“Curiosity.”

“It killed the cat.” Ramses whined at her feet. “Sorry.”

“Are you talking to me?”

“No, to my cat, Ramses.”

“Why Ramses?”

“Because the Pharaohs worshipped cats and they have never let us forget it.”

His laughter was a quick short burst that made her smile.

“A woman with cats and flannel living alone has potential for a lonely life, Lane.”

“I guess I’m doomed, then. Should I break out the doilies?”

He chuckled again and Lane felt the sound coat her. “Not quite yet.”

“Why do you care?” she asked.

“You’re too sexy to be locked away.”

She blinked, looking down at her cat and mouthing “Sexy?” Only Tyler McKay would think combat boots and long drab skirts were meant to entice a man when they were meant to play down her looks and hide her identity.

“Do you need glasses?”

“I see fine…and I like what I see.”

She felt herself flush with excitement. “Good night.”

“No, it’s good night, Tyler,” he said patiently. “Say it. It won’t make you go up in flames.”

Feeling playful, she said in her sexiest throaty voice, “Good night, Tyler,” then hung up.

Torture goes both ways, she thought, and knew that would probably get her into the very trouble she was trying to avoid. Just the same, her insides were tickled, and she realized he was on some quest to learn more about her. While she was flattered beyond belief, she couldn’t let him that close.

If anyone learned who she really was, her neat little life would be over.

Lane glanced up as a customer came through the door. She recognized the designer suit—the Italian-milled fabric, the exceptional fit—before the woman in her recognized the man wearing it.

Okay, she was impressed, and she had to swallow to keep her jaw from dropping to the counter. Tyler McKay could have been one of her runway models at her design shows, he looked that good. A thought she was definitely keeping to herself.

“Is this proof you work for a living, or are you playing dress-up?” she said, gesturing at the suit. His crisp white shirt, she could tell, was an exquisite silk-and-cotton blend, and her fingers almost itched to inspect the seams and facings.

“I’m between appointments.”

He stopped at the counter, and Lane remembered the sound of his voice late last night. Soft and deep, wrapping around her and dragging her down. After the call, she couldn’t even concentrate on her book.

“What are you doing here again?”

“I brought your car.” He pointed out the window at the black vehicle sitting at the curb.

“That’s not my car, Mr. McKay.”

“I know. Yours was nearly an antique, and it’ll take a while to get parts. This is a loaner.”

It was black SUV. One of the smaller models and it looked brand-new.

“My insurance offers a loaner.”

“So does mine,” he said. “That’s it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Look, I’m at fault. My insurance pays.”

“That’s a McKay Enterprises car. I’ve seen them.”

“It might look like one, but it’s not.” He studied her for a second longer than she wanted. “You’re spoiling for an argument, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Can’t you tell by my tone?”

“If I knew you better…”

She gave him a thin look that said it wasn’t going to happen.

“Okay, stay a stranger, but you still need a car.” He dangled the keys.

“I have one and as soon as it’s repaired, I’ll—”

“—still have a piece of junk.”

Her chin tipped up, her lips twitching. “I like to think I’ve been driving cars with character.”

“That one was a bad seed, trust me. It’s time you made better friends.”

Her pride reared. “Do you dictate to everyone or just me?”

“If I thought I could, I’d try harder to get you to join the festival.”

Another thin look. “Don’t get off the subject,” she warned. “I don’t need your car or your money, McKay. I don’t want it, in fact.”

Tyler grinned. Big. And Lane felt her heart skip all the way to her throat and shiver with pleasure for a couple seconds. It made her light-headed. When was the last time she met anyone who smiled so much? Who was just plain happy with life?

Oh, gee, said a voice in her head. Doesn’t the fact that he’s worth millions have something to do with that? He didn’t have much to worry about, did he?

Money made people strange. But from her experience, it didn’t generate an attitude like his. Which she was still trying to figure out. Why was he flirting with her? Or was he just testing his charm on the homely girl? In her present lackluster state of dress, hair and makeup, she knew she wasn’t attractive. It was intentional. A goal to blend into the woodwork and not be noticed. The less recognizable she was, the better.

She’d been a designer with her own couture showrooms in Paris and Milan. She knew what clothing flattered, what hid, what exposed. Now she chose not to expose anything, using the wrong colors and styles, and wearing her normally short hair longer and whipped tight to her head. She wore glasses because she needed them, and she had a darling trendy pair upstairs in her apartment. Yet when she was in public, she wore round, plain, tortoiseshell glasses. They were too large for her face and the color of her eyes. Another good shield to hide behind.

“I’ve come to ask for community service again.”

“My store is my community service.”

“But the children,” he said, pouring a little whine into his voice.

Inside, she was cracking up over this guy. He made her want to smile, but he’d take the smile as encouragement. “That’s unfair.”

He shrugged. “I use what I can.”

“The last time I was with a child, I was one. Besides, the kids have parents to volunteer. PTA, bake sales. I really have nothing to offer.” It was sad but true. A couture designer wouldn’t be much good in a pie-baking contest.

The bell over the door tinkled and a woman stepped inside. She paused at the entrance, which was the foyer of the old house, and looked around. Inspecting a bit, Lane decided. She was slim and petite, her silver hair cut to perfection in a sleek bob. Her clothes, the next thing Lane focused on, were classic. Camel cashmere slacks and a navy blouse with a camel wool jacket. She’d draped a printed scarf over her shoulder and across her chest, secured with a small glittering pin. Elegant, Lane thought as the woman moved forward.

She stopped beside Tyler, and from Lane’s perspective, he seemed to loom over the woman.

“Hello, Mother,” he said in a tone tinged with annoyance. “Didn’t our discussion yesterday mean anything?”

“You dictated, I didn’t listen. I’m your mother, I’m allowed.” She gave him a backhanded smack in the middle of his chest. “Introduce us.”

Lane’s gaze shot to Tyler as she moved out from behind the counter. “Welcome, Mrs. McKay. I’m Lane Douglas. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Diana Ashbury talks of you often.”

“It’s a pleasure, dear. And call me Laura. I popped in once with Diana a while back. She loves your store.”

“She hides in the corner with a cup of coffee and the latest thriller.”

“I think she comes for the cappuccino and quiet more than the books.”

Lane offered them coffee, crossing into the old living-room area to make it. While she prepared the coffee, the noise from the steam pressure drowned out whatever Tyler and his mother were saying. A quick glance caught Tyler’s scowl and his mom shooing him off.

Mother and son approached the counter, still talking. About her.

“I was trying to convince Lane to join the festival, and seeing as that won’t work…yet, I’m trying to settle for help with the pageant.”

Lane glared over the counter at him. “So you brought out the big guns?”

He glanced briefly at his mother. “I knew it would be a heavy battle.”

“Have you no manners? No means no, McKay.”

“My mother was just commenting on my manners the other day.” He winked at his mom. “Must have been those college years out from under her iron thumb.”

“Tyler, behave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lane had to smile. At least someone could get him to back down.

“We could really use extra help,” Laura McKay said.

“She thinks that’s what parents are for.”

Lane pinned Tyler with a hard look. “I can speak for myself, thank you.” She looked at Laura as she came around the edge of the cappuccino bar with two froth-filled mugs. “I hope you understand that I really don’t want to spread myself so thin when I’ve just opened the store this year and I’m running it alone.”

Laura sipped her cappuccino, licking froth from her lip. “This is fabulous. No wonder Di takes refuge in here.” She set the cup down and looked at Lane. “I can understand that your business comes first. It should. However—” she paused, giving Lane a sweet smile “—we just need a few extra pairs of hands. The parents are helping as much as they can, and Tyler is in charge of making the sets.”

Lane’s gaze slid to his. “Volunteered or arm twisted?”

“A little of both,” he said, lifting his cup and licking the froth off the top.

Lane watched him, biting the inside of her mouth and wondering if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. One look in his eyes said, oh yeah. Every womanly instinct to outright flirt with this man screamed through her, telling her to get close enough to learn if that smiling mouth tasted as good as it looked. Another part of her brain was busy reminding her that she was alone for a reason. Another man had wanted something from her and hid it under the guise of friendship, then love.

Now there was Tyler. And people wanted her to work with him?

As if he knew her thoughts, his eyes darkened and seared her with a strange heat. Oh, so not good.

“Please, Lane,” Laura said softly. “The way you’ve decorated this house proves you have talent for design.”

“Thank you. It’s a hobby.” Lane almost choked. She hated lying, especially to this nice woman. She felt herself caving in. It was as if she had to pay for the lie, although the lie was to protect her.

Now that was twisted.

She surrendered to the guilt. “How long would you need me?”

Laura smiled again, pleased. “Just a couple of hours in the evening. The festival starts next week and we must be finished in time for the opening children’s show and play.”

“All right. A couple of hours after I close up shop for the night.” She ignored the grin spreading across Tyler’s face. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“No, the local businesses have contributed materials. Say seven o’clock at the theater?”

Lane agreed.

Laura said a quick goodbye and was out the door. Tyler stayed behind. Picking up his coffee again, he said, “The first session is tonight.”

“A promise is a promise, McKay. I’ll be there.”

He looked at his watch.

“You have to go? What a shame,” she said. “Take that car when you leave.” When she reached for his mug, Tyler latched onto her wrist.

Lane felt warmth burn through her skin to her blood. He let go, sliding his hand under the sleeve of her sweater and pulled her near.

Lane’s heart did a wild dance and she could barely swallow. “McKay.”

“Your skin is so soft,” he said.

“Good lotion.” His fingers played over her bare skin, and it was silly, it was just her arm, but Lane felt as if they were playing somewhere else entirely. And if he didn’t stop, she was going to yank him into the back room and try a kiss on for size.

He searched her gaze. “I don’t know what it is about you that’s driving me nuts, Lane Douglas, but I’m willing to wait to find out.”

“There’s nothing to learn, so it’ll be a long wait.”

He leaned closer, tipping his head, and Lane thought, Come on, kiss me.

“I’m a Southern boy.” She felt his warm breath on her lips. “We’re long on patience.”

“Tell that to the back end of my car.”

The alarm on his watch went off, and he clucked his tongue and eased back. He stared at her for a second longer, then releasing a heavy sigh, made an about-face and headed to the door. She looked down and saw the car keys on the counter.

“McKay, take these keys.”

He ignored her and reached for the knob.

“Tyler!”

He flashed her a look over his shoulder that said triumph. Then he was out the door and sliding into a matching black SUV.

“Talking to that man is like talking to wood,” she muttered, then picked up the keys. They were still warm from handling. She pocketed them and did what she did best. Ignored them. Ignored him.

It lasted all of ten seconds, and she dropped into a chair, plucking at her clothes and letting the buildup of steam in her system escape.

Oh, yes, that man.

Definitely dangerous.

Because Lane knew that she could fall for him, and there would be no getting back up this time.

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