It was nothing but chemistry

It was bound to happen to Alex eventually, considering the monklike existence he’d been living. But of all people, why did the chemistry have to happen with Lizzie Hamill?

He couldn’t explain it. She wasn’t his type. He’d never been attracted to unsophisticated women, or innocent smiles or uncontrollable red hair. Yet, the more he was around Lizzie, the stronger the attraction became. It had only been twelve hours since she’d burst into his life—how powerful would the attraction get if she stayed around longer?

Good God, he didn’t want to risk finding out.

Dear Reader,

May is the perfect month to stop and smell the roses, and while you’re at it, take some time for yourself and indulge your romantic fantasies! Here at Harlequin American Romance, we’ve got four brand-new stories, picked specially for your reading pleasure.

Sparks fly once more as Charlotte Maclay continues her wild and wonderful CAUGHT WITH A COWBOY! duo this month with In a Cowboy’s Embrace. Join the fun as Tasha Reynolds falls asleep in the wrong bed and wakes with Cliff Swain, the very right cowboy!

This May, flowers aren’t the only things blossoming—we’ve got two very special mothers-to-be! When estranged lovers share one last night of passion, they soon learn they’ll never forget That Night We Made Baby, Mary Anne Wilson’s heartwarming addition to our WITH CHILD…promotion. And as Emily Kingston discovers in Elizabeth Sinclair’s charming tale, The Pregnancy Clause, where there’s a will, there’s a baby on the way!

There’s something fascinating about a sexy, charismatic man who seems to have it all, and Ingrid Weaver’s hero in Big-City Bachelor is no exception. Alexander Whitmore has two wonderful children, money, a successful company….What could he possibly be missing…?

With Harlequin American Romance, you’ll always know the exhilarating feeling of falling in love.

Happy reading!

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Big-City Bachelor

Ingrid Weaver

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ingrid Weaver admits to being a compulsive reader who loves a book that can make her cry. A former teacher, now a homemaker and mother, she delights in creating stories that reflect the wonder and adventure of falling in love. When she isn’t writing or reading, she enjoys old Star Trek reruns, going on sweater-knitting binges, taking long walks with her husband and waking up early to canoe after camera-shy loons.

Ingrid recently received the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award for Best Romantic Suspense Novel.

Books by Ingrid Weaver

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

828—BIG-CITY BACHELOR

WHITMORE AND HAMMIL

Alex’s cooking tips—

1. Put spaghetti in pot and bring to boil. (Don't forget the water!)

2. When smoke alarm sounds, dinner is ready.

WHITMORE AND HAMMIL

Lizzie’s management tips—

1. Give bonus to staff members who share and play nicely together.

2. Ignore client tantrums, but offer oxygen if client turns blue.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Prologue

“We may have a slight problem, Alex.”

Leather groaned as Alexander Whitmore pushed away from his desk and leaned back in his swivel chair. The day couldn’t get any worse, could it? The presentation for the Starcourt account had bombed this morning. By noon the housekeeper had called with yet another threat to quit—this time the twins had painted her cat purple. Blood was throbbing at his temples in a prelude to one of his little-men-with-big-sledgehammers headaches, but somehow he forced himself to remain calm. Taking a deep breath, he regarded his lawyer warily. “How slight a problem?” he asked.

Jeremy Ebbet touched a hand to the knot of his tie and cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that Roland didn’t sign the papers before he…departed. It was so sudden, you see. No one could have foreseen this…occurrence.”

Roland. No. It wasn’t possible. The man was haunting him. “We had reached an agreement more than a week before the accident,” Alex said. “That was over a month ago.”

“Well, there was a letter of intent.” Jeremy repositioned his briefcase across his bony knees, pressing his feet together tightly at the ankles. His steel-rimmed glasses flashed opaque in the light from the window, giving the gaunt lawyer a distinctly insectoid appearance. “Unfortunately, when I met with Roland’s attorneys this morning I discovered that Roland didn’t sign the letter, either. He did initial the changes, so I’m sure he wanted to go through with the sale. The terms we had worked out were exceedingly generous.”

Generous? Alex ground his teeth. He would have been forced to liquidate more than forty percent of his assets in order to meet Roland’s exorbitant demands. But it would have been worth it to finally have complete control of Whitmore and Hamill, the company they had founded thirteen years ago.

Alex Whitmore and Roland Hamill. They were as different as two men could be. At first, the tension their conflicting management styles had created had been good, providing a stimulating, electric environment that contributed to their rapid success. With Roland’s flamboyance and Alex’s solid dependability, Whitmore and Hamill had become one of the busiest advertising agencies in Manhattan.

Yet as their success had grown, so had Roland’s restlessness. He’d gradually withdrawn from the day-to-day running of the business, leaving the tedious responsibility of making money to Alex. Aside from swooping in every now and then to pick up his half of the profits and exercising his fifty percent control by hiring an assortment of loose cannons and prima donnas, Roland hadn’t been part of Whitmore and Hamill for more than two years. The buyout had been inevitable.

But then Roland Hamill had tried to race a freight train to a crossing and had lost.

Alex raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the confused emotions that arose whenever he thought of Roland. Analyzing his feelings was something Alex had never had the time nor the inclination to do, yet he knew that he felt the loss of his partner on more than a business level. Sure, he’d wanted to be rid of him, but not like this.

It was a senseless death. Reckless, irresponsible and completely avoidable. And spectacular. Like most things about Roland.

“That fifty percent is mine,” Alex said, clenching his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said, holding up a copy of the agreement. “Without a signature on this paper, we would have a difficult time proving our case in court.”

“In court? It won’t come to that, will it?”

“For the sake of the business, we should try to avoid a legal challenge at all costs.”

Alex stretched forward and picked up the paper by one corner. If only he’d insisted that Roland sign the paper before he’d left that day. If only it hadn’t been foggy and the road hadn’t been slick. If only the freight train had reached that crossing ten seconds later.

If only Alex had followed his instincts and had said no to Roland Hamill thirteen years ago.

But Alex rarely allowed himself to follow his instincts. He didn’t act impulsively or let spontaneity interfere with logic. All that was better left to the Rolands of the world.

So even though he wanted to crush the useless paper in his fist and pitch it across the room, even though he wanted to kick something, hard, instead he controlled his frustration and scanned the printed lines once more, hoping he would find some way to salvage this mess. “What about our original partnership agreement?” Alex asked. “Can’t I get control through that?”

“I checked the contract very carefully before I came here today.”

“And?”

“Since all the original loans have been paid off, Roland owned his shares outright. They are considered part of his estate.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What happened to his estate?”

“He bequeathed the entire thing to his last surviving blood relative.”

“I thought he didn’t have any family. No one came to the funeral.”

“Evidently there had been a falling out three decades ago.”

“Knowing Roland, that doesn’t really surprise me,” Alex muttered.

“It took the entire three weeks since his accident to track down and verify his beneficiary. Clarke, Parker and Stein, who are acting as Roland’s executors, notified her only yesterday.”

“Her?”

“A niece.” Jeremy shuffled his papers again and traced the name that was printed on the top one. “A Miss Elizabeth Hamill of Packenham Junction, Wisconsin. As I understand it, she is the only child of his deceased older brother.”

The hammering in Alex’s temples spread to the back of his head. Had he really thought the day couldn’t get any worse? “Do you mean to tell me that half my company, fifty percent of this business, is now owned by some stranger in Hicksville?”

“Uh, Packenham Junction. It’s a dairy farming area. Evidently they’re famous for their cheese.”

“Cheese. Cheese?”

“And dairy products.”

“If he wasn’t already dead, I might kill him myself,” Alex muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Roland. I think he did this deliberately.”

“As a matter of fact, he did. There was no question of his competence at the time he made his will. Once it is out of probate and all the appropriate papers are signed, Miss Hamill will be…uh…”

“My new partner.”

“Correct.”

Alex tossed the useless agreement onto his desk and tightened his hand into a fist. “I don’t suppose she knows the advertising industry? Has a degree in business? Experience in marketing?”

“I’m sorry, Alex. I haven’t had the opportunity to investigate her background. We only became aware of her existence this morning.”

Alex rose slowly, moving with the unnerving grace and the deceptive patience of a big cat. With a sound disconcertingly close to a growl, he paced across the room. He looked at the framed awards that decorated the wall, testimony to the life he’d built. He’d come a long way since he’d scrawled his plans on a grimy basement windowpane.

Success bought wealth, and wealth bought security. Not just for him, but for his sons. The twins would never have to go through what he did. They’d never have a moment’s worry about the food they ate or the clothes they wore. Their playroom alone was larger than the place he’d lived in as a child. There was nothing they didn’t have. And once complete control of Whitmore and Hamill was in his grasp, their future would be assured.

“I don’t care if she’s a Nobel laureate in economics,” he said finally. “I won’t share my company with another Hamill.”

Jeremy cleared his throat. “But according to the law—”

“We’ll make her an offer.”

“Excuse me?”

“For Roland’s shares. Make her an offer as soon as possible.”

“And if she won’t sell?”

“We’ll soften her up first. Woo her. Dazzle her. Do whatever it takes. But we need to move quickly before she has a chance to consider alternatives.” He strode to the window and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll approach this like one of our campaigns.”

“That would solve our problem, wouldn’t it?”

“And it would also make Miss Elizabeth Hamill a very wealthy woman.”

Jeremy snapped his briefcase shut. “I’ll get started on this right away.”

“Fine. Keep me informed.”

“I certainly shall. But in the event that we aren’t successful…”

Alex twisted around, fixing the lawyer with a steady glare. “She’ll sell.”

“Well, if she’s anything like her uncle…”

Alex pressed his fingertips against his temples. “God, let’s hope not. There couldn’t be two of them in the world, could there?”

Chapter One

Curling her fingers around the ends of the armrests, Lizzie Hamill counted backward from ten, willing herself to turn her head when she reached zero. Statistics showed that this was the safest form of travel possible. People did it all the time. The laws of aerodynamics weren’t about to be repealed. It was downright cowardly not to look out the window at least once.

“Two,” she whispered. “One.” She took a deep breath. “Zero.” Nothing happened. “Zero,” she repeated, lifting her hands to her cheeks and forcing her head to move.

Air rushed from her lungs in a high-pitched squeak. There was so much sky. Bluer than a morning in January, wider than the horizon from Hanson’s Bluff, brighter than a sunrise on the ripples at the bend of the creek. It was so vast, so…awesome. How could anything be so beautiful and so terrifying at the same time?

Heart beating in a hard lump in her throat, Lizzie stared, fascinated despite herself. She was thirty years old and this was her first time in an airplane. She had expected to be nervous, had every right to be nervous, and yet…

And yet, it was the same sky she had seen every day of her life, the same one that arched over the house on Myrtle Street. Why should she be afraid of it just because she was seeing it from a different viewpoint?

Gradually, her pulse began to steady. There was a confusing mix of emotions churning inside her. Along with the fear was something else, something unfamiliar. It was a stretching, restless kind of itch that she couldn’t identify, as if she were responding to…what? Challenge? Adventure?

Hardly. She was the least adventurous person she knew. She was Auntie Liz, good old Lizzie, always available to baby-sit the kids or whip up ten pies for the church bake sale. Until now, the most adventuresome thing she’d done had been to sneak nine items through the eight-items-or-less line.

Yet here she was on a plane. Not just any plane, but one that was taking her to New York City. Could this really be happening?

She dropped her hands, slowly leaning forward until the tip of her nose touched the glass. The land spread out beneath her like a quilt that had been washed too many times, its colors mellowed, its stitching puckered into hills and valleys. In stately slow motion, it rolled past, indifferent and unaware.

And so very, very far away.

Lizzie felt her stomach roll. She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast this morning. Bad move. Considering what she was going to be facing when the plane finally landed, she should have girded herself with a five-course meal. Lord knew she could have afforded it.

She was an honest-to-goodness heiress.

Well, as much of an heiress as Packenham Junction had ever produced. It was still difficult to believe, but the lawyers assured her there’d been no mistake. Her Uncle Roland Hamill, the black sheep of the family, the man whose name hadn’t been spoken above a whisper in all her growing years, had left his entire estate to the niece he had never met.

Poor Uncle Roland. She’d been saddened to learn of his death, but it was a distant sadness, not the heart-wrenching grief she’d felt when her parents had died. She knew almost nothing about him. There hadn’t been any photographs of him in the family album, although there had been some boyhood pictures of her father that had obviously had sections torn off. What had driven him away from his home? Why had her father hated him so much?

And what on earth was she going to do with all the money?

Well, not all that much money. His lawyers had already handled the sale of Uncle Roland’s condominium and his furniture, but most of the proceeds had gone toward paying his debts.

And that was a shame. Lizzie’s stepsister, Jolene, was pregnant again, and with the sporadic nature of Tim’s work, they could use some money. Zack, her youngest stepbrother, was due to start college next fall and Benjamin, the oldest, had confessed that business at the cheese factory had been steadily declining. Despite their circumstances, though, her adoptive siblings, true to the stubborn nature of the entire Pedley clan, had been adamant about not taking any of her inheritance.

“It’s yours, Lizzie,” Jolene had said on the drive to the airport this morning. As usual, the task of family spokesperson had fallen to her. “For once in your life, you have something that’s just for you.”

“But I couldn’t possibly—”

“Yes, you can. Your uncle wanted you to have it.”

“I feel weird about it, though. I mean, why should he pass everything on to me when we didn’t even know each other?”

“Well, who else was there? He never married, never had children of his own, right?”

“Right.”

“So why are you still so hesitant? It’s a wonderful opportunity.”

“I know, but it’s all been so sudden.”

“It’s just like a fairy tale, Auntie Liz,” Marylou said breathlessly, leaning forward to grasp the top of Lizzie’s seat. She blew a pink bubble and popped it noisily against the roof of her mouth. “The good princess, struggling to make ends meet, is suddenly transformed by the wave of a magic wand and is whisked away to an enchanted kingdom.”

“I’m going to New York, not Never-Never-Land,” Lizzie said, shaking her head at the irrepressibly whimsical seven-year-old. “And working at the day care center isn’t exactly sweeping up cinders.”

“But Mom’s your stepsister,” Marylou continued, her eyes sparkling as she expanded the fantasy.

“Mmm. That’s true. Do you think we could call her evil, though?”

“She makes everyone eat broccoli.”

“That’s true, too.” She glanced at Jolene. “You evil thing, you.”

“I knew all those bedtime stories you read my kids would warp their minds,” Jolene muttered under her breath as she fought to steer the old station wagon around a bend in the road. “But getting back to our topic, we were talking about your inheritance.”

Lizzie sighed. “I still don’t know what I’ll do with it if I don’t share it with the rest of you.”

“We’ll survive just fine. It’s you we’re concerned about,” Jolene said. “After all the years you’ve devoted to taking care of other people, it’s about time you had a chance to focus on yourself.”

“Maybe you could go shopping,” Marylou said helpfully. “There’s this really cool green dress with sparkles on it that’s in the window of McBride’s.”

Lizzie smiled wryly. “I know the one. Thanks for the suggestion, but I’m not sure how well sequins would stand up to a roomful of three-year-olds with finger paints.”

“There won’t be any three-year-olds or finger paints where you’re going,” Jolene said. “And I think it would be a great idea to do some shopping while you’re away.”

“This is a business trip, remember?”

“Sure, but it’s your business you’re going to visit.”

“I don’t think that part has quite sunk in yet, either. What on earth am I going to do with fifty percent of Whitmore and Hamill?”

“Run the company, of course.”

At Jolene’s deadpan comment, Lizzie burst into laughter. “Oh, now that’s almost as good as working at the day care in sequins,” she said when she caught her breath. “Me? A business tycoon?”

Jolene didn’t join in her laughter. “Why not? You’re smart enough to do whatever you put your mind to.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but—”

“You know it’s true. You started up your own business already, didn’t you?”

“That’s different. The day care is just organized babysitting.”

“It’s a business,” Jolene insisted. “And who has been helping Ben with his books for the past six years?”

“I always helped him with his math homework. It’s just a hobby.”

“Hah. You managed to run Dad’s farm when you were only nineteen. Why, if you hadn’t turned down that scholarship so you could stay and take care of us—”

“That’s ancient history, Jolene. The family needed me, and I don’t have any regrets. I’m perfectly happy just as I am.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Are you?”

“Of course,” she said quickly. Automatically. Because she already knew from experience how useless regrets could be. One of the most painful phrases ever spoken was if only. So she didn’t speak it.

“Do you really own a company, Auntie Liz?”

“Well, part of it.”

“Hey, cool.”

“I’ll bring you some of their stationery for a souvenir, okay?”

As the engines droned on and the miles slipped past beneath her, Lizzie thought about her promise to her niece. She didn’t know much about the advertising business, but she was pretty sure that owning half the company involved more than lending her name to the letterhead. If all that was expected of her was her name, Mr. Whitmore wouldn’t have arranged this trip in the first place, would he?

That lawyer, Jeremy Ebbet, had been so kind over the phone, expressing his sympathy over the loss of her uncle and offering to help her sort out all those bothersome legal technicalities of inheriting the partnership, as he’d put it. He’d said that Mr. Whitmore had personally asked him to invite her to visit their office, insisting the entire staff was eager to meet Roland’s niece. It must be true, since Mr. Whitmore was paying for her plane ticket and even her hotel room.

And as if that weren’t enough, yesterday an extravagant bouquet of flowers had been delivered to the house on Myrtle Street, compliments of that nice Mr. Whitmore.

Relaxing back into her seat, Lizzie speculated about the owner of the other name on the Whitmore and Hamill letterhead. Uncle Roland would have turned fifty this fall, so his partner was probably around the same age. Not for the first time, she tried to imagine a face to go with the name, but the image that popped into her head was a cross between a white-bearded fairy godmother and Santa Claus in a three-piece suit.

He’d sent her flowers. Flowers. That was another first. She wasn’t the kind of woman to whom men sent flowers. A flower pot, maybe. Once while she’d still been seeing Bobby, he’d shown up at her doorstep with a foot-high cedar tree, its roots dripping clods of fresh earth on her welcome mat. She’d smiled and thanked him, of course. It had been a sensible gift, since she’d been looking for something to plant beside the fence in the side yard. But still, there was something so wonderfully impractical about flowers. And sequins.

She shifted, tugging down the hem of her short navy-blue skirt. What did she need with sequins? This suit was her best outfit, one she’d managed to keep in good condition for several years by saving it for special occasions. Like the weddings of her friends, and the christenings of her friends’ children, and all the other events that marked the milestones of life. Of other people’s lives.

Not that she minded, she thought hurriedly. She loved her job, her friends and her family. She loved seeing them happy, and hearing their children call her “Auntie Liz.” She had finally come to terms with the fact that no one was going to call her “Mom.”

She really was perfectly happy, no matter what Jolene said, right?

But if that was the case, why had she jumped at the chance to make this trip? Why had she spent the past week training not one but two women to take her place at the day care? Why did she get this heart-pounding, palm-sweating feeling each time she thought about her uncle’s…no, her company?

The plane banked in a wide, slow turn and the window tipped toward the ground. Lizzie braced her hand against the side of the fuselage and craned her neck to see the new view that unfolded. Her stomach didn’t roll quite as badly this time.

Just like any new experience, once you got the hang of it, flying wasn’t so bad after all.

The flight was forty minutes late by the time it landed at La Guardia. Tinged with gray, bleak as a closed barn door, the airport spread in drab determination across the patched asphalt. Inside the terminal, the air was thick with humidity and laced with the babble of strangers. Everyone appeared to know exactly where they were going and were in a heck of a hurry to get there, so Lizzie hitched the strap of her carry-on over her shoulder and let the stream carry her along to the baggage claim.

“Oh, Lord love a duck,” she whispered when she caught sight of the uniformed man standing beside the glass doors. Even though they didn’t have anything like this in Packenham Junction, she’d watched enough TV to recognize an honest-to-goodness limousine chauffeur when she saw one. And he was holding up a neatly lettered sign with her name on it.

That nice Mr. Whitmore had said that he’d arrange to have someone meet her flight, but she hadn’t expected anything quite so fancy. Dragging her suitcase behind her, she hurried to claim her ride before the limousine turned into a pumpkin.

The hotel room that had been reserved for her turned out to be a suite with a carpet that was thick enough to swallow small animals. There was a dazzling bouquet of flowers on the desk in the sitting room and another on the long, low dresser in the bedroom. And as if that weren’t enough to make her head spin, on the round coffee table in front of the couch there was a huge basket loaded with fresh fruit and a bottle of wine with a glittering gold bow, all compliments of Alexander Whitmore.

What an exceptionally generous man that Mr. Whitmore must be. He was being so kind to the partner he didn’t even know, what a wonderful relationship he must have had with her uncle.

One hour later, after a hair-raising trip in a taxi and an elevator ride that made her ears pop, Lizzie finally arrived at the thirty-sixth floor of the glass-and-steel tower that housed the offices of Whitmore and Hamill. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, pleased that she didn’t have to resort to counting backward this time, she moved across the reception area and stopped in front of a semicircular desk.

A slim, ruthlessly blond woman who looked as if she could have just stepped from the pages of Cosmopolitan smiled politely. “Good afternoon.”

Lizzie clasped the worn handle of her best purse and smiled back. “Hi.”

“May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Whitmore.”

The woman traced a lethal-looking red fingernail down the list in front of her. “And your name?”

How long had it been since she’d been someplace where people didn’t know her? She wouldn’t have needed to identify herself to Mabel at the Packenham Clinic, and her dentist’s wife always greeted her by name on the rare occasions she nerved herself up to go for a checkup. But this was a different place. A different world, according to Marylou.

“Miss?”

“I’m Lizzie Hamill.”

There was a strangled gasp. “Miss Elizabeth Hamill?”

She nodded.

The woman pressed a button on the blinking array in front of her, lifted a telephone receiver to her ear and spoke quickly before hurrying around the desk to Lizzie’s side. “Please, come with me. I’ll show you directly to the conference room. Mr. Whitmore’s been expecting you.”

Treating her with all the deference due visiting royalty, the receptionist, who said her name was Pamela, ushered Lizzie toward a pair of doors at the other end of a wide hall. Assuring her that Mr. Whitmore was on his way, Pamela waited until Lizzie stepped inside, then closed the doors discreetly, leaving her alone.

Lizzie glanced around. Conference room? The place was long enough to double as a bowling alley if they got rid of the table. There were enough chairs here to accommodate a Pedley family reunion, although she doubted whether the place would look quite as pristine once they were through with it. She leaned over the table, checking her reflection in the mirror-polished surface, then gave one of the swivel chairs a spin.

Framed posters decorated the walls, many of them scenes from familiar commercials. She recognized the neon colors of a soft-drink ad and the desert landscape that provided the background for a line of luxury cars. Dominating it all, though, was the elegant sign at the other end of the room. There, on the wall, engraved on a huge brass plaque in letters as long as her forearm, was…

“My name,” she breathed.

Well, her uncle’s name.

Pursing her lips into a soundless whistle, she walked the length of the gleaming table and touched her fingertips to the scrolling letters. Even though she wasn’t the Hamill the sign had been made for, seeing it still gave her a thrill. No, it was more complicated than a thrill. It was a restless, stretching kind of tickle, like the one she’d felt on the plane. It was as if that unacknowledged part of her was still responding to challenge and adventure.

Run the company.

Her mouth quirked as Jolene’s outrageous comment came back to her. Ridiculous. Tracing the outline of her name was as close as she was going to come to the kind of person her Uncle Roland must have been.

The doors at the other end of the room clicked open. Lizzie used her sleeve to rub her fingerprints off the sign and turned around. At her first sight of the man whose tall frame filled the doorway, she splayed her hand over the letters once more, only this time it was for balance.

With the purposeful, controlled tread of a prowling animal, he moved closer. No, he was too civilized to be compared to an animal, wasn’t he? His shoes gleamed with a polish as glossy as the table, and his charcoal suit and snow-white shirt were as crisp as a new dollar bill.

Lord, he was too good to be true, she thought, trying not to stare. No man really could have hair that thick and black, or eyes that seductively brown, or cheekbones that strong or a jaw that square. His nose was perfect, straight, strong and regal. He smiled, and masculine lines in the shape of twin brackets framed his perfect mouth. His teeth were perfect, too. And as if to ensure that all that perfection wouldn’t get monotonous, there was a dimple in his chin.

He stopped in front of her and held out his hand. “Welcome to New York, Miss Hamill.”

His voice was as impressive as his appearance. It was deep and rich, with the polish of aged mahogany and the power of distant thunder. It was a voice that would be equally at ease commanding a legion of knights on horseback or murmuring incantations over a love potion.

She cleared her throat, certain there was a frog in it somewhere. “Hello,” she croaked. She dropped her hand from the sign and extended it tentatively, uncertain whether she wanted to risk destroying this hallucination by trying to touch it.

“I’m Alexander Whitmore,” he said, enclosing her fingers in a warm, firm and indisputably real grip.

Alexander Whitmore? No. He couldn’t be. This man was at least one and a half decades away from fifty, no more than a few years older than she was. He didn’t look old, or kindly. Or anything as bland as nice. “Mr. Whitmore?”

“Please, call me Alex,” he said in that love-potion voice.

“Alex,” she repeated like a tongue-tied idiot, although her tongue was feeling too thick and clumsy to do anything as agile as tying itself in a knot.

This was her partner? This man with the bedroom-brown eyes and toothpaste-ad smile was the man behind the name that was linked to hers? The man who had sent her flowers? Twice? And wine?

Of all the things that had happened in the past few hours—heck, in the past few weeks—this topped them all. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe in another second she would wake up to the sound of her alarm clock and her neighbor’s yappy poodle. Yes, it had to be a dream. What other explanation could there be? No living, breathing man could actually look like…that.

Or maybe it was more than a dream. Maybe, as Marylou had said, Lizzie really had managed to fall into a fairy tale.

She must have. Of course. It was the only reasonable explanation.

Because if this was a fairy tale, then she had just come face-to-face with an honest-to-goodness Prince Charming.

IT WAS ALL working like a charm, Alex thought, holding on to his smile as he extricated his hand from Miss Hamill’s grip. So far she had been cooperating beautifully. The campaign that he and Jeremy had planned was off to a flying start. And from the starry-eyed look on her face, his new partner was well on her way to being thoroughly softened up. Good God, it was going to be almost too easy. Like taking candy from a baby.

He sidestepped the burst of conscience that followed that thought by reminding himself he would be doing her a favor. Candy wasn’t good for babies. Besides, why should he feel sorry for her? She was a Hamill, wasn’t she?

Yes, she was a Hamill. Of that there was no doubt. She had the same uncontrollable red hair as her uncle, although she’d made a valiant effort to confine it into a knot at the back of her head. She had the same devilish arch to her eyebrows, although naturally hers were a narrower, feminine version. There were echoes of Roland in her broad forehead and her pointed chin, too, but the rest of her face was uniquely hers.

She poked at a strand of hair that had corkscrewed loose from its knot. “Mr. Whitmore?”

“Alex,” he corrected gently. “May I call you Elizabeth?”

“Well, sure. If you want.” She pressed her lips together and appeared to be wrestling with her tongue. “But most people call me Lizzie,” she burst out.

He watched as a blush spread over her cheeks. It gave her a wholesome, fresh-from-the-farm appearance. Damn, she wouldn’t last a day in the ruthless environment of the business world. He definitely would be doing her a favor by making sure she returned to Hicksville as soon as possible. “Lizzie,” he said.

“Yes?”

“You wanted to ask me something?”

“Oh.” She chewed briefly on her lower lip. She had full lips and a generous mouth that looked as if it were perpetually on the verge of a smile. “Oh, not really ask you, I guess.”

He waited, watching with interest while her deepening blush spread to the roots of her hair. When was the last time he’d seen a woman blush, or known one who was even capable of blushing?

“I wanted to thank you for the flowers,” she said finally. “And the fruit and the wine. I didn’t try the wine yet, but I’m sure it’s really good.”

“It was the least I could do, considering how you’ve traveled all the way here to visit us. I want you to feel welcome.”

“Oh, I do. You’ve been so kind.”

Kind? If she was impressed by those throwaway gestures, persuading her out of her shares was going to be even easier than he’d hoped. “Please accept my condolences over the loss of your uncle.”

“Thank you.”

“His death was so unexpected, it must have come as quite a shock.”

“I’d never met my uncle,” she said, glancing toward the wall behind him. “It’s a shame, but you would have known him much better than I did, being his partner and everything.”

“Roland was a memorable character.”

“Did he think up those ads?”

Alex didn’t need to look at the posters to give her an answer. “No, unfortunately your uncle didn’t take an active role in the company for the last few years. Jeremy will be able to explain all of that to you later.”

“Jeremy Ebbet, your lawyer?”

He nodded. “But we have some time before we have to wade through all the legal business, Lizzie. Would you be interested in seeing the rest of the office?”

She hesitated for only a moment before her mouth gave in to the smile that had been hovering. “Thanks, I’d like that.”

The smile took him off guard. It dimpled her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. And it was so warm and innocent and genuine, it zinged right past his brain to stir an unexpected, unwelcome and unmistakably masculine response.

The reaction jarred him. He shouldn’t be feeling anything at all for Lizzie Hamill. He never let emotions interfere with business, and this was purely a business relationship, one that he hoped to terminate as soon as possible.

She turned away, and despite his best intentions, his gaze dropped. The loose-fitting blue suit didn’t reveal much about the rest of her body, but from what he could see as she walked toward the door, his new partner had an astoundingly shapely pair of legs.

He knew he shouldn’t even be noticing, but he nevertheless found himself taking in the view, from her trim ankles to the beginnings of her luscious thighs. His gaze paused on the vulnerable, pale skin at the backs of her knees and he stared, oddly transfixed.

For a crazy instant, he wondered what it would be like to touch her there, to stroke his fingertips along those tender hollows. How would she react if he did? Would she freeze him with a look, the way Tiffany used to? Would she slap him with a harassment suit?

Or would another blush spread across her cheeks? Would those devilish green eyes sparkle with interest? Would her incredibly expressive mouth move into another smile?

What was the matter with him? It must be stress. The future of the company, the security he’d planned for his children, it all depended on his ability to persuade Lizzie out of her shares. Whether she knew it or not, she was his adversary.

So he simply wouldn’t allow himself to be affected by her smile or her legs or her wholesome attractiveness. Right. Discipline and control, that’s what was necessary to keep the company running smoothly. That’s what kept his life running smoothly.

The only aspect of Miss Lizzie Hamill that he could consider attractive was the fifty percent of his company that she owned.

And the only part of her body that he was concerned about was the hand that would sign over her shares.

Chapter Two

“And this is my office,” Alex said, holding open a door.

Lizzie stepped inside eagerly, knowing this was the culmination of her guided tour of Whitmore and Hamill. Maybe now they would get down to business and she’d learn what her responsibilities in this company would be. Besides lending her name to the letterhead, that is.

For the past hour or so Alex had ushered her around the entire complex layout of the thirty-sixth floor. They had progressed from meeting rooms to the tape editing rooms and the layout studio and then on to an array of individual offices ranging from windowless cubbyholes to spacious corner rooms.

As Alex had introduced her to the rest of the staff, she’d been astounded by the number and the variety of the people who worked here. She met a few fashion plates who could have been clones of Pamela the receptionist, and she also met some genuinely friendly people who had claimed to have been very fond of her uncle. It had been a pleasant experience, since overall the staff had treated her with the same polite hospitality that Alex had been displaying.

Their last stop had been the office her uncle had used, but there had been little to see there—Alex had already explained that Roland hadn’t been involved with the company for a few years. Lizzie had lingered, hoping to find some clue to the character of the man she’d never known, but the shelves and the desk were bare, giving away nothing that could begin to satisfy her growing curiosity.

Walking into Alex’s office now, Lizzie admitted to herself that her uncle wasn’t the only partner of Whitmore and Hamill that she was curious about.

“Why don’t you relax for a while?” Alex suggested, pausing beside the door. “I’ll ask Rita to make us some coffee while we wait for Jeremy.”

Lizzie smiled and agreed, pleased that her tongue seemed to have recovered fully from its initial paralysis.

Alex slipped out of the office with the same animal grace that characterized all his movements. His voice drifted back through the doorway as he spoke quietly with the dour, middle-aged woman he’d introduced as his secretary. Even though Lizzie couldn’t make out the words, she tilted her head, simply enjoying the sound. No matter how often she heard him speak, his words still evoked thoughts of spells and fairy tales.

She might never get used to his appearance, either. What normal woman would? Especially one whose last suitor had considered a ripped-out cedar tree to be romantic.

Hold on there, girl, she cautioned herself. This was her business partner. Their association had happened literally by accident. Just because she had trouble keeping her imagination in check didn’t mean that she had to let him know about it. Prince Charming. Lordy, he’d think she was a complete fool if he ever knew the thoughts she’d been entertaining about him.

Lizzie turned from the door and walked slowly around the room, pausing to read the framed certificates that attested to awards of excellence that the company had won. Her company. Whether it was deserved or not, she felt a surge of the same kind of pride she’d felt on seeing the plaque with her name.

It’s yours. For once in your life, you have something that’s just for you.

Well, it wasn’t all hers. Fifty percent of it was Alex’s. Clasping her hands behind her back, she moved toward the massive L-shaped oak desk that dominated the spacious office. There was a computer set up on one side and an area for paperwork on the other. No clutter marred the polished surface, though. Everything was neatly aligned, from the gold pen set and the leather-trimmed blotter to the telephone that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a space shuttle. Even the picture frame was angled so that it was parallel to the pen set.

Picture? After a quick glance at the empty office doorway, Lizzie moved closer and picked up the frame to get a better look. To her surprise, it was a photograph of a pair of boys. Brothers, perhaps even twins, judging by the smiles that were reflections of each other. They both had black hair and dimples and were completely captivating. Almost as captivating as…

Who? Their uncle? Their father? What relation were these children to Alex? They had to be related somehow. There was a strong resemblance to him, not only in their coloring but in their expressions. Even though the boys appeared to be no more than five years old, there was a definite twinkle in their eyes that would probably develop into full-blown charm by the time they grew up.

Lizzie felt herself smile in response.

“Rita reminded me it’s getting late,” Alex said, striding into the office with two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. “We’ll try to wrap up our business with Jeremy as quickly as possible.”

“That’s fine with me.” She glanced up. “Who are these adorable kids?”

He hesitated when he saw what she was holding. “They’re my sons.”

“I can see the resemblance. What are their names?”

“Jason and Daniel. Jason’s the one on the left.”

“They really are adorable. How old are they?”

“They’ll be five in a few months.”

Her smile grew. “Twins. I figured that. We have a pair of twin girls in the day care center where I work. They’re always full of mischief, but they’re only three so the mischief isn’t that hard to contain.”

“You sound as if you enjoy your work.”

“I love it. I’m a sucker for kids, always have been.” She replaced the photograph on his desk and reached to take the cup he was holding out to her.

He moved the photo she had replaced, realigning it so that it was parallel to the pen set, then guided Lizzie to the sitting area in front of the corner window. He waited until she had settled comfortably into one of the deep burgundy armchairs before taking the matching one across from her. “So, how long have you worked in the day care business, Lizzie?”

“Almost four years now.”

“And before that?”

“Oh, I worked at the Packenham Dairy and then helped my stepbrother Benjamin at the cheese factory.”

He sipped his coffee slowly, watching her over the rim of his cup. “Cheese,” he repeated.

She nodded. “Pedley Cheese. He couldn’t afford to keep me on, so that’s why I started up the day care center.”

“That’s an interesting switch. What made you decide on day care?”

“It seemed to come naturally. Like I said, I’m a sucker for kids. Probably because of my family.”

“Oh? I thought you were your uncle’s only surviving relative.”

“I mean my stepfamily. When my father died, my mother remarried, and her new husband was a widower with three young children of his own. I was fourteen, and as the oldest kid in the household, I ended up helping raise the little ones.”

“Do your mother and stepfather still live in Packenham Corners?”

“Junction,” she corrected. “Packenham Corners is on the other side of the county line.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she said generously. “Lots of folks get them mixed up. Anyhow, my stepfather, Warren Pedley, still lives on the family farm about ten miles from town, but my mother died the year after she married Warren.”

He sat forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs as he cradled his cup between his hands. “That must have been very difficult for you.”

She shook her head, not wanting to remember those dark years of her adolescence. “The Pedleys were wonderful. They always made me feel like one of the family.”

“And in return, you tried to pay them back by being helpful,” he said.

The accuracy of his insight startled her. They had met less than two hours ago, yet he had zeroed in on one of the major reasons her life had taken the direction it had. She studied him over the rim of her cup. Maybe there was more to him than a pretty face.

Of course he was more than a pretty face, she thought, exasperated with herself for dwelling on his appearance. The success exhibited by the luxury of the Whitmore and Hamill offices, as well as the famous ads and slew of awards that were displayed on the walls, made it obvious that there had to be plenty of intelligence behind those brown bedroom eyes.

“I suppose you’re right,” she continued. “I still like to help them out, but instead of baby-sitting them, I baby-sit their children. Except for my youngest stepbrother. He’s a long way from settling down and raising a family of his own.” She heard the wistful note in her voice and shifted uncomfortably. “Of course, with so many nieces and nephews to love, he could be happy just the way he is.”

“You sound as if you’re still very close to your family.”

“Oh, yes. We’re not blood relatives, but we’re still close.” Her gaze strayed back to the photo of the twins. “You’re very fortunate to have two sons. They look like fine children.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly she realized what should have been obvious at her first glance of Alex’s children. It had taken two people to produce those boys. That meant they had a mother, too.

She glanced at the large, capable-looking hands that clasped his coffee cup. There was no sign of a gold band on any of those long fingers, but that was no guarantee these days.

Was Alex married?

Not that it should make one whit of difference to her, of course. So it was simply polite curiosity, from one business partner to another, that prompted her to ask the next question. “Does your wife take care of the children while you work?”

“Excuse me?”

“As a day care provider myself, I was simply wondering who’s taking care of Jason and Daniel.”

“My housekeeper, Mrs. Gray. She’s been with us for the past few months.”

Simple curiosity, she told herself again. “I know several working couples who would prefer to have someone in their home like that.”

“Mrs. Gray certainly keeps things running smoothly.”

“What kind of work does your wife do?” she asked, abandoning her attempts at subtlety.

“I’m not exactly sure what Tiffany does these days. Right now she’s in Europe.”

Well, that answered her question. Sort of. “I see.”

“We divorced three years ago, Lizzie. She’s on her honeymoon with her new husband.”

She felt a blush warm her cheeks. Darn. He’d probably known what she was angling to find out all along. “I’m sorry.”

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that would appear casual if it weren’t for the way his knuckles whitened on his coffee cup. “These things happen. One learns from one’s mistakes.”

She felt a stirring of sympathy for him, coupled with a strange urge to reach out and cover his hands with hers. Instead, she placed her empty cup on the table beside her and laced her fingers in her lap. “So,” she said in a blatant attempt to change the subject, “how did you get into the advertising business, Alex?”

The flash of white knuckles disappeared as if it had never been. His charming smile was firmly back in place. “The art of persuasion has interested me from the time I finished college. After my first position with an advertising firm evaporated when the company failed, I decided to establish my own agency.”

“Is that when you met my uncle?”

“Yes, we met through a mutual acquaintance. Roland and I formed a partnership and the rest, as they say, is history.”

She suspected there was probably a lot more to the story, but before she could form her next question, there was a quiet knock on the open door.

Alex glanced over his shoulder, then rose to his feet. “Hello, Jeremy.”

The man who walked into the room looked exactly as Lizzie would have expected from hearing his voice on the phone. At least this wasn’t a surprise, she thought wryly.

Jeremy Ebbet was a few inches short of six feet and a few pounds shy of filling out the shoulders of his pinstriped suit. His hair was dark blond and thinning and his face bore the long-suffering worry lines of a farmer in a drought. After shaking hands with Lizzie and exchanging a few stilted pleasantries, he sat on the edge of the chair beside Alex, set his briefcase on his knees like a grasshopper with a wheat husk and clicked open the lid.

“We appreciate your willingness to clear up this situation so promptly, Miss Hamill,” he said, adjusting his steel-rimmed glasses with a poke of his index finger.

Alex crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair while he listened to Jeremy set the second phase of their plan into motion.

As Alex had advised him, Jeremy emphasized how Roland hadn’t been involved with Whitmore and Hamill for years, and how the company had been running profitably under Alex’s sole control. Lizzie nodded, already prepared for this by the carefully chosen comments Alex had made during their tour.

“Your uncle was in the process of negotiating the sale of his shares when he met with his tragic accident,” Jeremy said, withdrawing a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and passing them to Lizzie. “Here’s a copy of our offer.”

She nibbled on her lower lip as she concentrated on reading, drawing Alex’s attention to her mouth yet again. Her generous, ready-to-break-into-a-smile mouth. Alex had been distracted by it unexpectedly throughout the course of the afternoon. Especially when it had curved with a touch of wistful sweetness while she’d been looking at the picture of his sons.

Damn. She might be going about it in a completely different manner, but if he didn’t maintain control of his thoughts, in her own way Lizzie might prove to be as disruptive to the smooth course of his life as her uncle had been.

Yet another reason to close this deal and get her on a plane back to Packenham Corners. No, Junction. Whatever.

“As you can see,” Jeremy continued, “we have substituted your name for Roland’s, since you are now the sole owner of his fifty percent.”

She stopped nibbling and pursed her lips in a whispered whistle.

The pucker made Alex think about kissing. He shifted in his chair and focused on her hand, the one that would hold a pen.

“Is that what my shares are worth?” she asked in a voice that approached a squeak.

“It’s an excellent offer,” Jeremy said.

“Lord love a duck.”

“Excuse me?”

“I had no idea.” She looked up, turning toward Alex. “This is so fast. I just found out I own half the company, and now you want to buy me out?”

Alex wrenched his gaze from her mouth and met her eyes. “It must be overwhelming for you, but I’m sure you see that it would be the best solution for everyone.” He paused a moment before adding the final nail. “It’s what Roland would have wanted.”

“But I had thought that…I mean, when you arranged for me to come all the way out here…” She trailed off, shaking her head as she looked at the paper in her hand. “Do you mind if I take this back to the hotel with me?”

“Go ahead,” Alex said. “Take all the time you want to consider it, Lizzie. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“Thanks. I need to think about this.”

Alex pushed back his sleeve and checked his watch. “Let’s continue this discussion tomorrow. In the meantime, why don’t we grab dinner and then catch a Broadway show? I understand this is your first visit to New York?”

She folded the offer and slipped it into her purse, then smiled and nodded her head.

Like taking candy from—

Rising to his feet, Alex refused to listen to the nagging little voice. He also refused to acknowledge the tug at his pulse as he noted the way his partner’s plain navy blue skirt molded delectably curved thighs as she shifted to stand up.

And the way her lips softened with her smile.

And her eyes sparkled with earthy sensuality.

And the touch of her fingers on his skin when she took his hand sent a shock of heat through his nerves…

But apart from that, everything was progressing according to plan.

THE SCENTS of smoldering candles and expensive perfume were as subtly pervasive as the background hush that permeated the restaurant. The black-suited waiters didn’t bustle, they glided. Polished silverware winked from the white linen tablecloths and tiny lights twinkled in the crystal wineglass Lizzie held. Clutching the stem securely, she lifted it in response to Alex’s toast.

“To New York,” she repeated, taking a healthy sip of the wine Alex had ordered. It was as smooth and sweet as spring water with honey.

“What would you like to see tomorrow?” he asked. “The Statue of Liberty? Times Square? The museum?”

“The Statue of Liberty, I think.”

“Wonderful. It’s been years since I went there.”

She took another sip of wine as she listened to the sound of his voice. She was vaguely aware that he was detailing the tour he planned to take her on tomorrow, but as had happened before, she paid more attention to his voice than to his words. And why not? She might as well enjoy it while she could. His devastating handsomeness, the dazzling restaurant, the wine…come midnight, it would probably all disappear.

That would be a fitting end to this fairy tale, wouldn’t it?

She should have seen it coming. Lord, she must be pathetic to confuse, even for a minute, the attention Alex had been showering on her. He wasn’t being kind. This was purely business. What other possible reason could there have been for someone like him to whisk her to New York and give her flowers and treat her to dinner at a restaurant with no prices on the menu?

Considering what he was willing to pay her for her uncle’s shares, what would the cost of a few roses and a filet mignon matter?

She put down her glass and toyed with her fork, annoyed with herself for the disappointment that was totally misplaced. Her imagination had really gotten the better of her again, that’s all. Of course, he wouldn’t want someone he didn’t know for a partner. Of course, he’d think she would be anxious to sell her half of the company and scuttle back to her stable, safe, secure, happy life in Packenham Junction.

She should have seen it coming, she thought again, poking at a morsel of meat that had already gone cold. She was Auntie Liz. Good old Lizzie. The perpetual baby-sitter and bridesmaid, destined to exist forever on the periphery of other people’s lives.

In a way, there was a fitting irony to the situation. This entire trip, what she’d seen as her one chance at adventure, had the sole purpose of ensuring that she would return home and stay right where she’d always been.

“Is there something wrong with your meal?”

She put down her fork carefully so it wouldn’t clang and disturb the hush. “No, it’s delicious.”

“I could have the waiter bring you something else.”

“Please, don’t bother,” she said, reaching for her wine once more. She knew she shouldn’t be drinking it, considering the fact that she still hadn’t eaten anything today, but swishing dollar-a-mouthful wine through her teeth was another one of those things she might as well enjoy while she could.

Alex had made her a generous offer. Heck, it had more zeros than she’d seen in one place since she’d sneezed while she’d been typing out the day care center’s financial statement. With that much money, she could build a new barn for her stepfather, pay off Jolene and Tim’s mortgage, even pay Zack’s way through Harvard.

That is, if they would accept the money.

What a stubborn bunch her family was. It must hark back to their pioneer roots, when money in the bank was a foreign concept and people bartered for what they needed. Too bad Whitmore and Hamill didn’t make milking machines or something else useful.

Her lips curved at the thought of the immaculately groomed Alex Whitmore being involved with anything as mundane as a milking machine. He probably wouldn’t know which end of a cow to install it on. With his long fingers and firm grip, though, he likely wouldn’t have too much trouble coaxing out the milk by hand.

She glanced across the table, and a slow flush rose to her cheeks at the mental image of Alex with his long, strong fingers turning his attention to such an earthy task. If the way he moved was any indication, there was plenty of physical strength beneath his sophisticated appearance. Plenty of determination behind his good manners, too. He’d have a gentle, purposeful touch, the kind that would soothe and stimulate at the same time. And he’d be murmuring soft words in that deep, love-potion voice of his, and his brown eyes would grow smoky, and…

Lordy, he was one impressive specimen. Maybe it was the excitement of this whole situation, but never in her life had a man made such an immediate impact on her. She wasn’t so naive as to confuse physical attraction for something deeper, yet knowing what it was didn’t do anything to eliminate it.

It had never been that way with Bobby. Even when he’d been stripped to the waist on those hot summer days on her stepfather’s farm, and his shoulders had flexed with the effort of slinging those hay bales around, and his jeans had clung damply to his hips and thighs, she had never felt more than a comfortable kind of interest.

If she ever had the chance to see Alex Whitmore flex his muscles while he was half-naked and gleaming with sweat, she doubted if she would feel anything close to comfortable.

With a sickening clunk, her wineglass tipped over, spilling the remainder of its contents across the tablecloth in a sudden flood.

Alex whipped the linen napkin from his lap and stemmed the flow. “Sorry, I must have jarred the table,” he said.

She knew that he knew that her own fidgeting had been responsible for the mishap, yet he was willing to take the blame in order to spare her embarrassment. He was a regular…prince. A bubble of laughter hiccuped past her lips.

“Would you care for some dessert, Lizzie?” he asked, righting her glass and moving the wine bottle out of her reach.

“No, thank you, Alex.”

“Some coffee? We still have some time before the show starts.”

Oh, Lord, he must think she was on the downhill side of tipsy. She wasn’t even close to the edge, empty stomach or not. Compared to Bobby’s homemade cordial that could clear sinuses and blister paint, this stuff was cream soda. If her faculties were impaired at all, it was from the effects of Alex’s presence, not the wine—the man was too appealing to be legal.

“Is there anything else you’d like, Lizzie?”

Sure, you can strip to the waist and sling some hay bales. “Do you ever do any modeling?” she asked impulsively.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, posing for any of the advertisements the company does.”

He looked startled. “No, we use an outside agency. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering. Considering the way you…” She stopped herself before she could blurt something out about the way he looked. “Um, I thought it might cut costs.”

“That particular cost-cutting method hasn’t been necessary so far.”

“Oh. That’s good. I mean, I’m glad Whitmore and Hamill is doing all right.”

“With each campaign we try to find individuals who would match our needs and the client’s expectations. My job consists of coordinating the people who work for me, making sure things run smoothly—”

“Us,” she interrupted.

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Who work for us,” she said, blushing at her own audacity. “I haven’t sold out yet.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. He pressed the napkin more firmly against the puddle of wine. “Running a company doesn’t suit everyone, Lizzie. Your uncle found it much too restricting. That’s likely why he gradually withdrew from the day-to-day business over the past few years.”

She restrained herself from rolling her eyes. She’d lost count of the number of times Alex had stressed how her uncle had been eager to sell. As an angle of persuasion, it was starting to wear thin.

Besides, the more she heard Alex talk about Roland, the more she suspected there were other reasons behind the imminent end of their partnership. Although Alex hadn’t openly criticized her uncle, obviously they hadn’t gotten along.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t get along with him, did it? She got along with everyone. After all, as Packenham Junction’s perpetual bridesmaid and baby-sitter, she had plenty of experience keeping other people happy. Sure, these New York types were different from the people back home, but under their three-piece suits they were still people, right?

And she could readily imagine what was under Alex’s three-piece suit…

“What’s going to happen to the company name if I sell you my shares?” she asked quickly.

“The company name?”

“Whitmore and Hamill. I’m the last Hamill, so if I’m gone, would you change the name?”

He hesitated. “What would you like me to do?”

“I’d like the name to stay the way it is.”

“Well, it could prove confusing for our clients.”

“As a tribute to my uncle.”

“I see.”

“Uncle Roland never married and he didn’t have any children to remember him. Maybe he wanted me to make sure there would at least be the company name for him to leave behind for posterity.”

“All right. If that’s what you really want.”

No, what I really want is to see you naked and sweaty and flexing—

She bit her lip. She really had to stop dwelling on that fantasy. Or at least get herself a different one. “Why are you so anxious to buy me out, Alex?”

A flash of emotion briefly hardened the planes of his face. It was no more than a subtle tightening of his jaw, a twitch of his eyelids, and if she hadn’t been so conscious of his every nuance, she would have missed it. Yet it wasn’t the first time she’d seen a crack in the smooth image he projected. This had happened before, when he’d mentioned his divorce.

“Alex?”

He blinked, and the moment of emotion was gone. “I believe that the company would have a much more stable, secure future with one person controlling its direction.”

“Didn’t you get along with my uncle?”

“It’s no secret that we had our differences with respect to management decisions, but I’m thinking on more practical terms than that. During the past few years, the necessity of having to go through the motions of contacting Roland each time we needed to make a major decision caused delays and confusion. That will all be eliminated once you sell your shares to me.”

“If I agree.”

“Lizzie, you’d be so much more comfortable without the headache of this responsibility. You said you enjoy your work at the day care center, and you’re so close to your family. Think of all that you could do with the proceeds of the sale.”

“I have been thinking about it.”

“It’s really the best solution.”

She toyed with her wineglass, tipping it forward to roll the base in arcs along the tablecloth. Was it really the best solution?

Giving up her college scholarship in order to keep the farm running while her stepfather recovered from that tractor accident had been the best solution. So had opening up a day care center in the house on Myrtle Street when Bobby had destroyed her dreams. Twenty years from now, when the children she was caring for brought their own children to her, would she look back on this adventure and say, “If only?”

Frowning, she set her glass beside the puddle of wine and looked at Alex. “I admit I don’t know all that much about the advertising business, and I might not have a fancy degree in economics, but like most people from the country, I know about horse trading. Or to be more exact, cow trading.”

His eyebrows went up. Balling the napkin in his fist, he watched her in silence, his jaw tightening.

She hesitated. “What is it?”

“For a minute there you sounded just like your uncle.”

Whatever he meant by that, she took it as a compliment. Encouraged, she pushed her plate away and leaned her forearms on the edge of the table. “The way I see it, inheriting my uncle’s shares is like being given a cow that I’m not sure how to deal with.”

“I see. Please, go on.”

“Well, apart from the drastic and permanent option of fixing beef stew, there are always other choices when it comes to getting rid of livestock.”

“Such as?”

“Okay, first of all, it’s important to have a good idea of what the cow is actually worth so you can get a fair price. No offense, Alex, but I’m going to have my own lawyer look over the offer Jeremy drew up.”

“Naturally.”

“And there’s another point to consider,” she continued. “When a cow is healthy and producing milk, it might be better to keep it.”

He pushed his plate aside and leaned forward in a movement that mirrored her earlier one. “What exactly are you saying?”

What was she saying? She wasn’t too sure herself, but the more she thought about this, the better it seemed. “I could make quick money by selling the cow, but in the long run I might be better off keeping the cow and selling the milk.”

“So you’d expect me to…milk your cow for you?”

Long, strong fingers squeezing warm flesh…Lizzie moistened her lips. “Well, you said my uncle didn’t involve himself in the business for a few years. It might have been inconvenient for you at times, but you said you managed to stay profitable, so what difference would it make if I did the same thing? If I hung on to my half, I could be a silent partner.”

He looked at her mouth, his jaw tightening. After a breathless minute, he raised his gaze to hers.

Lizzie felt another one of those crazy tickles whisper through her stomach. There was yet another option here. She didn’t have to be merely a silent partner. What if they both…milked the cow? “Alex?”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Yes, Lizzie?”

“What kind of qualifications did my uncle have?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“To work in advertising. Did he go to the same college you did, or take a course or something?”

He remained silent for so long, she was about to repeat the question before he finally answered. “No.”

“Really?”

“Your uncle learned through experience. He relied on instinct and inspiration rather than formal education.”

The tickle turned into a tingle as the seed Jolene had planted began to take root. “Even though I enjoy my day care business, it can get along without me, so there’s nothing stopping me from staying in New York for a while.” She cleared her throat. “This is something you might not have thought of, Alex, but if I learn all I can about the company, I could help you out.”

“Help me out?”

“Sort of give the company another perspective.”

“Another perspective?” His voice was growing quieter with each phrase he repeated. Rather than sounding soft, though, he sounded as ominous as rumbling thunder.

She smiled. “You know, just like Uncle Roland.”

Alex didn’t return her smile. Silence stretched out between them as he continued to stare at her. Something gleamed in the mesmerizing brown depths of his eyes. Challenge. More than challenge. Awareness.

Lizzie shivered at the thrill that went through her body. She felt herself respond, and she wasn’t even sure what she was responding to. All those tickles and tingles that made her palms sweat…how much was due to her interest in her company…and how much was due to her interest in her partner?

Alex fought to keep his expression impassive. How could her mouth look so appealing when she was talking about exerting control of the company, his company?

This wasn’t progressing at all according to plan.

Then again, how could he expect any woman who used barnyard analogies to explain the concepts of a market economy to behave predictably?

Just like Uncle Roland.

He hadn’t believed that there could be two people like that in the world. And there weren’t. Despite her innocent charm, Elizabeth Hamill was far more dangerous than her uncle. Because she was threatening far more than his business. She was threatening his self-control.

He wasn’t a man who acted impulsively. He relied on logic to guide his actions. And there was nothing logical about the sudden urge he had to lean across the table and taste Lizzie’s lips.

First thing tomorrow, he’d tell Jeremy to increase the offer for her shares. And if that didn’t work—

The silence between them was broken abruptly by a purring ring from Alex’s jacket. He jerked, yanking his attention away from his new partner’s lips to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.

“Mr. Whitmore? Are you there?”

At his housekeeper’s panic-stricken tone, he reflexively stiffened. Great. Now what?

It took less than a minute for Alex to find out what had put the panic in Mrs. Gray’s voice. All thoughts of his business and his partner were swept away by a wave of anxiety. Flipping the phone shut, he crammed it back inside his jacket and surged to his feet. “I’m sorry, Lizzie,” he said, already moving away. “I’ll have to meet you at the theater later. Something’s come up at home.”

She hesitated for less than a second before she wiped her palms on her skirt, grabbed her purse and rounded the table to follow him. “Hold on, partner. I’m coming with you.”

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