“So, you’re pregnant?”

The question sounded so incredibly stupid to his own ears. Of course Samantha was pregnant. If the breeze hadn’t been billowing her loose dress around her before, he would have noticed that fact right away.

She let out a deep sigh and nodded. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Samantha stared out at the horizon, the stinging in her eyes uncomfortable, but nothing compared to having Nick this close. She’d been in turmoil over how to tell him about the child.

“Nick, I’m having your baby.” That sounded direct and right, but something inside her wouldn’t let her say the words.

She’d practiced telling him enough, long into the empty nights. She’d rehearsed what to say, what not to say, what to do. But none of that mattered now. Her heart was pounding and her stomach was in knots. Nothing was ever simple with Nick.

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

That Night We Made Baby

Mary Anne Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mary Anne Wilson is a Canadian transplanted to Southern California where she lives with her husband, three children and an assortment of animals. She knew she wanted to write romances when she found herself “rewriting” the great stories in Literature, such as A Tale of Two Cities, to give them “happy endings.” Over a ten-year career, she’s published thirty romance novels, had her books on bestseller lists, been nominated for Reviewer’s Choice Awards and received a Career Achievement Award in Romantic Suspense. She’s looking forward to her next thirty books.

Books by Mary Anne Wilson

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

495—HART’S OBSESSION

523—COULD IT BE YOU?

543—HER BODYGUARD

570—THE BRIDE WORE BLUE

589—HART’S DREAM

609—THE CHRISTMAS HUSBAND

637—NINE MONTHS LATER…

652—MISMATCHED MOMMY?

670—JUST ONE TOUCH

700—MR. WRONG!

714—VALENTINE FOR AN ANGEL

760—RICH, SINGLE & SEXY

778—COWBOY IN A TUX

826—THAT NIGHT WE MADE BABY

Dear Reader,

As a mother of three, I have always been struck by the power of babies to change their parents’ lives forever. Whether they are planned or a surprise, as tiny and helpless as they are, from the moment they exist, they profoundly alter the world around them.

In That Night We Made Baby, Samantha Wells is shocked, then thrilled to find herself pregnant with the child of her ex-husband, a man she will always love but knows she will never see again. Nicholas Viera believes he has the life he wants and needs. He knows where he’s going, what he wants, and is certain Samantha is his past, and children will never be a part of his future.

Little do both people know, but the “best-laid plans” of expectant parents are far from “set in stone.” What they think they want is no match for the tiny life that is a part of both of them, a life that comes with the ability to change or erase every plan they’ve made.

So, I invite you to share in the story of Samantha and Nicholas and a very unexpected baby who rearranges the future for all of them in That Night We Made Baby.

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

Epilogue

Prologue

The Past—September

Los Angeles, California

“Reckless driving, an illegal lane change and failure to obey an officer of the law.”

Nicholas Viera had lived thirty-eight years without believing in luck. But that all changed the first moment he saw the pretty traffic-court defendant.

He never went into that part of the county courthouse; he didn’t deal with that area of the law. But he’d been so intent on something else that he made a wrong turn, pushed open the wrong door and stepped into the wrong chamber.

On that early-summer day, when he heard those charges being read, he looked up to see the defendant—a slender blond woman with her back to him. And Nick knew that luck was very real.

“Your Honor,” the blonde said in a quick, breathy voice, “I was just in the wrong lane and I tried to move over, then this other car wouldn’t get out of my way. I tried to get around it, but I couldn’t, then I thought if I turned and cut through the parking lot, I’d be able to pull ahead of that car, get in the right lane and go where I was trying to go all along.”

From his position at the chamber door, Nick was struck by the earnestness in the woman’s voice and by a riot of shoulder-length, sun-bleached blond curls. As he took a step forward, his eyes skimmed over beige slacks that clung to the gentle swell of her hips and showed off incredibly long legs. A clingy white blouse defined slender shoulders that shrugged repeatedly while the woman spoke. Wedge sandals added a couple of inches to her five-foot-five-or-six-inch height, and her hands moved constantly, adding expression to her words.

“I tried, but I didn’t realize that the curb cut out like that.” Her hands swept out away from her in a grand gesture as her words sped up. “If I had, do you think I would have tried to make that turn? I just never saw it and I thought I could make it, and bam, I hit it.”

“Miss Wells, please,” the judge said quickly to get a word in edgewise. “According to the officer, you crossed a double yellow line, almost ran into an oncoming car, then hit the curb. When he got there, you wouldn’t get out of your vehicle. You were not cooperative. Meanwhile, your car was blocking Wilshire Boulevard at four in the afternoon during rush hour.”

“I told you, I was trying to get into the parking lot and didn’t see the curb, then, the tire hit it and just blew up. I thought I might still be able to drive it, but the officer was yelling at me and I got confused.”

Nick found himself smiling as he made his way past the rows of wooden chairs toward the front of the room. He wanted a better look at the woman who wasn’t giving up despite the fact that she’d obviously wreaked havoc on the city of Los Angeles with her driving.

“But you were driving the car,” the judge pointed out with admirable patience. “You blew the tire, and it’s your responsibility.”

“Well, sure, of course, but if the other driver had let me over, I wouldn’t have had to do any of those things and the traffic wouldn’t have been stopped like that. And the policeman just yelled and yelled.”

“Yes, I guess he would,” the judge murmured. “But you could have gone around the block.”

Nick moved closer to the bailiff, and when he finally saw the profile of the formidable Miss Wells, he realized why the judge was being so indulgent with her, or at least why he wasn’t simply throwing her in jail and tossing away the key.

The woman was dead serious and absolutely beautiful—seductively appealing with a tiny nose, her chin elevated just a bit with challenge to show the beguiling sweep of her throat. He couldn’t help noticing the way the material of her blouse clung to high breasts that strained against the fine fabric with each breath she took. The only sign of nervousness was the way she started fiddling with a locket she wore around her neck.

He’d been so intent on looking at her that he’d almost stopped listening to her. Gradually, her voice filtered in again—a husky, earnest voice. “I had this really important appointment and I was already going to be late and I just had to get there.”

“Did you make your appointment?”

She shook her head, making her curls dance softly on her shoulders. “No, Your Honor. I didn’t.”

He sat back and looked down at her. “That’s a shame. Now, are you ready to enter your plea or are you going to want a jury trial?”

“Do I have to have a lawyer for a jury trial?” she asked.

“No, you don’t have to have an attorney, but if I were you and this was my record, I’d consider it.”

Nick wasn’t looking for more work and he never went into any court thinking about getting a client. Besides, his specialty was criminal law. This woman was just a crazy driver who was far too sexy for her own good. Despite all of that, he saw the way she hesitated, her hand stilling on the locket at her throat, and he found himself stepping in where he knew he probably shouldn’t.

“Your Honor, may I approach?”

At that moment, Miss Wells turned, and Nick finally got a good look at her face. She was maybe twenty-five or so, wearing little or no makeup, her incredibly green eyes shadowed by improbably long, dark lashes. There was a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Her pale pink mouth was softly parted in surprise.

“Excuse me, sir?” the judge was saying.

“Nicholas Viera,” he said, taking a card out of his pocket and approaching the bench to lay it in front of the judge. “I was wondering if I might be of some help to…” He glanced back at the woman. “Miss Wells.”

“I don’t understand,” the woman said, obviously confused.

“Mr. Viera is apparently an attorney,” the judge said as he glanced at the business card.

“And I’m offering to represent the defendant on charges of reckless driving, an illegal lane change and failure to obey an officer of the law.” Being improbably desirable certainly wasn’t a criminal offense, but if it had been, as good as he was at what he did, he knew he’d never be able to get her off. “And anything else you allege that she did.”

“I told the judge that I was just trying to—”

Nick held up a hand to quiet her before she started off on another rambling explanation. “We’ll talk,” he said, then looked at the judge. “Can we reschedule?”

“If Miss Wells wishes to have counsel, we can put this on the calendar for…” He glanced at his clerk. “How does it look, Rhonda?”

A middle-aged woman at a low desk checked something in front of her, then looked at the judge. “A week today, Your Honor. Ten o’clock.”

He looked back at Nick. “How about that?”

Nick looked at Miss Wells. “Is that okay with you?”

Color was creeping into her cheeks, either from embarrassment or self-consciousness or possibly even anger at his high-handed behavior. But she was obviously as intelligent as she was a poor driver. She just nodded and said, “Fine.”

The judge said, “See you then, Miss Wells.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Nick said.

The judge reached for another file and looked over at his clerk. “What’s next, Rhonda?” he asked, dismissing Nick and his new client.

Nick headed out of the courtroom, and she followed him. When he paused to open the door, he stood aside to let her step out into the corridor. The air stirred as she went by, touched by a hint of freshness mingling with her delicate floral scent. Then she stopped and turned to look at him as he let the door swing shut behind him.

Nick stared into those green eyes, and although his world wasn’t given to flights of fantasy he could feel his world start to shake. The impact of her gaze almost made him flinch. The strength of his attraction to her was beyond anything he’d felt before. An unsettling experience for him and an intriguing one.

She brushed at her hair, exposing a palm stained with green paint, then her tongue touched her full bottom lip. The action stirred something in him, and he realized that this woman had made him want her before he even knew her first name.

SAMANTHA WELLS NEVER EVEN knew there was a Nicholas Viera in the world until the striking man in a well-tailored gray suit had suddenly spoken and started toward the bench. Frustration and fear about the possibility of losing her driver’s license had been making her slightly crazy at that moment. Then he was there, a man who filled the whole room with his presence, who moved as if he owned the world. Nicholas Viera.

The moment she met the intensity of his gaze, everything had started to blur, to run together in a rush of reactions. Sexy, definitely very male, and disturbing. But also so controlled and at ease in his surroundings that she envied him. She’d tried to concentrate, to figure out what he was doing there, and then he’d said something about representing her.

She didn’t understand at first and the only thing she could think of was the fact that his mouth was wide and hinted at a hidden smile. And that his eyes were neither green nor brown, but a rich hazel color that was set off by tanned skin and dark brown hair flecked with gray.

She’d felt herself flush when he turned those intense eyes on her again, asking her if that was okay with her. She’d realized that the judge had been rescheduling her court date—as if she could afford to have this man come back with her in a week. She knew how far-fetched that was, but she’d just nodded and said softly, “Fine.”

Now she was standing in the courthouse corridor with Nicholas Viera. He held out a business card to her.

“‘Viera, Combs and O’Neill. Nicholas Viera,”’ she read, along with an office address in Bel Air. An elegantly simple, obviously expensive card, done in heavy ivory stock, it had probably cost more to print them up than she had in her bank account all last year.

She studied the owner of the card, a six-foot-tall man in a suit that defined his whipcord-lean build. An expensive suit. She looked up into his face, at features that were as untraditionally handsome as they were attractive. He had a strong, clean-shaven jaw, dark brows and a nose that was slightly crooked. It all came together with the rest of the man to make a disturbingly sexy package.

Very upscale, probably all Ivy League. And no matter how attracted she was to him, he was totally out of the league of a struggling artist who could barely pay for her share of an apartment she occupied with three other young women. “Thanks for getting me out of there,” she said. “Have a nice day.”

“What?”

“Thanks. I appreciate what you did in there. Now I’ve got time to figure out what to do.” She lifted the card. “Do you want it back, Mr. Viera?”

“No, keep it,” he said. “Call me Nick, and your name is…?”

“Samantha Wells.”

“Miss Wells.”

“Sam, please.”

“You looked as if you needed a little help in there.”

She barely contained a smile at the observation. “A little help? I could use a whole law firm right about now, but I can’t even afford a paralegal, let alone a real, honest-to-goodness lawyer.” She pushed his card into her purse, then held out her hand to him as she prepared to break whatever connection was forming between herself and this man. “But thanks again.”

He took her hand in his, and she was very aware of how large and strong his hand was. It surprised her when he didn’t shake her hand but turned it over, palm up. Then he looked at her and that hint of a smile became a reality, an explosive reality for her. “So it’s not just crazy driving you’re here for, is it?”

“What?” she asked, her voice verging on breathless. “Of course it is. I mean, I’m not crazy, but it’s this ticket thing and—”

The smile deepened. “Shhh, let me figure this out. I get paid big bucks to be insightful about my clients. Between you and me, I figure that you’re in here for counterfeiting, but you’re having trouble with the ink.”

She felt heat rush into her face again and cursed the fact that she blushed so easily. She was always a bit self-conscious about her hands and the stains that never seemed to come out. How could she feel as if this man’s presence totally surrounded her? Or that she’d missed him all her life, yet had never known he existed until right then?

“Green. The color of money,” he said, and traced the faint stain on her palm with his forefinger. “Not regulation green, but close.”

She drew back, closing her hand into a fist behind her back. “That particular green is the color of the trees in the mist on an island in Puget Sound, and I worked hard to create it before I had to come to court.”

“Oh, you’re a housepainter?”

That smile was there again, and she could feel herself being seduced by a simple expression. It had never happened to her before with any man. Men who were a blur to her now, men who hadn’t been important enough in her life to even remember now. “No, an artist, or at least I’m trying to be. You know, landscapes, seascapes, portraits? That’s why I was in such a hurry when I…I had my problem with the car. I was seeing a gallery owner about a showing and I didn’t want to be late.” She grimaced at the memory of her call to the owner and finding out he was gone and wouldn’t be back for two weeks. “I was too late.”

“I know some art gallery owners. What’s your medium—black velvet?”

That made her laugh out loud, and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to control the sound that echoed in the corridor. The next thing she knew, Nick was touching her hand, easing it down, but not letting her go. She felt his fingers close around hers and she didn’t fight the contact, not when it seemed to be anchoring her in some way. “I…I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly having trouble taking her next breath.

“Don’t be. Let’s go where we can laugh,” he said.

“Mr. Viera, listen to me. I’m broke. I’m the proverbial struggling artist, and if I get an attorney, it’s going to have to be a public defender, but I thank you for everything you’ve done.”

He leaned a bit closer to her. “Did I mention money?”

She was confused again. She didn’t know what to deal with first—his offering to help her or that sensation of his being her anchor. “I assumed—”

“Never assume anything with an attorney,” he said with a half smile. “This is called pro bono work. Free. A way for an attorney to atone for those clients he wishes he’d never represented, but clients who pay the big bucks. To be honest with you, I’m good. Unless you’re a serial killer, I can get you off.” Another smile played on his lips. “And even if you are a serial killer, I can probably get you off for that, too. Now, can we go someplace and talk about this?”

He was a stranger, yet Sam knew she was going to go with him. She knew that he could help her and she knew something else. Whatever was happening to her at that moment, Nicholas Viera was going to change her life.

Chapter One

Nine months later

Malibu, California

Nick was sicker than he could ever remember being since he was a kid at boarding school. He’d canceled his last appointment for the day, gone home, taken medication the doctor had given him, then crawled into bed just after seven. In his house overlooking the ocean, he’d sunk rapidly into sleep that, at first, had been peaceful and a break from the aches and pains caused by the flu.

But sometime during the night, that all changed. A dream came, a dream about Sam and him. There had been dreams since she’d left, vague, unformed dreams that left him frustrated and restless the next day. But he wasn’t prepared for this dream. Maybe it came from the medication, but whatever it was, the dream was vivid and clear.

Sam had exploded into his life months ago, tipping his world with her presence. Then she was gone and he’d tried to forget her and go on with his life. But at that moment, her image was burned into his mind and soul. It was so clear he wondered if the dream was reality and his life was the dream.

Sam with the golden curls, slender beauty, those green eyes. The vision was so real his whole being ached. The fascination and attraction he’d experienced from his first glimpse of her in the courtroom were still there—a basic, disturbing reality in the dream. He could see himself going to her, wild need filling him, surrounding him, threatening to smother him.

The dream was filled with a hunger that had a life of its own. He saw himself reach out for her, his hands touching silky skin. He could feel heat consume his world that had been filled with only coldness until then—a coldness that reappeared when she’d left him.

He felt the heaviness of her breasts in his hands, her hips pressing against his hardness. When his lips covered hers, he felt himself melting into her. He became so infused with her that there was no division between them. Just one person. One need. One hunger.

In a single jarring moment, all that dissolved. She was ripped away from him and Nick’s only reality was solitude. There was no contact, no heat, no satisfaction, no losing himself. Then he realized a phone was ringing.

He woke with a sickening jolt. His ragged breathing was punctuated by the ringing of the phone. The sheets tangled around his naked body, he pushed himself upright in the mussed bed. The room was bathed in the cold light of morning, and a sudden sense of loss all but choked him. Emptiness echoed around him and his skin was filmed with moisture.

The phone on the nightstand rang again, and with one swipe at his damp face, he reached for the receiver.

His hand shook as it closed over the cold plastic, and he passed the unsteadiness off as part of his illness and the medication he was taking. That’s why he had such a dream. God knew what the combination of being sick and taking medication could do to a man’s mind, let alone his body. Crazy, insane visions of the past were banished. He never dwelled on mistakes in his life and he didn’t intend to start now.

Nick pressed the phone to his ear, closed his eyes to the view of the ocean visible through the French doors and started to speak. But he stopped when he realized it was his voice mail ringing with his messages. He’d put a hold on all calls last night, hoping that whatever illness he had would be gone by morning. But he wasn’t that lucky. Then he heard the machine’s voice saying that the message had been left just about the time he’d gone to bed last night.

His attorney started to speak and Nick silently cursed the quirks of timing that fate seemed to possess. The call was about Samantha.

“Nick, it’s Jerod Danforth. I’d hoped to catch you home. The papers are ready. Come by the office at your convenience to sign them. Then the divorce is final. A few minutes, that’s all. A simple procedure. Call me about it. Oh, by the way, congratulations on getting Griffith off. Very nice indeed. Almost makes me wish I was in trouble with the law to see you do your stuff in court. See you soon.”

Nick dropped the receiver back down with a clatter and sank against the smooth coolness of the bleached wood headboard. Damn it. He didn’t need this. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was a marriage that had had about as much substance as a flash of lightning. It had been intense and blinding for a heartbeat before it had faded away forever.

“A simple procedure,” Danforth had said.

Nothing had been simple with Sam. Not from his first meeting with her, to the moment when she’d walked out of his world six months ago. He’d go by Danforth’s offices as soon as he could and finally put the madness Sam had brought into his life to rest. Shifting, he could still feel the tight, uncomfortable aching in his body.

Yes, he needed to put this all to rest and forget it ever happened. Then he got out of bed and headed to the bathroom and a cool shower.

SAM WAS JUST ON HER WAY out of her Brentwood hotel room when the phone rang. Hurrying back to the phone by the bed, she picked up the receiver and said, “Yes, hello?”

“Samantha, it’s May Douglas.”

Sam was surprised to hear from her landlady. The elderly widow lived in an old Victorian house on several acres overlooking the ocean in Jensen Pass, a small town in northern California. The cottage where Sam lived and worked had been built for May’s husband, a writer, and Sam—when she was a child—had often thought it looked enchanted. So far it had been a place of healing and a place of safety.

She’d gone to Jensen Pass when she left Nick and found the cottage was available for rent. It had been perfect. The isolation and the peace to be found there were just perfect. Even Mrs. Douglas was perfect. A quiet, interesting lady, she liked roses and afternoon teas. A grandmotherly sort whom Sam had come to like very much.

“Mrs. Douglas, how wonderful to hear your voice,” Sam said. “There isn’t anything wrong, is there?”

“Oh, no, dear, nothing’s wrong. Owen is doing better, but he’s a bit put out because I’ve had to give him medicine that he hates. He just won’t take it nicely. But then again, Owen is so sensitive and opinionated.”

The lady surely hadn’t called to tell Sam about the well-being of Owen or his medicinal regime. “Yes, he certainly is,” Sam said.

“Oh, did you get the showing?”

“The gallery owner is very interested and seems to think the show could do well. I have to ship more pieces down and he’ll make a decision then.”

“He’ll love them, dear. Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Yes, I plan to. In the afternoon.”

“Wonderful. Tea and conversation, the two things I’ve missed so much until you rented the cottage.”

Mrs. Douglas was tiny and spry with silver hair and the propensity for anything lavender, even in her gardens that hugged the top of the cliff overlooking the beach. “Yes, I’ll look forward to that.” She was about to say goodbye when Mrs. Douglas spoke again.

“Oh, my, I almost forgot why I called. I was at the cottage watering your plants, and the phone rang. I know it could have gone to your machine, but that’s so impersonal, so I hope it’s okay that I took the call?”

“Of course it is. Was it important?”

“Just a minute,” she said, then Sam heard the rustle of paper before Mrs. Douglas spoke again. “Let me see if I can read my own handwriting here. Yes, it was a Mr. Danforth’s secretary calling to let you know that the final divorce papers are ready for your signature and he wants you to contact him at your earliest convenience.”

Sam sank onto the bed, her legs suddenly unsteady. The divorce. Why had she thought she could come to Los Angeles without being touched by Nick in one way or another? “Anything else?”

“No, not really. Except you told me you were only married for three months. I would have thought you could just have gotten an annulment instead of a divorce. I mean, after three months, that’s hardly a marriage.”

The elderly lady was more right than she knew about her marriage hardly being a marriage. “Nick took care of it, and I told him to do whatever he needed. He’s an attorney, so I assumed he’d know how best to handle the situation.”

Sam closed her eyes but opened them immediately when a vision of Nick popped into her head. Damn it, she’d been trying to put him behind her for six months. She’d changed her life by putting almost the entire state of California between them and rebuilding her own life. But suddenly he was there, tall and lean, his face a mix of planes and angles, eyes so intense she’d been sure he could see into her soul.

One of the many things she’d been wrong about with Nick was that he hadn’t been able to see into her soul. He’d never even known her. He’d wanted to be with her but had never wanted the marriage she’d finally insisted on. Just a few of the many things she’d found out about too late. She shook her head and banished the thoughts and memories.

“There’s no point in looking back,” she said. Especially not when all that did was stir up a sense of loss and frustration and pain. A sense of being so wrong.

“You’re right, Samantha. The future is where your life is going. You’re young and have your whole life ahead of you. And you know, dear, you can never go back.”

She wouldn’t want to. “Thanks for the message, Mrs. Douglas. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Have a safe trip, dear, and come by the house to let me know when you’re home.”

“Yes, I will,” she said, and hung up.

The divorce was a formality. A legality. Nothing more. But that logic couldn’t shut out memories of that horrible conversation she’d overheard the night her marriage had ended. Nick and his partner and friend, Greg O’Neill, had been out on the deck of the house in Malibu, drinking in the darkness. She’d heard their loud conversation all the way from the living room.

“My God, Greg,” she’d heard Nick say, “I’ve gotten myself in a real mess. This marriage…” She’d heard the clink of glass on glass and looked through the doorway out to the deck. She’d barely been able to make Nick out as he stood with his back to the house, staring at the ocean. “I don’t even know how it happened,” he’d said to Greg. “I’d only known her two weeks.” She tried to stop the memory but it kept going.

“You bribed a judge, didn’t you?” Greg had replied with a burst of laughter. She’d stopped a few feet from the door and waited for Nick to join in, to make it all a joke.

But that hadn’t happened. “‘Bribe’ isn’t the word, but he owed me a favor. If I’d had to wait three days, who knows?”

“You wouldn’t have done it?” Greg had asked.

“I would have come to my senses,” he’d said after a long, painful pause. That had been the truth. She’d heard it in his voice. There was a blur of hurtful words, then Nick saying, “Marriage isn’t a normal state. Who ever thought up this concept of ‘forever’ with one person?”

Sam had known things were bad between them, that they were strangers in so many ways. As much as she’d craved a family, a connection that she’d never had from her life growing up in foster homes, she’d known at that moment that happily-ever-after was never going to happen with Nick.

Pain and sorrow had filled her and she’d known what she had to do then. As she knew what she had to do now. Once she signed the divorce papers, she could go back to her real life and start forgetting Nick…again.

Chapter Two

Late that afternoon, when Nick got to Danforth’s plush offices he was beyond sick. He had aches where he’d never felt aches before, and there was an unwelcome sense of his world not being right. He had to make a conscious effort to walk into the beige-on-beige reception area and get the day over with.

A simple nod to the receptionist who sat behind an intricate marble desk cost him dearly when a throbbing headache materialized behind his eyes. He grimaced. “Marge. I just need a minute of his time,” he said.

“I’m not sure he’s free to—”

“I won’t take a minute,” he said as he kept going, unnerved by a wave of weakness that washed over him.

God, he hated weakness of all kinds, especially in himself. He dealt with it all too often with his clients, and the only concession he’d made to being sick today was to take his medication.

But the medicine was hardly helping at all. And it hadn’t helped earlier when he’d had three cases on the docket and had to deal with one client who had been a no-show at a bail hearing. And he’d been trying to figure out for the past hour why a case he should have been able to plea-bargain had gone to trial. Now he had to sign the divorce papers.

He rapped on the door and flinched slightly from the headache that had just kicked up a notch and from Danforth’s booming greeting as the man opened the door. Danforth looked a little surprised to see him.

“Wasn’t expecting you,” he said in a baritone that served the man well in court but seemed brutally loud at that moment. “You never called back so I didn’t know if you’d picked up the message.” He moved back a bit. “But come on in.”

“I got your message first thing this morning,” Nick muttered as he entered the office. “So I came by after—”

His words stopped dead as the dream from the night before materialized not more than ten feet from him. A couple of long strides and he could have touched Sam, a Sam in a clinging blue sundress. Her blond curls had been all but banished by a short wedge cut that made her face all the more delicate-looking and her eyes all the more green.

A dream? A hallucination induced by the medication? He instinctively took a step forward but stopped as the image took one sharp breath and whispered his name.

“Nicholas.”

He heard it, really heard it, a voice that he’d almost forgotten existed until that moment. A voice that belonged to the only person he didn’t want to see right then. This was no dream, no illusion or hallucination, but reality. Samantha was real, so painfully real that he longed for the dream. Something he could vanquish simply by waking up.

He regrouped, more shaken then he could comprehend, and gasped for control. He took a breath of his own, then was able to speak in a remarkably normal voice. “Sam. I had no idea you were in Los Angeles.”

“I…I’m just in town for a few days. I’m going back tomorrow.”

He tried to remember where Danforth had said she’d gone, what her mailing address had been. Jensen Pass. That was it—a tiny coastal village north of San Francisco. That’s where she was supposed to be, not standing motionless by a massive cherry desk, with papers in her hands, staring at him as if he were an alien life-form. She was making him feel even more disoriented than he had been.

As Sam stood a bit straighter, Danforth spoke quickly. “This situation might be rather awkward for the two of you,” he said. “Tell you what, Nick. I can have the papers messengered over to your office tomorrow.”

Nick needed air, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he pushed aside everything that seemed to be bombarding him and took control. He wasn’t about to have this hanging over his head for one more day. “No reason to put it off,” Nick said. “Let’s get it over with.”

The words came out with an edge he hadn’t intended, and he didn’t miss the way Sam’s expression tightened. Or the fact that he had to narrow his eyes to dull the sharp vividness of her being. But narrowed eyes couldn’t stop the unsteadiness that persisted inside him or the way his head continued pounding.

“Actually, I was ready to leave,” Sam said, and her lashes lowered just enough to shadow her eyes and guard her emotions. She was putting the papers in a large envelope, talking as she slid them inside, her voice in some way filtering into his consciousness. “I’m finished here. I just came…” She exhaled , and the sound echoed through Nick. Not that there was an echo in the luxurious office. The echo was inside him, another extra from being sick that he didn’t welcome. Her gaze went to Danforth. “I’ll read them, then get them back to you as soon as I can.”

“I can send a messenger to your hotel for them if you just call the office when they’re ready.”

“I won’t be there. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow, so I’ll get them back to you.”

“You’ve got Express Mail in—what’s it called, Jensen Pass?” Nick asked with no idea why he would say something that sounded so sarcastic.

She turned to him, holding the envelope in one hand, her other hand nervously twisting her locket. The locket had been her mother’s and at one time had held a picture of him. “Ever the logical mind,” she said, bitterness edging her words. “Rest assured we have all the amenities in Jensen Pass. Electricity, running water, indoor plumbing and Express Mail. We’re not exactly in the boondocks there.”

He had no idea what Jensen Pass was or wasn’t, but he did know that for some reason his sarcasm was growing. “You left all those luxuries behind to come here to get the papers?”

She glanced down at the envelope in her hand as if she’d all but forgotten about it. “Oh, no, I had no idea…”

Her tongue touched her pale lips, and the sight sent a jolt through him that he found himself clearing his throat to control. God, what was so wrong with him that he could literally taste her in his mouth?

“I was in the city to see about a showing. This whole paper-signing thing…it’s just a…” She nibbled on her bottom lip and he filled in the word for her.

“A bonus?”

Her expression tightened again, this time drawing a fine line between her eyes and compressing her mouth. Color touched her cheeks. “Not hardly,” she said as her chin lifted just a bit. “But it is convenient.”

Suddenly, his legs felt rubbery and he moved farther into the room. Veering away from Sam, he reached for the closest chair and gripped the high leather back with one hand. Danforth was talking, and Nick had to force himself to focus on the lawyer to comprehend what he was saying.

“Actually, Samantha’s right. It is convenient. You’re both here, so we can get this over with right now.”

Nick actually needed the support of the chair, and if he hadn’t been so distracted by Sam’s unexpected appearance, that would have really annoyed him. “Sure, whatever,” Nick muttered.

“I don’t want anything from Nick,” Sam stated, “so it should be very simple. I just don’t see why we couldn’t have gotten an annulment.”

Danforth looked at Nick. “You never mentioned that.”

“I never thought of it,” he murmured, his hand tightening on the leather chair. “But if Sam wants to do that instead of—”

“Well, you’d need proof of fraud to get an annulment since I assume the marriage was consummated.”

“No, no,” Sam said quickly. “This is almost finished. That would be foolish.”

Nick saw the color in Sam’s cheeks rise even more, and she was staring hard at the envelope in her hand. Fraud? How about stupidity? And the marriage had been consummated—over and over again. Sex had been just about the only thing between them that they had both wanted—except for this divorce.

He felt a treacherous response to the memories as they started to return, and he moved carefully to sink into the chair.

“A divorce is fine,” Sam was saying, holding on to the envelope with her left hand, a hand without a ring. The single diamond was where she’d left it—in the side drawer of his desk. He hadn’t looked at it since she’d walked out. “But I need to read the papers before I sign,” she continued.

“Of course,” Danforth said.

Sam let go of the locket and skimmed her hand behind her neck, lifting her chin slightly and exposing her throat for a flashing instant. Nick was suddenly bombarded with the memory of the feel of her skin against his, that heat and silk, the pleasure that came in waves, the sensation of her pulse against his lips. He cleared his throat abruptly, tightening his hands on the arms of the chair and forcing himself to make small talk. “How’s your work going?”

Her green-eyed gaze turned to him, and the impact made his head swim. “Fine. I’m working on several paintings, actually. They might be picked up for the Orleans series.” He must have looked blank because she went on to explain. “It’s a children’s series of morality books.”

“Morality books,” he repeated.

“Honor, truth, loyalty…doing the right thing.”

He had the strangest idea that she was rebuking him somehow. “It’s a series?”

“Five titles in the planning. They saw some other children’s illustrations I did and they liked them.” She shrugged slightly. “They liked them very much.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to smile and he found himself bracing for the impact. He remembered her smiles, and he remembered what her smile had done to him when he first met her. He remembered and wished he hadn’t.

“Obviously, you’re good,” he murmured. “It sounds as if you’re doing well.”

Looking up at her now, he found himself confused about why he’d let this woman walk out on him. He tried to focus, to grab at a reason, then it came to him in a wrenching thud when she spoke again.

“I am. I love working on things for children.”

Children. At least he remembered one of the many reasons why their marriage had dissolved. They’d been on the beach at dawn, watching the sun rise, and she’d hugged her legs, staring out at the water.

“What a place for kids to grow up.”

He’d made some noncommittal answer like “Yeah, great,” but he’d been paying more attention to her tiny blue bikini and wondering how soon they could get back to the house so he could make love to her.

“I’ve always wanted to raise my kids by the ocean. That was the best time of my life, up in Jensen Pass. The ocean was like freedom to me, and I always knew that when I got married, I’d be by the ocean, and my kids would swim like fish.”

He’d been tracing her jawline with the tip of his finger but stopped. “That’s a nice fantasy,” he’d murmured, hoping he could banish the whole idea that easily.

But nothing about Sam had been easy. “It’s what I want. What I’ve always dreamed of. A husband and children. All the trimmings.”

He couldn’t pass that off as another rough spot in a rushed marriage. They were two people who had met and married in two weeks, two strangers who had desperately tried to reach out to each other. He hid from her words, from a dream life that he didn’t want. All he wanted was her.

He didn’t want children. He didn’t want to be tied down. But he wanted her. He’d stood, lifted her into his arms and carried her to the house. Their lovemaking that time had been explosive, and it had also been the last time he’d touched her.

Their relationship had been too intense and all-consuming. All he’d known while they were together was that nothing else mattered. Not when she smiled. Not when she touched him. At least, not at first while they were lost in each other’s arms.

“Children. Good.” He spoke past an odd tightness in his throat. “I’m glad things are working out for you.” He looked away, the thought of that last day bringing bitterness in a rush. He’d been wrong, so wrong. His mistake. His impulsiveness. His decision. A marriage that should have never been. She’d needed the commitment of marriage, and he’d gone along with it, never thinking about the consequences of two people finally looking at each other and finding out they were strangers. Husband and wife, but strangers.

“How have you been doing?” Sam asked abruptly.

He looked back at her, bracing himself this time, expecting that rush of need and desire that came no matter how rationally he tried to fight it when he was near her. “Working. I keep busy.”

“Of course, I remember,” she said softly. “Still fighting for the bad guy? Giving a defense to those with no defense?”

His headache increased as echoes from the past bombarded him. “How can you defend me when you know darn well that I did all that stuff the judge read to you? I mean, I didn’t intend to do it, but I’m guilty.”

His response now came as easily as the same response had come so long ago. “Everyone deserves a defense and I’m good at it.” He’d gotten her off with a fine, driving school and a restricted license for three months. A slap on the wrist after everything she’d done. “I got you off, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” she said, and his headache grew when her chin lifted just a fraction of an inch. “But then again, I wasn’t a serial killer.”

“You drove like one,” he said.

Sam felt her face burn, and she was furious that she was still so vulnerable to everything Nick said or did. It had to be the shock. When she’d come to Los Angeles, she’d known she wouldn’t be going anywhere near Malibu and she certainly hadn’t expected to see him walk through the door. Not any more than she’d expected that the sight of him would rock the world under her feet.

She turned from him and the way he seemed to fill all the space in the room, the way he’d always filled the space around her. She concentrated on the attorney behind the desk. But nothing she did could stop her from feeling Nick’s presence beside her. She didn’t have to inhale to know that he was so close she almost felt the air stir as he shifted in the leather chair.

She didn’t have to turn to be assailed by his image, an image burned into her mind. The navy suit, the pin-striped shirt with a deep red tie. His hair, a bit longer than it once had been, swept back from a hard face. Angles and planes. Those eyes. The one constant with Nick was that he was as sexy as hell. Even when he looked as if he wasn’t feeling well.

She couldn’t block out the image even when she wasn’t looking at him. He still had the same effect on her as he had the first moment they’d met, the first time he spoke to her in that low, rough voice, the first moment he touched her. She took a deep breath and knew she needed to go home, but she couldn’t till tomorrow morning. Until then, she just needed to be out of this office and to put Nick behind her.

“Mr. Danforth, I tell you what. I’ll get these back to you before I fly out tomorrow,” she told the attorney.

“That’s fine.” The man frowned at the two of them, probably glad that she was leaving and any explosion wouldn’t happen. “Just fine.”

She picked up her small white purse, then turned and walked away. The door was close enough for her to reach out and touch when she heard Nick’s voice call out, “Sam?”

She stopped but didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to look at Nick, the man she married, the man whose touch could make all reason flee, the man who could make her ache with just the sound of his voice. She held the doorknob so tightly her hand ached. All she wanted to do was cross the room and make some contact with him. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

Sam stood very still, his words hanging between them, and she didn’t know what to do. He was sorry. For some reason, that centered her. It killed whatever had been happening, whatever craziness was growing inside her, and in its place came a startling anger. She remembered. That moment she knew she’d have to leave. That moment she realized that Nick was a stranger.

Nick and Greg O’Neill on the deck of the Malibu house. She’d been gone, losing herself in her painting. The morning had started badly with a sense of something wrong, but she hadn’t been able to figure it out. There had been so many rough spots in the short marriage, but that morning, something had changed.

When they’d come back to the house from the beach, their lovemaking had been incredible and almost desperate. Now she realized she had sensed their relationship was over. That was the last time they’d made love. She’d immersed herself in her painting all day, then when night came, she’d heard voices in some other part of the house.

Wiping her hands on a rag, she’d gone toward the voices but stopped when she realized that Nick and Greg O’Neill were talking on the deck overlooking the beach. There were no lights on, just a partial moon, and the sound of Nick’s voice seemed to be everywhere in the air.

“My God, Greg, I’ve gotten myself in a real mess. This marriage…I don’t even know how it happened, and now Sam’s talking about kids. Next thing you know, she’ll be wanting a picket fence and daisies.”

Greg had laughed, saying something about bribing a judge and favors owed.

She’d waited for Nick to laugh and make it all into a joke. But he never had. Instead he spoke about marriage as if it were a disease. His voice was low, slightly slurred from drinking and filled with remorse. “It’s my fault, and if I could undo it, I would in an instant.”

“You wouldn’t even have wanted to meet Sam?” Greg had asked.

“Oh, hell, meet her? Yes. I wanted her from the first minute I saw her in that courtroom, green all over her hands, telling the judge that she was just trying to get to where she was going and didn’t understand why everyone was so upset with her driving.” There was a pause, then he laughed, but the sound was almost ugly. “Too bad it couldn’t have just been different.”

She had tried so hard to block his words, but they never went away. “Like what, an affair?” Greg had asked.

“Absolutely. That would have been perfect. But marriage? Marriage isn’t a normal state. Who ever thought up this concept of ‘forever’ with one person?”

“You don’t love her?”

She’d held her breath until Nick spoke again. “Love? I want her. I can’t stop that. But love? There’s no such thing.”

During their short marriage, he had never once said he loved her. They were strangers in so many ways. But she hadn’t known about the regret on Nick’s part. She’d believed that he loved her even if he couldn’t say it. She’d deluded herself. That tore at her more than anything, and in that moment in the dark, she’d seen clearly what she had to do.

The dreams that had kept her going through a lifetime alone were shattered. Her dreams of meeting a man, falling madly in love, being loved in return and having his children, died that night.

Her last act was to ask Nick one simple question, and even before he spoke, she knew it was over. So she gave him what he wanted—an out. And he’d taken it.

She bit her lips hard, the past hammering against her, and she would have left Danforth’s offices right then if Nick hadn’t spoken again.

“Sam? I said I was sorry.”

She took a breath, trying to steady the way her heart was bouncing in her chest, then made herself look back at him over her shoulder. He was still sitting in the chair, his eyes narrowed, his hands pressed to his thighs. She was sorry, too. So very sorry at that moment. And it made her ache even more. She was sorry for ever cuddling against him in the night, for ever touching him or letting him touch her. She was so damned sorry it was pathetic.

That thought was clear and sharp, as painful as anything she’d ever felt. “What are you sorry for?” she asked, her voice tight.

“For not being what you needed.”

She exhaled, a slightly shaky action, and spoke the truth. “It’s not your fault. The man I thought you were just never showed up,” she said quietly. “It was my fault for thinking he would.” Then she did leave. She went through the door, closed it and hurried through the reception area, looking neither right nor left.

She went out into the hallway to the elevators and didn’t feel as if she could breathe until she’d pushed the down button. Fifty feet and three closed doors were between herself and Nick, and yet she could still almost feel him behind her.

She held the purse and envelope against her chest so tightly that the clasp on her purse was biting into her ribs, but she didn’t ease her grip. For six months she’d had a life without Nick, a life that wasn’t what she’d dreamed she’d have, but it had been good at the cottage. It had been calm and peaceful. But just one meeting with him had toppled whatever balance she’d found.

“Mrs. Viera?”

Startled by the sound of a name she hadn’t heard in months, she realized that the elevator doors were wide open. She didn’t have a clue how long she’d been standing there or why a slightly built, elderly gentleman dressed all in black was in the car watching her with a smile.

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