The Legend of the Inn at Maiden Falls…

There are lots of rumors, but no one is exactly sure why even the crankiest twosomes get so very coosome when they spend time at the historic Inn at Maiden Falls, nestled in the Colorado Rockies. Maybe it’s the beautiful vista of all that rushing water (the falls) outside the windows. Maybe it’s the clean, invigorating mountain air stirring up their blood. Or maybe (as the whispers say) there really are lusty ghosts of shady ladies past floating around the rafters. Old-timers say the inn was a famous brothel more than a hundred years ago; all the “soiled doves” may have mysteriously passed way, but their spirits remain to help young lovers discover the joy of sensual pleasure.

Or so the story goes….

Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to be part of Temptation’s twentieth anniversary celebration! And I hope you’re enjoying reading about Miss Arlotta and the girls in THE SPIRITS ARE WILLING miniseries as much as I’ve enjoyed working with fellow writers Julie Kistler and Colleen Collins.You probably already caught Colleen’s book, Sweet Talkin’Guy, last month, and Julie Kistler’s story, It’s in His Kiss, will be on the shelves in August.

This July also marks the twentieth anniversary of the year Julie and I first met at a Romance Writers of America conference. So, to celebrate, we decided to come up with a project we could work on together. The idea behind THE SPIRITS ARE WILLING miniseries was inspired by Julie and Colleen’s tour of a former brothel in Denver. Afterward I met them for a hilarious dinner in which we plotted the series and our characters.

Come visit with us in the community message boards at www.eHarlequin.com and stop by my Web site, www.HeatherMacAllister.com, for news about upcoming books.

Warmly,

Heather MacAllister

Books by Heather MacAllister
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

785—MOONLIGHTING

817—PERSONAL RELATIONS

864—TEMPTED IN TEXAS

892—SKIRTING THE ISSUE

928—MALE CALL

959—HOW TO BE THE PERFECT GIRLFRIEND

Can’t Buy Me Love

Heather MacAllister

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Julie Kistler and Colleen Collins

Let’s do this again sometime.

The Golden Rules for Miss Arlotta’s Girls

We know rules are not your favorite things, but some things need to be written down.

So here’s your Golden Rules, girls. Abide by ’em and we’ll all do just fine. We weren’t exactly angels when we were here the first time around, but we’ve got another chance. So we want to do what we can to keep the idea of holy matrimony satisfying so’s nobody’s man will be tempted to go lookin’ elsewhere for a good time. It may not seem fair, but them’s the rules. We helped ’em stray.

Now we’re helping ’em stay.

Rule #1: You will never, ever do anything that might come between the bride and groom.

Rule #2: No visibility. You can’t be scarin’ the livin’ daylights out of folks by fading in and out or showing up in bits and pieces at the wrong time.

Rule #3: Never, ever make love with a guest yourself. No exceptions.

Rule #4: No emotional attachments to anyone. You can’t follow them when they leave, so you might as well not get attached.

Rule #5: When you have successfully put a troubled couple on the road to bedroom bliss, you earn a Notch in Miss Arlotta’s Bedpost Book.

Rule #6: Especially good or bad activities may earn you Gold Stars or Black Marks.

Rule #7: It’s gonna take ten Notches before you can advance. All Advancements shall be determined by Miss Arlotta and the Council, who will consider how difficult your couples were, how much work you had to do, your level of creativity, whether your heart was in the right place and those Gold Stars or Black Marks.

Rule #8: Any girl who disobeys these rules shall be punished.

Rule #9: Any and all rules may be changed by Miss Arlotta as she sees fit.

That’s it. Push those couples into as much wedded bliss as they can handle, and we’ll all do fine. You’re all creative ladies when it comes to what happens between the sheets. So let’s get to work and show ’em what kinds of sparks can fly when the spirits are willing!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Prologue

“I HAVE A REAL GOOD FEELING about today.” Sunshine hitched herself onto the window seat in the bay window and retied the drawstring on her white bloomers. “It’s a sunny day and I always have a good feeling about sunny days.”

“You have a good feeling about every day. How you can be so cheerful and so dead at the same time is beyond my figuring. It’s enough to drive a body, if I had a body, to drink. If I could drink.” Flo drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

Sunshine swung her foot and regarded Flo and the rest of the former good-time girls lounging in the parlor of what had once been one of the most exclusive bordellos in Colorado. “You’re just cranky because your corset is too tight.”

“I’m cranky because I’m dead! I’m dead and doomed to spend the rest of eternity in this corset because Mimi never came to loosen the knots.”

Everyone looked at the dark-haired Mimi, dressed in a sumptuous French robe de chambre. She shrugged. “I, myself, was busy dying.”

Over in the corner of a red-velvet chaise, Rosebud looked up from reading Madame Bovary. “Could we please talk about something else? We have discussed the fact that we’re dead every day for the past one hundred and nine years. There was a gas leak. We died. It’s time to move on.”

“I would love to move on!” Flo shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t believe that Belle Bulette, of all people, has gone to the Great Sunday Picnic in the Sky and I’m still here.”

“I miss Belle,” Sunshine said wistfully. But she smiled as she said it.

“You would.”

“It was never this boring when she was around,” said another one of the girls, a strawberry blonde in a lavender chemise.

“Oh, I know. She was always so spirited.”

“Spirited—ha, ha.”

“Oh, Flo, you know what I meant.”

“One makes one’s own excitement and profits, as vell. Is zat not so?” An elegant woman dressed in a Chinese-silk wrapper lounged against the doorway next to one of the brass-potted palms. She gestured toward the guests checking into what was now the Inn at Maiden Falls. “Specifically, I vould like to make some excitement viz zat fine young buck.”

“Countess, you know the rules,” Sunshine reminded her.

“My dear, for him, I vould break zee rules.”

Sunshine watched as a lone male—they all had such broad shoulders these days—checked into the hotel. He had a fine face, sure enough, and held himself with a confidence that promised confidence in the bedroom, as well.

However, everyone knew Miss Arlotta’s Golden Rules, specifically the no hanky-panky rule, and what would happen if a girl broke them—a black mark in the Bedpost Book. Too many black marks and there would never be a chance of earning the ten notches it took to go to the Eternal Picnic.

After decades of bemoaning their fate, Miss Arlotta and Judge Hangen, who had unfortunately been visiting Miss Arlotta at the time of the gas leak, figured out that since they’d sold fake love in life, they could redeem themselves by selling true love in death.

Or something. Whatever the reasoning, their plan seemed to be working.

Sunshine didn’t know if there was exactly a Great Picnic, or an Eternal Picnic, or whatever, but when they were alive, every Sunday Miss Arlotta’s boarders had dressed in their finest and driven the buggy through the town of Maiden Falls to the lovely shaded meadow where they’d picnicked and laughed and sometimes taken a dip in the pool beneath the falls.

Sunshine and the others had loved the Sunday picnics—even Belle, the sharpshooting, whiskey-drinking cynical gambler. It had taken quite a lot of man to handle Belle. And quite a lot of men had.

Anyway, being outside, feeling the grass tickle her bare feet, wading in the pool, even just plain lying around in the shade was what Sunshine missed the most.

She and the others couldn’t leave the inn proper. Oh, they could go out on the roof, but it wasn’t the same.

But what if they didn’t even have that? It could be worse. And now they knew that there was a way to go on to—if not the Great Picnic as they’d taken to calling it—then someplace else fine and good. Someplace Belle had gone. Someplace Sunshine was going to go, too, as soon as she helped one more couple on the path to true love. So fine, face or no, the man wasn’t worth risking a black mark.

“Ooh-la-la. That is a fine one indeed.” Mimi’s accent became more pronounced the nearer a man got to her. It was generally agreed that she more than likely came from Paris, Texas, rather than Paris, France.

“He must be the groom.” Sunshine, along with the others, drifted over to the lobby check-in desk. “There’s a wedding this weekend, you know.” She clasped her hands together. “I just love weddings.”

“Oh, that was canceled,” Lavender said.

“It’s back on,” Rosebud informed them from her place on the chaise. She was more interested in her book, which Lord knows she’d had over a hundred years to read, than she was in men. She simply didn’t know any better. Poor Rosebud had the misfortune of arriving at Miss Arlotta’s just before the gas leak, so her experience of men was extremely limited. Extremely.

“If the wedding is back on, then the bride and groom must need help,” Sunshine said.

“Same wedding, different bride and groom,” Rosebud told her.

“Me, I would like to give that man some very special help.”

Lavender sighed. “Oh, Mimi, wouldn’t we all.”

“I wouldn’t,” Flo snapped. “No man is worth giving up the chance of a loosened corset.”

“Amen to that,” drawled a voice from the door of the secret passage. “Listen up, ladies, and Glory Hallelujah will set you straight. Desdemoaner and I have been on the roof and, y’all, that man is not the groom. Looky yonder at the door.”

At that moment, a distinguished older man with silver temples and a full head of salt-and-pepper hair strode through the lobby as though he owned the place.

Sunshine had seen his type before—usually with a gavel in his hand or a badge on his chest.

“Behold, the groom.”

“Oh, it’s an older couple then. A second marriage maybe? How nice.” Sunshine ignored all the eye rolling. So she chose to look on the bright side all the time. Might as well enjoy life, er, death. Or whatever limbo they were in.

“Not quite.” Glory hooked her thumb over her shoulder as a dark-suited younger woman joined the man at the reception desk.

She had her hair cut in one of those styles that looked as though she’d hacked at it with a dull knife on a windy day. Sunshine patted her own long curls.

“His daughter?” Flo asked.

“The bride,” Glory announced.

“And I say brava!” The Countess clapped slowly.

“And, me, I say it depends on how much money he has.” Mimi rubbed her fingers together.

Flo cackled. “Honey, it wouldn’t take much for me.”

“It never did, Flo, it never did,” the Countess murmured.

“I heard that!”

“And so did I.” A voice boomed around them.

Sunshine could never figure out how Miss Arlotta, who spent most of her time in the attic, was nevertheless able to hear all and see all and speak to them wherever they were.

“Sunshine! The bride is checking into your room.” Lavender was hovering behind the guest register.

“And the groom?” Mimi asked.

“The new section.”

“Well, that can’t be good,” Glory said.

“Why not? You know the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride on their wedding day until she walks down the aisle.” Sunshine sighed. “It’s so romantic.”

“Sunshine will assist this couple,” Miss Arlotta pronounced. “Older gentlemen are her speciality.”

“Thank you, Miss Arlotta!” Sunshine drew a deep breath as the others protested—but not too much—before gradually drifting away to other parts of the inn. Older men who were lonely and liked her youthful looks and innocent chatter had been, indeed, her speciality.

She felt a tug on her gauzy wrapper. Rosebud had abandoned her book and was watching the couple check in. “You can drop the act,” she murmured. “We’re alone.”

“What act?” Sunshine batted her eyelashes.

“They have blonde jokes now, you know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jokes about girls with yellow hair being dumb.” She tweaked one of Sunshine’s sausage curls. “Only you’re not dumb.”

Sunshine kept her smile in place. “And don’t you forget it, sweetie.”

“I mean…take all this romantic talk. This was a place of business.”

Sunshine laughed. “Sure was—monkey business.”

“It was sex for money.” Rosebud pushed her wire-rim glasses up higher on her nose. “The men gave us money and we gave them sex. It was as simple as that.”

Sunshine looked across the lobby at the couple. Other than briefly resting his hand on the small of the woman’s back, the man never touched her. And she didn’t touch him. They smiled politely instead of the wide, tooth-baring grins of people who can’t help smiling. Of people who are in love.

“Rosebud,” she murmured, “it was never as simple as that.”

1

WHEN ALEXIS O’HARA ARRIVED at the Inn at Maiden Falls, Colorado, for her wedding and encountered an ex-boyfriend also checking in, she gave him a cool I’m-looking-good-and-aren’t-you-sorry-you-dumped-me smile. When he informed her he was representing her fiancé in the pre-nup negotiations, she did what any successful, independent, modern woman did when faced with the unthinkable: she called her mother.

Abandoning her luggage in the center of a lovely Aubusson rug as soon as she got to her room, Alexis stared unseeingly out the window at the gorgeous Rocky Mountain vista, cell phone pressed to her ear. “Mom?”

“You’ve changed your mind,” Patty O’Hara said flatly.

“No! Why do you keep assuming that every time I call?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe the week-long engagement to a man I’ve never before heard you mention in a romantic context?”

“This isn’t that sort of marriage.”

“What sort of marriage is it?”

Alexis began to speak, fully intending to extol the virtues of compatibility, admiration and shared interests, but heard herself say, “It’s an I’m-tired-of-dating marriage.”

“Oh, one of those. I thought it was an old-fashioned marry-an-old-guy-for-his-money marriage.”

Alexis gritted her teeth, then craftily pointed out, “He’s fifty-four. That’s only two years younger than you. Are you saying you’re old?”

“I’m saying I’ve been married to a fifty-four-year-old man and I know what it’s like.”

She was talking about Alexis’s father. Alexis preferred not to think of her father in that context. “But you haven’t been married to a rich fifty-four-year-old man.”

There was silence.

“Mom?”

“I was giving you time to think. You’ve been rushing around like a madwoman and I know you haven’t fully considered what you’re doing.”

“I had plenty of time to think on the plane.” Actually, she’d fallen asleep on the plane. Missed the honey peanuts and everything. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“I’m still not cutting the tags off my dress until I have to walk to my seat.”

“Mom.” Alexis pressed the area between her eyebrows.

“Alexis, as with any mother, I just want you to be happy. Now, I know you didn’t call to argue and I’m in the middle of packing. What’s up?”

“Dylan’s here.” Alexis was proud that her voice sounded calm and matter-of-fact.

“Do I know her?”

“Him.”

“Well, you never know these days with one-size-fits-all names.”

“Like Pat?” Alexis asked dryly, although no one ever called her mother Pat.

“A nickname for Patricia. What’s Dylan a nickname for?”

Alexis exhaled. “Trouble.”

“Why?”

How could her mother have forgotten? “Law school? The guy who drop-kicked my heart into orbit around Planet Pity?”

“Oh. That Dylan.”

“Yes, that Dylan! How could you forget that Dylan?”

“There’ve been…so many…”

Yes, her heart had made many trips to Planet Pity since then. But it had orbited longer over Dylan than anyone else. “Mom, he’s negotiating the pre-nup for Vincent.”

“You be careful with that pre-nup. Don’t sign anything without reading it first.”

“Mom! I’m a lawyer, too! You’re missing the point. Dylan is representing my fiancé.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?” her mother asked carefully.

“Yes—hate!”

“I thought you were over him.”

“I…am.” The unguarded rush of pleasure she’d experienced when she’d seen him in the lobby was just a holdover from their school years. “And I don’t hate him. I haven’t thought of him.” Much. “But he’s going to be negotiating my pre-nup with Vincent!”

“He apparently doesn’t feel that it’ll be a conflict of interest.”

“That’s because he’s not interested. Forget I said that.” This conversation was not going well.

“So…what do you want from me?” asked her mother.

“Tell me what to do!”

“Wait…Alexis asks her mother for advice. Let me go write this date on the calendar.”

Alexis rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you weren’t so sarcastic, I might ask your advice more often.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“You’re probably right. But I am asking now.” Her mother was an investment banker. Analyzing was her forte.

“Let’s take a couple of steps back and look at the big picture. What do you want? And that’s not a cop-out.”

“I want him not to be here.”

“Because of Vincent or because of him?”

“Because it’s awkward.”

“If Dylan were female, would it be as awkward?”

“Yeeeees,” Alexis said slowly. “If I were close friends with a woman and we broke off our friendship, I would feel awkward having her as my fiancé’s counsel. Yes,” she said more firmly. “It’s that kind of awkwardness.”

“Hmm. If Dylan were female, would you ask Vincent to find other representation?”

Alexis skirted the question. “It’s too late now.”

“Isn’t Denver close by? Surely there are other lawyers available. But the point here is that you’d probably mention it to Vincent if Dylan were female.So why not tell him how uncomfortable you feel anyway? You’re marrying the man. You should be able to talk about such things with him.”

“Because…because…” Because she just wanted to marry Vincent and get it over with. “I don’t want Dylan to know he makes me uncomfortable.”

“Or you don’t want to chance Vincent discovering that you once had a relationship with his lawyer?” Her mother had found the core of the problem, as Alexis had known she would.

“That sounds so much worse than it is. Truly, this is no big deal and I don’t want it to become a big deal. But if I don’t mention it and Vincent already knows or finds out, then he’ll think I’m hiding something. If I do make a point of telling him about Dylan and me, then I’m drawing unnecessary attention to it, especially if he didn’t already know. And I don’t know if Dylan has told him or not. And I can’t ask Dylan because then he’ll think I care whether or not Vincent knows and then Dylan will think he has something over me. A bargaining chip maybe. Which is stupid because whether or not I was once in love with him is not important. But Vincent might think it is.” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “My head hurts.”

“Poor baby.”

“Oh, Mom. What’ll I do?”

“Okay. I suggest you treat Dylan the way you’d treat any other former classmate, male or female. You smile, make casual chitchat, go over your pre-nup and send him on his way.”

Smile. Chitchat. Pre-nup. Dylan leaves. Okay. She could do that. “But what if he says something?”

“If he actually has the poor taste to bring up your past personal relationship in front of the man who is his client and your fiancé, you smile, casually acknowledge it, express regret that you’ve lost track of each other and that you don’t have more time to catch up now, then leave.”

Casual. Leave. This could work. She especially liked the leaving scenarios. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Alexis?”

“Yeah?”

“A shot of tequila afterward wouldn’t hurt.”

“AND ON THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY of the marriage ceremony, if no petition for dissolution has been filed, Alexis O’Hara shall be entitled to receive from the Individual Property of Vincent Cathardy, the sum of one hundred thousand dollars plus the salary she would expect to earn if she is not employed. Said salary will be computed according to the formulas in attachment A. On the second anniversary of the marriage ceremony, if no petition for dissolution has been filed, Ms. O’Hara shall be entitled to receive from the Individual Property of Vincent Cathardy, the sum of two hundred thousand dollars plus the salary she would expect to earn if she is not employed. On the third anniversary…”

And so on and so on. It was a humdinger of a pre-nup, but then Dylan Greene had always thought Alexis O’Hara was a humdinger of a woman.

Not that he’d had any recent firsthand experience of her humdingerness, but if memory served…

However, memory shouldn’t be serving anything right now. Dylan should concentrate on the clauses he was reading. Alexis and her lawyer would be. Vincent would be, too, though he’d written most of the contract himself. Go figure.

Dylan needed to remain sharp. Yeah, he was good and had a reputation as the go-to guy in family law and, if pressed, would admit that the reputation was deserved. After all, he’d successfully faced-off against big-shot lawyer Vincent in a number of pre-nup cases. All things considered, he’d been flattered, enormously flattered—all right, make that totally stunned—when Vincent Cathardy had retained him to negotiate the prenuptial agreement prior to the man’s own forthcoming marriage.

Vincent, senior partner in Swinehart, Cathardy and Steele, was a legend. His name was spoken in hushed tones. A lawyer going up against Vincent Cathardy could expect to receive at least half-a-dozen bottles of sympathy Scotch. Since Vincent Cathardy was a corporate lawyer and Dylan’s firm specialized in family law, Vincent wasn’t a regular opponent. When he was, the case usually involved family businesses and disputed inheritances or, of course, divorces. High-profile divorces. Expensive divorces.

Dylan wasn’t much of a drinker and he thought he probably had maybe four bottles left from the last time he’d faced Vincent Cathardy. Anyway, he kept waiting to discover the catch. He and Vincent didn’t move in the same legal—or social—circles. So why had Vincent hired him?

And then he’d caught the name of the bride on the papers. Alexis O’Hara. Alexis. Brilliant and ambitious Alexis.

She was working on a pretty good legend, herself, being Vincent’s right-hand man, or woman, as it were. Had she suggested Dylan? Nah. Not judging by the pinched look on her face when she’d walked into the lobby.

He hadn’t prepared himself for his first sight of her because he didn’t think he needed to. He’d been wrong, as his body quickly informed him. His heart had kicked up a notch—several notches—his blood had warmed and things had definitely stirred in the southern regions. Just like that. Seven years since he’d seen her and just like that his every nerve was attuned to her. He’d barely stopped himself from sweeping her into his arms and kissing her with a pent-up passion that would have left no doubt as to their former relationship. But he had stopped himself and returned Alexis’s cool, polite smile with one of his own.

Vincent had been standing there, of course, and Vincent was the sort of man who would have made it his business to learn that Dylan and Alexis were once involved. But that was law school, Dylan reminded himself. Puppy love. Over long ago. A fond memory, very fond as his reaction just told him, but nothing more. Certainly no threat to the big guy.

No, the reason Vincent had hired him was more likely Dylan’s record when they’d gone head-to-head. That must be it. The man respected him. Figured he was one of the best.

He was, but men of Vincent’s stature and experience wouldn’t like to admit it. And choosing Dylan to negotiate his pre-nup? Vincent had to know he was elevating Dylan to the legal stratosphere. But if he thought that entitled him to any special legal wrangling, then he thought wrong.

Dylan continued to read, conscious of the utter silence in the room except for the sound of his voice. No objections so far. And why would Alexis object? She was going to get her salary and a bonus for each year she stayed married to the guy. And it was payable during the marriage, not a settlement upon dissolution of the marriage. No, Alexis would be getting a nice little anniversary present each year. The funds were to become her separate property. Nice work, if you could get it, and Alexis apparently could.

He hadn’t figured her for the type, the give-it-all-up and-lounge-around-the-pool-between-spa-treatments type. Not before her legal brilliance had a chance to shine on its own.

What a waste.

But his opinion was completely inappropriate. He wasn’t supposed to be having opinions.

And he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Alexis. Seeing her again had an unnerving effect on him. It was as though he’d entered a classroom to find her waiting for him as usual, and he was entitled to the hot feelings that coursed through him. But he wasn’t entitled. Unfortunately, the feelings were still coursing. He was remembering long hours spent in her arms, kissing until their lips had gone numb, studying until they’d fallen asleep together. The scent of her skin and hair. The curve at her waist. The—no. Put the memories away, Dylan.

Alexis had become a striking woman, not that he’d expected her to go to seed or anything. He was going to have to watch himself this weekend.

Dylan glanced up to find her inky-black gaze on him. He’d always been fascinated by her eyes. They were the darkest brown he’d ever seen. It was unnerving to stare at them, and she knew it and used her eyes to excellent advantage.

Once or twice, he’d seen emotion in those eyes, but not often. And not now.

DYLAN STILL HADN’T DEVELOPED a poker face, Alexis saw. He’d always been easy to read, so when he’d split up with her without warning a few weeks before graduation, she’d been stunned that she’d never seen it coming. Even now, she could remember the expression in his eyes. Surprise that she was so upset. And pity—she’d hated that.

But no regret. No second thoughts.

Now, those warm, caramel-colored emotional semaphores were signaling disapproval across the polished walnut of the Victorian dining table.

As if he had any right to approve or disapprove of anything she did.

And so what if he or anyone else did disapprove? If Alexis wanted to marry Vincent, then that’s what she was going to do. She’d earned the right to do whatever she wanted. She’d worked hard for years, and guess what? She’d been working to achieve a certain kind of life and now that she was pulling in the kind of money to support that life, she didn’t have the time or the energy to enjoy it.

Alexis was tired of working at this insane pace. And darn it, she wanted kids eventually, but she didn’t want to be put on the mommy track because she couldn’t routinely work eighty to ninety hours a week or because she took off a couple of years.

That’s what had happened to every woman who’d given birth while Alexis had been at Swinehart, Cathardy and Steele. And it wasn’t just her firm, or even law, itself. Even Marisa, who’d joined the firm at the same time as Alexis, and who had her mother, younger sister and a nanny living with her, had given up and now consulted from her home.

So, it still came down to family or career. But why did women have to make this wrenching choice? Why couldn’t they do both? She’d never heard of the men in her office agonizing over it. She knew they had families. New photos of smiling wives and children regularly sprouted on their desks, although that could be so they could recognize them when they crossed paths at home.

Still, they had something she didn’t. Something she wanted. And by marrying Vincent, she could have it. She could have it all.

A week ago, she’d been looking forward to collapsing and sleeping late Saturday morning—maybe even sleeping the whole weekend. She so rarely had a weekend off. She’d just given herself the old pep talk, the one that said being primary associate on Vincent’s high-profile team was worth it. Worth no personal life, worth the lack of sleep, worth missing birthdays and holidays, worth never really getting to know her three-year-old niece.

She could slow down later, she’d always assured herself at the end. That was the point when she usually slipped into her fantasy, the one filled with shopping, salon appointments, lunches and sleep, glorious sleep.

Except, she wanted to slow down—stop—now. She wanted the fantasy now. She hadn’t felt the same sense of satisfaction that she used to feel at the end of a big project. And the oblique remarks made by her mother and sister now stung. She would never know her three-year-old niece, her sister, Leigh, pointed out, because she hadn’t seen her niece as a three year old. And unless Alexis managed a trip to Austin before May 24, Madison’s fourth birthday, she wouldn’t.

Alexis had checked her Palm and found out that Leigh was right.

It had given her something to think about.

She’d been thinking about it last Friday after she and Vincent had finished work on a huge merger. Vincent had opened a bottle of champagne and the two crystal flutes she’d drunk coupled with the feeling of accomplishment and the magnificent high-rise view from Vincent’s equally magnificent office had loosened her tongue.

Vincent had waved an arm at the lights of Houston winking at them and asked, “How does it feel to look out there and know you’re one of the best?” She’d answered, “Not the way I thought it would.”

“Then you need more champagne,” Vincent had said. That was when he’d poured the fateful second flute.

Alexis never drank more than one drink in a business setting. But, Vincent was her mentor and she was so used to following his advice that she’d held out her flute without a second thought.

He’d clinked their glasses together and then she’d rashly drained hers, never tasting the pricey Dom something or other that Vincent kept chilled in his office refrigerator.

“Well?” One thick eyebrow raised. His face was impossibly tanned. Impossibly as in, where did he find the time to have the fake tan sprayed on? Alexis hadn’t even managed to find a reliable manicurist to come to her office.

“How do you feel now?” Vincent had asked.

“I want more,” she remembered saying. But when he’d held up the bottle, she’d shaken her head. “Not champagne. More.”

A smile had curved his lips.

Now that she thought about it, Alexis recalled that it was the same smile he gave opponents before obliterating them. It was an I’ve-won-but-I’m-going-to-play-with-you-awhile smile.

She hadn’t been an opponent, had she?

“You’re entitled to more.” He’d named a figure.

To her astonishment, Alexis had realized she’d negotiated a raise without even trying. “Has all this been worth it to you?” she’d asked him.

He’d looked her right in the eyes, his blue ones so bright and so sharp they cut through her champagne haze. “Absolutely.”

Alexis had felt herself relax until he added, “But then my biological clock runs longer than yours.”

Biological clock. Hadn’t that become a cliché yet? And yet once he’d mentioned it, she’d realized all her unease was probably related to that same biological clock. Cliché or not, she was thirty-one and had no boyfriend and no time to find one, along with tattered friendships and blood relatives who were strangers. She’d poured out all this to an uncharacteristically sympathetic Vincent. Oh, it had been a calculated sympathy, Alexis knew that, but she’d pretended she didn’t.

And then he’d said, “I have a proposal for you.” And that’s exactly what it had been.

She’d been shocked and then the idea had grown on her. Though he was older, Vincent was by no means unattractive and quite frankly, he could provide a better life for her than she could provide for herself.

And she didn’t want to hear any of this letting-down-the-sisterhood stuff, either. She’d just like to see how many of the sisterhood would turn down an offer like the one Vincent had made. Not many, and not Alexis.

So here she was, a week later, marrying a man she admired, but didn’t love. Who admired, but didn’t love, her. Still, they both wanted the same thing—a family and children. Well, Alexis also wanted a personal trainer and a standing appointment with a masseuse, but basically, she and Vincent were on the same page.

It made so much sense—Alexis would settle in to the marriage for a couple of months, then work on having children right away, and by the time they were well into elementary school, Vincent would be ready to take over parenting duties and Alexis would pick up her legal career where she left off. Thanks to Vincent, there would be no mommy track for Alexis. As one of the founding partners, he had that kind of power, and he was putting it in writing, right in this pre-nup that she should be paying attention to instead of mentally justifying her actions to a pair of caramel-colored eyes that still had the power to affect her.

“Alexis?” Margaret, her lawyer, gave her a look that meant Alexis had missed something.

In her late forties, Margaret had never married. She was hard as nails, humorless, and her roots needed retouching.

She was Alexis’s future.

No, not anymore. Not now that she was marrying Vincent. “Margaret?”

“Do you agree to the terms of the preceding clause?”

“I…”

“There is a significant—” Margaret paused to emphasize just how significant “—monetary penalty should you return to work. In addition, there is a non-compete clause that troubles me.”

“It didn’t trouble Alexis,” Vincent inserted smoothly.

“We have had barely forty-eight hours to review the contract.” Margaret peered at Vincent over the top of some unflattering reading glasses. They were in no way stylish, nor had they ever been. Shopping for frames would take time, time a high-powered attorney like Margaret didn’t have.

“I would suggest that if Alexis works for another firm, you mitigate the financial penalty,” she said.

“I wouldn’t work for another firm.” That would be defeating the whole purpose of the marriage.

Margaret and her awful glasses turned to Alexis. “All the more reason to take a second look at those financial terms.”

Alexis didn’t want to take a second look. Truly, she was going to start on a family right away and planned to spend the next few years decorating nurseries and changing diapers in between rejuvenating facials. No sense in wasting time. No sense in destroying the lovely weightless bubbly feeling she’d had ever since she’d agreed to marry Vincent and let him worry about acquiring money for a while.

And then Dylan spoke. “Vincent, I usually advise my clients to provide for the unexpected. In this instance, a clause dealing with your possible incapacitation would not be amiss. Should your income stop, under these terms, Alexis would be penalized for supporting you.”

Dylan sure was a real lead weight.

Vincent gave him a patronizing smile. “If I had wanted such a clause, then I would have inserted it myself.”

“If you’d thought of it.”

“I did.”

“Judges like to see those clauses.” Dylan wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, Alexis would give him that, though not much more. “They’re a sign of good faith and make the pre-nup harder to break.”

“I expect an unbreakable contract from you, Dylan. Is my faith misplaced?”

“Not if your faith takes my advice.”

Sheesh. Why didn’t they just unzip their pants and get out rulers?

“Alexis has faith, don’t you, Alexis?” Vincent asked.

Dylan’s gaze flicked to Alexis at the same time Margaret’s foot nudged hers. Yeah, yeah. The clause should be there. She couldn’t help feeling that it was some kind of test, though.

“Vincent…” she began.

“If I’m incapacitated, then more than ever, I would want my lovely wife by my side.” He reached across the table and squeezed Alexis’s hand. “We’d hardly be destitute. I have a lifetime income from the firm.”

“Oh.” Wow. Maybe she’d never go back to work. Work was overrated. Spa paraffin and sea-salt scrub pedicures were not. Alexis slipped back into her fantasy as one of the rich and idle.

She heard a buzz and saw Vincent remove his cell phone. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” He raised his eyebrows at Alexis. “Briarwood.”

The next big case. One that she would have been working on with him if she hadn’t been planning a wedding in a week. “Of course,” she mouthed. But Vincent had already turned away and was leaving the room.

“Alexis, you and I need to talk.”

“Margaret—”

“But not now.” Margaret picked up her copy of the contract and stood. “I’m going to look up a couple of things.” She pointed at Dylan. “You know the rules. No discussing the contract unless I’m present.”

Dylan sat back in the chair, palms outward. “Hey. She’s a lawyer, too.”

“She was,” Margaret stated over her shoulder as she jogged out the doorway.

That stung a little until Alexis told herself that Margaret was just jealous. Who wouldn’t be?

She turned her gaze to the man across the table to find him watching her. She watched him back. He looked the same. More polished and with shorter hair, but basically the same. They might have been sitting across from each other at one of the heavy wooden library tables at school. They’d always had to put the table between them so they could concentrate on studying instead of each other.

It rarely worked then and it wasn’t working now.

Dylan had never been one of those catch-your-breath attractive men, but he made the effort with what he had and the effect was a nonthreatening handsomeness. Except now, it was threatening her peace of mind. She narrowed her eyes at his tan. Fake. When did these men have the time?

“So,” he said.

“So,” she said back. He was going to be trouble. She could tell already.

“Long time no see.”

“Commencement.” She’d stared at the back of his head two rows ahead and alternated between fury and heartbreak. But she’d recovered.

“So how have you been, Alexis?”

“Good. I’ve kept busy.”

“You’re being overly modest. The mere mention of your name strikes fear into the hearts of small-business owners everywhere.”

Was that a compliment, or not? And did she care? “I’ve heard your name bandied about, as well.”

“I’ll bet you have.”

“Usually ‘that damn Dylan Greene.’ You should change your letterhead to D. Dylan Greene.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Vincent has had to restructure a couple of deals when he couldn’t break one of my pre-nups.”

“Actually, I did the restructuring.” Hours and hours and hours of restructuring.

“You get to do the dirty work, huh?”

Alexis folded her hands on the table in front of her. Gripped her knuckles, actually. Hard. “I get the experience.”

“Which you are now throwing away.”

Alexis drew a deep breath. So much for their stilted little conversation. “Watch it, Dylan.”

“I am watching it.” He pushed back from the table and stood. Shoving his hands in his pockets he walked over to the huge windows looking out on the Colorado mountains. “I’m watching a woman throw away her career. What happened to you, Alexis?”

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