“What in the hell are you doing here?”

Jack folded his arms over his chest. “Sheer accident. I’m in town on business, and who do I see getting into a cab? The woman who walked out on me six months ago without so much as a goodbye. And now, for some reason, everyone thinks I’m your…husband?”

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, Jack. Will you just go?”

“Oh, no. If you’re going to pass me off as your husband, I’ve got a right to know why.”

“It was a harmless little…ruse. That’s all.”

He eyed her carefully. “Why me?”

She turned away. “The picture was handy.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What other reason would there be?”

Jack gave her a cocky grin. “I’m unforgettable?”

Rachel shot him a look of disgust. Oh, he was so arrogant. And so conceited. And so right.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always loved those crazy stories where somebody tells a tiny fib, only to have that little falsehood escalate into a problem of major proportions!

In Risky Business, architect Rachel Westover is desperate to land her dream job, but the big boss refuses to consider unmarried job candidates. She decides that Jack Kellerman, a fun, sexy, captivating man with whom she once had a scorching one-night affair, can become her imaginary husband, since he lives a thousand miles away and will never know. She gets the job. Her plans works perfectly.

Then, out of the blue, Jack shows up at her office, quite amused that he appears to be married but can’t seem to remember his wedding.

When everybody takes Jack to be her real husband, Rachel is forced to spend four days with him on an employee/spouse retreat at a romantic ski resort. Soon her one little fib has spiraled completely out of control. How can she, a serious, career-driven woman, be falling for a wildly spontaneous man who never takes anything seriously?

I hope you enjoy Risky Business. Visit me on the Web at www.janesullivan.com, or write to me at jane@janesullivan.com. I’d love to hear from you!

Best wishes,

Jane Sullivan

Books by Jane Sullivan

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

854—ONE HOT TEXAN

HARLEQUIN DUETS

48—THE MATCHMAKER’S MISTAKE

33—STRAY HEARTS

Risky Business

Jane Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

1

JACK KELLERMAN WAS A BORN optimist.

He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he hadn’t believed that the glass was half-full. That when a door closed, a window opened. That things always worked out for the best, that tomorrow was another day, and that life really was a bowl of cherries. And above all, that laughter was indeed the best medicine.

But even at his most positive, no way could he have predicted a day like today.

He’d caught an early morning flight from San Antonio to Denver. Nonstop. Arrived ten minutes early. Actual breakfast on the plane rather than a package of stale dry-roasted peanuts. Sat down next to a woman with a baby, and the child fell asleep when they took off and didn’t even wake when they landed. Gorgeous redhead from San Antonio in the seat to his left, literate, well-spoken and maybe even telling the truth when she said she was unmarried. She’d slipped her card into the pocket of his leather jacket as they got off the plane, giving him a smile that said, Anywhere, anytime, any way.

As he exited the terminal, he got a picture-postcard view of the snowcapped Rocky Mountains in the distance. He picked up a cab with a functioning heater. The driver, who actually spoke English, drove him into downtown Denver, where a light sprinkling of snow blanketed the sidewalks with a soft white powder.

And now, as Jack stood inside the lobby of the Fairfax Hotel, turning a slow circle and taking in every nuance of the late-nineteenth-century architecture and decor, he couldn’t help smiling. He’d wondered whether this trip would be worth it. He wasn’t wondering now.

Man, oh man, what a beautiful sight.

He checked his watch and saw that he was thirty minutes early for his appointment with the hotel manager. He stepped into the lounge, slid onto a stool at the bar and watched as a blonde sitting at the other end of the bar uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again, giving him an inviting smile.

Nice. Very nice.

The only thing that rivaled Jack’s passion for historic places was his passion for beautiful women. And right now, he was experiencing the best of both worlds.

He returned her smile, knowing it never hurt to plant seeds. If she was still here by the time the manager finished giving him a tour of the place, he might just have himself a lunch partner. Maybe more. If this day got any better he wasn’t going to be able to stand it.

But business first. Then pleasure.

The bartender came by, and Jack asked for a cup of coffee. Then he pulled out his cell phone, tapped number one on the speed dial, and after a few rings, Tom came on the line. His cousin and business partner, Tom was holding down the fort in San Antonio while he made the trip to Denver.

“You at the hotel already?” Tom asked.

“Just got here.”

“Well? Is it everything we thought it would be?”

“More. It’s a gold mine. Crystal chandeliers, oak and mahogany floors, brass fixtures all over the place, and enough stained glass to fill the Vatican.”

“Wow. Sounds good.”

“It’s better than good. I can’t believe some idiot wants to demolish it.”

“Yeah, but their loss is our gain.”

Jack had to admit that was true. Their business was historic renovation, not demolition, but if they couldn’t stop the destruction of buildings like this one, at least they could salvage the interiors for use somewhere else. Still, the lack of foresight of some people really grated on Jack’s nerves. A fifty-story office complex might be the highest and best use of this property if a person was looking at it from strictly a financial viewpoint, but once those explosives were planted and detonated, a piece of history would be lost forever. How could anyone put a price tag on that?

Jack glanced back at the blonde, who was toying with a cocktail straw and not even trying to hide the fact that her attention was focused squarely on him. He didn’t have to be back at the airport until seven o’clock tonight. A lot could happen in seven hours.

“How long do you think it would take to pull everything out of there?” Tom asked.

“Hard to say. I’ll know more after I go through it. Trouble is, they want the building on the ground before the end of February.”

Tom let out a breath of frustration. “That could be cutting it close.”

“We could bring two crews up here.”

“That’ll short us on the Wimberly Building.”

“But that one has a longer fuse. We can afford that.”

“This all assumes we win the bid.”

“I’m telling you, Tom, if the rest of the place is as good as what I’ve seen so far, I’ll make sure we win the bid.”

The blonde picked up her glass of wine and took a sip, then teased her lower lip against the rim in a provocative back-and-forth motion. He was getting exactly the right kind of vibes from her—vibes that told him she wanted nice conversation, great sex—and a no-strings-attached goodbye.

Maybe they’d skip lunch in the restaurant and go straight to room service.

“So when is your meeting with the manager?” Tom asked.

“Eleven-thirty. I’m a little early, so I thought I’d—”

Jack stopped short. Looking out the window to the street beside the hotel, he saw something that froze him to the spot where he sat.

No. It couldn’t be.

He sat motionless, his heart suddenly beating rapid-fire, as he watched a woman on the sidewalk. She held shopping bags in both hands, her purse tossed over her shoulder, looking as if she wanted to hail a cab. Even at this distance, he could see the smooth, ivory skin of her face in contrast to the crimson of her lips, both framed by black-as-night hair that swirled in the winter breeze.

Hadn’t he touched that face before? Kissed those lips? Run his fingers through that hair?

It was her. Rachel.

No. That was wishful thinking. The woman he’d known in San Antonio had been all long legs and luscious curves and warm, soft mouth, and every move she’d made had been a sensual feast for the eyes. This woman was wearing a conservative wool coat with a hem below her knees, black gloves and black low-heeled shoes, looking so sharp and conservative that if a Marine recruiter had happened by, he would have dragged her straight to boot camp. Would the woman he’d known in San Antonio have dressed like that?

He wasn’t sure. He’d have to think hard to remember what she looked like with clothes on.

They’d spent one night together—one hot, exciting, unforgettable night—only to have her leave before daybreak without so much as telling him her last name. Not a day had passed in the last six months that he hadn’t thought about her, and he’d held out hope that someday he would see her again. And now, as he looked at this woman, the most uncanny feeling of recognition took him by the throat and refused to let go, telling him that today just might be that day.

“Jack?” Tom said. “Are you there?”

Tom’s voice had become as comprehensible as a mosquito buzzing in his ear. The blonde gave him yet another provocative smile, but that didn’t register, either. Every molecule in his body was tuned toward the woman on the sidewalk outside, and all at once the promise he’d made to himself that morning six months ago came back to him like a prophecy just waiting to be fulfilled.

He’d told himself that if he ever saw her again, he’d never let her go.

“Sorry, Tom. Gotta run. I’ll call you back later.”

“Hey! Wait! You haven’t finished telling me—”

Jack hit a button on the phone and stuffed it back into his coat pocket. He reached for his wallet, grabbed the first bill he saw—a ten—and tossed it onto the bar. The blonde gave him a surprised look, but he was already off his bar stool and heading out of the lounge.

He ran into the lobby, glanced out the window again and panicked when he didn’t see her. He burst through the revolving door onto the sidewalk, the cold winter wind slapping him in the face, just in time to see her pulling a cab door closed behind her.

“Rachel!”

He ran toward the cab, shouting her name, but the wind caught his words and blew them right back at him. The cab pulled away from the curb.

He spun around and ran to another cab, leaped inside, slammed the door and pointed madly. “Follow that cab!”

The driver, a gray-haired guy who seemed to be moving in slow motion, looked at him as if he was out of his mind.

“I know,” Jack said impatiently. “Cliché. Just do it anyway, will you?”

The man shook his head and hit the gas, accelerating quickly to keep the cab ahead of them in sight. It was no small task, since its driver seemed hell-bent on setting a new land speed record.

“Stay with him,” Jack said.

“Lots of traffic. I’ll give it a shot.”

By going five miles over the speed limit, the driver managed to stay just one car behind the other cab. And the whole time, Jack was consumed by thoughts of the day he’d met Rachel and the incredible hours they’d spent together.

That afternoon he’d gone by the Alamo in downtown San Antonio, partly because he had a little time to kill, and partly because it was one of his favorite places. She’d been out by the well behind the chapel, one of the only buildings in the Alamo complex left standing. He was first struck by her beauty, but it didn’t take long for him to discover that much more lay beneath her surface. After only a few minutes of conversation, he realized she knew more about the Alamo than he did, and that was saying a lot.

After spending a good two hours talking about nineteenth-century history, Jack had been positively entranced. Later they’d had dinner together, then strolled along the Riverwalk. And then they’d done something that was impulsive even for him.

As evening turned to dusk, their walk took them past the old Stonebriar Hotel. He didn’t know who made the first move toward it, but looking back, their thoughts had been so in tune that he imagined they must have done it together. Within minutes they’d checked in. He’d barely waited until they’d gotten into the elevator before he kissed her, and it was all they could do to get down the hall to their room before they came together in a fiery sexual encounter that made every other experience he’d ever had with a woman pale by comparison.

Then he’d awakened the next morning to find her gone. No note, no phone message, no nothing. And he realized that while they’d talked endlessly about history, she’d sidestepped more personal conversation, leaving him with only three pieces of information about her: Her name was Rachel, she was from out of town and she was an architect. And that was it. And from that day forward, he’d fervently hoped that somehow, someway, someday, their paths would cross again. How could he have known it would be a thousand miles away in Denver, Colorado?

All at once, the cab they were following accelerated, weaving hard to the right, then to the left, putting two more cars between them.

“You’re losing them!” Jack told the driver.

“The guy’s a maniac,” he muttered. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Jack yanked two twenties out of his wallet and held them up. “You need to do better.”

The driver had a sudden change of attitude and stomped the gas. “Hang on.”

With a little creative maneuvering of his own, Jack’s driver managed to gain on the cab ahead of them. Every muscle in Jack’s body was tense, every nerve ending alive. He had to catch up to her. He had to.

Then the light at the next intersection turned yellow. Jack’s driver slammed on the brake and brought their cab to a tire-squealing halt, while the other cab crossed the intersection and buzzed away.

“Damn!” Jack said, smacking the back of the seat with his fist. He couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe he’d come so close to finding her, only to lose her again. He slumped back against the seat, still cursing under his breath.

“Hey!” the driver said, “It’s stopping half a block up!”

Jack sat up again, hope surging through him. Looking down the street, he saw that the cab had pulled up next to the curb and the woman was getting out. Her straight dark hair swung across her shoulders as she bustled herself and her packages through the door of a high-rise bank building.

The light changed. Jack’s driver hit the gas, and a moment later he pulled up to the curb in front of the building into which she’d disappeared. Jack tossed him money, then leaped out of the cab and raced into the building. Scanning the lobby, he spotted her standing in a crowd near the elevators.

As he sprinted toward her, a set of elevator doors opened and she got on. The crowd followed her, leaving just as big a crowd behind waiting for the next elevator. He pushed his way through the people with as much civility as he could given his desperation, getting dirty looks left and right. But he had to catch that elevator.

The doors were closing.

“Rachel!” he shouted.

He reached over the shoulder of a man in front of him and tried to wedge his hand between the doors.

“Hey, buddy!” the guy said. “Back off! The elevator’s full!”

The doors closed, and the elevator began its ascent. Another came, and the people turned and hurried toward it, leaving Jack standing there alone, cursing his luck. Or lack of luck. This was a forty-story building, and thousands of people worked here. How would he ever find her?

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. In a moment he had the manager of the Fairfax Hotel on the line and told him something had come up and he’d have to reschedule his tour for later in the day. The man sounded a little annoyed, but Jack couldn’t have cared less.

Then, as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket, he remembered that he did have one piece of information about Rachel. If she’d been telling him the truth about her profession, she was an architect.

He strode back through the lobby, found the building management office, and a few minutes later he got what he was after: the names and addresses of five architectural firms housed within the building.

He returned to the elevators, his body humming with anticipation, images of Rachel swirling through his mind. She was beautiful, but the world was full of beautiful women, and his attraction to her had gone way beyond that. Even though their time together could have been counted in hours, for maybe the first time in his life he’d been thinking about the possibility of making a relationship permanent.

He’d find her. One way or the other, before this day was out, he’d find her. And if he had his way, he’d have her back in his arms again.

2

RACHEL WESTOVER GOT OUT of the elevator on the thirty-eighth floor, then turned and backed through the glass door of Davidson Design, dragging two large shopping bags along with her. If this day got any worse, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

She’d realized this morning as she was leaving for work that she really could use a couple of new sweaters and a few other things if she intended to go to a ski resort for the next four days. So she’d ventured out for an early lunch hour, fought the crowds at both Ann Taylor and Express, stood in line next to a woman with a screaming baby, paid far too much for everything because she had no time to shop for a bargain, then took a cab back to her office driven by a guy who didn’t know the meaning of the word brake.

But at least now she was ready for the retreat. Four days of skiing in Silver Springs, courtesy of the big boss, Walter Davidson. The man liked to promote a “one big, happy family” feeling among his employees, and occasional employee/spouse retreats were his way of making that happen. Rachel had never been very comfortable in social situations, particularly those which she was forced to attend, so she wasn’t looking forward to this one. Unfortunately, turning down such a generous invitation would make her look ungrateful. And with the new project manager position opening up, she definitely didn’t want to appear that way.

The receptionist, Megan Rice, an animated little redhead with big brown eyes, peered over her desk.

“Hey, Rachel. Have fun shopping?”

“Not in the least.”

“Aw, come on. It’s always fun to spend money.”

Not for Rachel. Saving money was fun. Spending it was painful.

The phone trilled. Megan punched a button on her console, answered it, then routed it with another touch of her fingertip. Most companies had done away with call-routing receptionists and gone to voice mail. But Walter Davidson insisted on maintaining the personal touch, and Megan manned the central nervous system of Davidson Design with astonishing proficiency. She greeted visitors, did overflow word processing and generally took up slack wherever she found it. But despite her obvious competence, there was something about her that had always made Rachel feel just a touch uneasy.

Maybe it was the barbed wire tattoo on her upper arm that occasionally peeked out from under her sleeve. Maybe it was the glint in her eyes that said she always knew way more than she was saying. Maybe it was the phone calls she made sometimes to somebody named “Blade.” But for one reason or another, Rachel had come to suspect the truth: lurking behind those big brown eyes was the heart of a hell-raiser.

And now the hell-raiser was smiling at her.

Under normal circumstances, Megan’s smile was just a smile. But today was Rachel’s birthday. Megan was the self-appointed celebrant of all birthdays on the premises, and she accomplished that duty in ways that struck fear in Rachel’s heart. Rachel hated people making a fuss over her. But when it came to birthdays, Megan went beyond fuss and edged right into human torture.

A bouquet of black balloons.

Candles that wouldn’t blow out.

A six-foot rabbit belting out a singing telegram.

A T-shirt that read, I’m Not Old, I’m Chronologically Challenged.

“Any messages for me?” Rachel asked.

“No,” Megan said with a smile. “But I have something for you.”

Oh, no.

Rachel glanced quickly over one shoulder, then the other. She saw nothing suspicious, but that didn’t mean a thing. It could come from anywhere at any time, so she had to stay on her toes.

“Please, Megan,” she said. “I know it’s my birthday, but—”

“Hey, calm down, will you? It’s no big deal.”

That hardly made Rachel feel better. Megan thought a dancing chimpanzee was no big deal.

“Please,” she said imploringly. “Just tell me…” She took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. “Just tell me it’s not a stripper.”

Megan looked horrified. “You’re kidding, right? A stripper? Would I do something like that?”

The answer was an unqualified yes. A stripper. A guy with a boom box and a G-string beneath his tearaway pants, ready to bump and grind his way through a routine that would make Madonna die of embarrassment. Everyone would come out of their offices to watch the show, and she’d have to tolerate it or look like a bad sport.

That Walter allowed such behavior amazed Rachel. But it was just one more expression of his core ideology: the employees who played together stayed together, and if a few practical jokes masquerading as birthday surprises enhanced that mood, he was all for it.

Rachel sighed inwardly. What had happened to workplaces where people were stuffy and uptight and gave out birthday cards with rhyming verses that weren’t dirty limericks?

Then Megan reached for something underneath her desk, and Rachel braced herself.

“Here you go,” Megan said, and set a cupcake on the counter. Rachel held her breath, eyeing it warily. A cup-cake? Surely there was more to it than that.

“Lighten up, will you?” Megan said. “It’s way too small for a stripper to jump out of.”

True.

Rachel let out the breath she’d been holding. Well. That wasn’t so bad. A nice, conservative cupcake topped with white frosting and a single pink candle. That she could deal with.

“I know you said you didn’t even want a cake,” Megan said, “but everybody needs a cake on their birthday. Even if it’s a little one.”

“Well…thank you, Megan. I appreciate that.”

Megan motioned to the end of the reception desk. “And those roses are for you, too. They came while you were out to lunch. Aren’t they something?”

Ah. The flowers. They’d arrived. And they were something, all right. Just the kind of flowers sent by a man crazy in love with his wife.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Jack is very sweet. I’ve told him time and time again that flowers are a silly waste of money, but he won’t listen.”

“Too bad he couldn’t make it back to town for your birthday.”

“He tried to catch a flight out, but he couldn’t. It’s along way from South America, you know, and the access is pretty bad. He has to take a flight whenever he can get one.”

Megan rested her chin on her hand. “Wow. It must really be tough to have your husband gone all the time.”

Rachel let out a theatrical sigh. “I do miss him.”

“Easy to see why,” Megan said with a smile. “He’s gorgeous. Well, his picture is, anyway. Are we ever going to get to meet him?”

“Sure. Someday soon. I promise.”

Actually, the real answer to that question was Not in a million years. But Megan didn’t know that. Neither did anyone else at Davidson Design. And they never would.

Megan flicked a lighter and lit the candle on the cupcake. “Go ahead. Make a wish.”

That was easy. Rachel closed her eyes, then blew out the candle.

Megan leaned in close and whispered, “You wished for the promotion, didn’t you?”

Of course she had, but she didn’t particularly like Megan pointing it out.

Ever since her firm had won the bid to design a glitzy new hotel in Reno, she’d been evaluating her chances to become project manager. Her only real competition was Phil Wardman, a man with far less experience and technical ability than she had. But he had something she didn’t. Phil happened to be one of those backslapping, buddy-buddy kind of guys that Walter Davidson just loved. They talked sports, sometimes even played golf together, and more than once Rachel had seen them going out to lunch. Personally all that familiarity made her uncomfortable. After all, what did any of that stuff have to do with a person’s ability to do a job?

Over the next four days at the ski resort, she hoped to tip the scales in her favor, finding subtle ways to suggest to Walter that she really was the best candidate. In the end, she had to trust that any sane person would promote someone with qualifications over someone with schmoozability.

“Actually,” Rachel told Megan, “I wished for my husband to make it home in time to come on the retreat with me.” She sighed again. “But I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

“Maybe next time.” Megan punched a button to answer a call, staring pointedly at Rachel. “And then we’d actually get to meet him.”

Rachel smiled indulgently, then, gathering up her shopping bags, the flowers and the cupcake, went into her office. She deposited the bags on the floor and placed the roses on her desk—one dozen American Beauty roses that had cost way more than she ever should have spent. But they were exactly what her sweet, loving husband would have sent her.

Her sweet, loving, imaginary husband.

Rachel sat down in her chair and traced her finger over the wedding ring on her left hand, which contained a stone just big enough to be impressive, but small enough not to be ostentatious. They could do wonders with cubic zirconia these days. Unless somebody pried it off her finger and held it under a jeweler’s loupe, nobody would ever suspect that it wasn’t a real diamond.

And then there was the photograph, the one she and Jack had asked a passerby to take of the two of them on the Riverwalk in San Antonio. She’d had the photo enlarged, framed it and placed it on her credenza. And because she’d created just the right profession for Jack that explained why he was rarely in town, nobody got suspicious as to why they’d never met him.

The ring, the photo, and a flower delivery every once in a while—that was all it had taken for everyone here to believe that she was actually married.

Okay, so it was a little deceptive. But the moment she’d heard of the job opening at Davidson Design six months ago, she’d wanted it desperately. A small firm with a hot reputation—what better place to make her mark? Then she’d gotten word through the grapevine that Walter Davidson had a strong preference for married job candidates, a qualification that was a little difficult to acquire on short notice.

So she’d faked it.

In the end, she’d gotten a job she loved, and Walter Davidson had gotten a talented, dedicated architect, who was going to help him put his small but growing firm on the map. Nobody was hurt. Her plan had worked perfectly.

She sighed. Okay. There was one tiny little glitch. She’d underestimated the way she would feel every time she looked at that photograph.

She turned slowly and stared at it, playing back in her mind the one night she and Jack had spent together. She remembered every moment of it—every kiss, every touch, every whispered word in the dark. He’d made her feel as if she were somebody else entirely—a hot, wanton, reckless woman who never met a sexual position she didn’t like, a woman who would throw modesty and respectability and good behavior to the four winds and engage in a hedonistic sexfest that would have made a Roman emperor blush.

And it had scared the hell out of her.

She remembered with painful clarity how she’d felt when she woke before dawn and realized what she’d done. Fortunately she’d had the good sense to walk out of that hotel and leave temptation behind. Just thinking about that night made her cheeks flush with embarrassment. What kind of woman has wild, breathless sex with a man she doesn’t even know? Repeatedly?

A woman who can’t resist a handsome face and a gorgeous body. A woman who lives in a fantasy world instead of reality. A woman who’s not in complete control of her life.

She’d tried to tell herself that she’d felt some kind of connection with Jack after the day they’d spent together, a meeting of minds and not just bodies. Finally, though, she came to her senses and realized she was just deluding herself. Such self-deception was nothing more than an excuse to justify her outlandish behavior.

What she couldn’t figure out, then, was why she’d spent a good portion of every day since wondering what it might be like to see him again.

She had to stop this. She had her career to think about. The last thing she needed was to get waylaid by thoughts of a man who had undoubtedly put another notch in his bedpost before she’d even left the hotel. And seeing him again was a moot point, anyway. It wasn’t going to happen. He was a thousand miles away in San Antonio. He could be her imaginary husband as long as she needed him to be, and nobody would be any the wiser.

And she would never have to be tempted by him again.

BY TWELVE-THIRTY, JACK HAD checked out four of the five architectural firms and come up empty. He’d found a few women named Rachel, but none that he recalled seeing naked in San Antonio.

The elevator doors opened on the thirty-eighth floor, and Jack stepped out. This was his last chance. If she didn’t work for Davidson Design, he didn’t know where to look next. He took a deep breath, opened the brass-trimmed glass doors and strode to the front desk. The receptionist, a bright, bubbly redhead with short, shaggy hair, held up her finger without glancing at him, asking him to wait as she answered one call after another.

Jack gazed around the room. Typical corporate look, with beige walls, modern art, leather furniture, track lighting. He decided he’d rather die and go to hell than be surrounded by this frigid atmosphere. At least hell would be warm.

And right in the middle of the ice box sat a leather-clad guy, his shirt open almost to his navel, with a neckful of silver chains and a couple of random piercings and tattoos. A boom box sat on the chair next to him. He leaned over and checked out his reflection in the coffee-table glass, patting a stray strand of blond hair back into place. He flipped his wrist and glanced at his watch, then tap, tap, tapped his fingertips against the arm of his chair.

“Hey, lady!” he called out to the receptionist. “I got a schedule to keep!”

The receptionist covered her mouthpiece and responded in a heavy stage whisper. “I told you it’ll be just a minute! Will you keep your shirt on? At least until I tell you to take it off?”

With a disgusted shake of her head that made her short red hair flutter, she tapped a button on her console, then finally turned her gaze up to Jack.

“May I help—”

Her mouth dropped open. She froze in that position, staring at him, her eyes as big and bright as a pair of flashlight beams.

“Dr. Kellerman?”

Doctor?

“I can’t believe it! You made it back!”

Made it back?

“Oh! Oh! You must be here to surprise Rachel!”

“Did you say Rachel?” His heart leaped with hope. “Late twenties, straight dark hair, blue eyes—”

“Well, of course!”

The woman yanked off her headset, tossed it aside and leaped to her feet, scurrying around the desk. “She’s not going to believe this. She’s simply not going to believe it. Oooh! What a wonderful surprise!”

She spun around and pointed to the kid in the waiting area. “You! Never mind! I don’t need you after all!”

The guy leaped to his feet, his silver chains jangling. “Hey! I’ve been waiting here for fifteen minutes, and now you’re telling me—”

“I’ll send you a check!”

Before leather boy could protest further, the receptionist grabbed Jack by the arm and dragged him down a short hall, then stopped suddenly and pushed him up against the wall, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Okay. You stand here. Just wait here until I give you the word, okay?”

“I don’t get this. What are you—”

She put her fingers to her lips and shushed him, then held up her palm. “Just wait here. This is going to be so cool!”

This place was a loony bin. Or, at least, this woman was loony. And he was pretty sure the guy in the waiting room had a screw loose, too. What in the world had he walked into?

The receptionist pushed the door open and strolled into the office, downshifting her voice into a soft, professional tone.

“Excuse me, Rachel. Do you have a moment?”

“I’m really busy, Megan. Can it wait?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Megan said, her voice edged with excitement. “It can’t wait. Your real birthday present is here.”

Jack heard a gasp.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yeah. And you’re gonna love it.”

“No, Megan. I’m warning you. The cupcake was plenty. Don’t you dare do something weird. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare—”

Megan’s hand snaked around the doorway, found Jack’s arm, and yanked him into the office. The moment his eyes met Rachel’s, she leaped up out of her chair so suddenly that it rolled backward and smacked against her credenza.

Looking at her up close now, he knew. It was Rachel. No question about it.

Not that he would have recognized her by the clothes she wore. After the weekend they’d spent together, he would have expected to see her in something significantly more daring than the drab wool suit and buttoned-up white silk blouse she had on right now. Something brighter. Slinkier. Cut down to here and up to there. Something bold and carefree. Something that said, Come here, if you dare, instead of Don’t touch me if you value your life.

But there was a part of her she couldn’t hide behind those yards and yards of wool. Her eyes. He’d never forget those eyes as long as he lived, gorgeous ice-blue eyes that had kept him enthralled for hours on end.

But now they seemed to hold another quality. Surprise. No, not just surprise. Something more like…

Panic.

Megan patted Jack’s arm. “I’d have put a big red bow on him, but I was fresh out of ribbon. Happy birthday, Rachel.”

3

RACHEL’S BRAIN WAS TELLING her mouth that it really ought to close itself, but the message simply wasn’t getting through.

Jack Kellerman. Her imaginary husband, in the flesh.

Oh. My. God.

“Hello, Rachel.”

That voice. Rich. Resonant. A voice just made for seduction. Only one of many reasons that she’d been so easily…seduced.

“Your husband!” Megan gushed. “Can you believe it? All of a sudden I looked up, and there he was! He traveled four thousand miles to surprise you on your birthday! Isn’t that just the most romantic thing ever?” She gave Jack an appreciative once-over, then stage-whispered to Rachel. “His picture doesn’t do him justice.”

“Picture?” Jack said.

“The one on her credenza. She stares at it all the time. Now I know why.”

Jack’s gaze flicked over to the photograph. Rachel felt her cheeks flush hotly, an anatomical glitch she’d been cursed with since childhood. Like a pair of internal humiliation indicators, her cheeks became ripe tomatoes whenever she was embarrassed. And Jack noticed it. How could he not? She didn’t remember one single part of her body that had escaped his scrutiny six months ago, and nothing was escaping him now.

Absolutely nothing.

Jack eyed the photo for a moment, then looked back at Rachel. When his brows dipped down with a confused expression and he opened his mouth to speak, she knew he was only a few words away from turning her career into toast.

“Jack!” she said. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

She circled her desk, rushed toward him, threw her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear. “Play along. Please.”

Then she tried to ease away from him, but to her surprise, he pulled her right back up against him, holding her as if he hadn’t seen her in weeks and was making up for lost time.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured. “Have you missed me?”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Uh…of course. You know I have.”

A smile eased across his face. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

Kiss him?

Rachel swallowed hard, knowing she had no choice. She gave him a quick peck on the lips, and his face fell into a disappointed frown.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s been so long. Surely you can do better than that.”

She inched toward him again, but this time, as her lips approached his, he tucked her head into the crook of his elbow, bent her backward, and showed her exactly what kind of kiss he was talking about.

Rachel’s heart leaped wildly as his mouth fell against hers. Her lips had parted in a tiny gasp, and that small opening was all he needed to ease his tongue into her mouth, twining it sensually with hers. At the same time, he slid his free hand beneath her suit coat and around her waist, splaying his fingers against the small of her back. He held her firmly, possessively, demandingly—kissing her in a way that could bring a dead woman back to life.

And Megan was watching the whole thing.

If Rachel had any inclination to pull away, that stopped her cold. After all, Megan thought Jack was her loving husband, back from a long trip. Wouldn’t she want him to kiss her?

Yes. Of course. She had no other choice. She had to let him kiss her.

And kiss her.

And kiss her.

Aeons seemed to pass before he finally pulled her to her feet and eased his lips away from hers. He gave her a suggestive smile, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Megan’s expression of absolute astonishment.

“Wow,” Megan said, her mouth hanging open. “I mean…wow.”

Rachel eased out of Jack’s grip, feeling as if he’d literally taken her breath away. She gave her suit coat a nervous tug, then smoothed it with her hands, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Tall order with Jack still looking at her as if he was only one moment away from clearing the top of her desk with a sweep of his arm, then hurling her down on top of it and having his way with her.

“Megan,” Rachel said, “I’d like to be alone with Jack for a few minutes. If you’ll excuse us?”

“Well, of course,” Megan said. Then she leaned in and said quietly, “Hey, if you want to lock your door for a little while, I’ll just tell everyone you’re in a meeting.”

“Not that kind of alone!”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Sounds like a pretty good idea to me.”

Every word he uttered in that gorgeous, hot-as-sin voice made all kinds of provocative images fill Rachel’s mind. She remembered lying in the darkness of that historic San Antonio hotel room, listening to Jack whisper a litany of sex talk that had set her on fire. What he wanted to do to her. What he wanted her to do to him. What they were going to do to each other. All night long. And right now, if she hadn’t been terrified of the massive lie she was getting ready to be caught in, she’d have melted right into the carpet.

“We want to talk,” she told Megan.

“Gotcha,” Megan said. “Have fun…talking.”

She gave them a little wave of her fingertips and a great big smile, then eased out the door. Rachel spun around to face Jack.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”

He folded his arms over his chest, those green eyes sparkling like crazy. “Well, from what I can tell, it appears I’m here to wish you a happy birthday.”

“You have to leave. Now!”

“Are you kidding? I just traveled four thousand miles to be with you on your birthday.”

She closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. “How did you find me?”

“Sheer accident. I’m here in Denver on business, and who do I see getting into a cab? The woman who walked out on me six months ago without so much as a goodbye.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. No.

“And now, for some reason,” Jack went on, “your receptionist seems to think I’m somebody else. She’s got the Kellerman right.” He raised his eyebrows. “But there’s this little matter of my being your…husband?”

Rachel squeezed her eyes closed. “Please, Jack. Will you just go?”

“No. I don’t think so. Not just yet.”

He looked at the photograph on her credenza again, then strode over to the flower arrangement on her desk. Before she could stop him, he picked up the card. Rachel buried her face in her hands.

“To my darling Rachel,” he read aloud. “Sorry I can’t be with you on your special day. I’m counting the minutes until we can be together again. Your loving husband, Jack.” He turned back to her with a smile of pure delight. “Damn, I’m romantic. Didn’t know I had it in me.”

“Just put it back, will you?”

He returned the card to its place, then turned and leaned against her desk. “Okay. Suppose you tell me what’s going on here.”

“Just leave. That’s all I want you to do.”

“Oh, no. If you’re going to pass me off as your husband, I’ve got a right to know why.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It was just a harmless little…ruse. That’s all.”

“Ruse?” he said. “Lie, you mean.”

“No! Well, yes. I mean—” She exhaled sharply. “It was for my job, okay?”

“Go on.”

She put her hand to her forehead for a moment, then met his eyes again. “When I applied for it, I found out the big boss, Walter Davidson, prefers his employees to be married. Stability, and all that. So I…well, I guess I gave him what he wanted.”

“A married job candidate.”

Rachel sighed. “Yes.”

“And you obviously got the job.”

“Yes.”

“So now you’re a married woman.”

“As far as what everyone around here thinks, yes.”

He nodded down at her hand. “Nice ring.”

She slipped her hand behind her back. “It’s cubic zirconia.”

He winced. “Couldn’t you have sprung for the real thing? I don’t want people thinking I’m cheap.”

“They’re not thinking anything about you! You don’t exist!”

He looked down at himself. “I look pretty real to me.”

“You know what I mean!”

“And what’s with the ‘doctor’ thing, anyway?”

Rachel buried her face in her hands again. Oh, God. Did she have to tell him this?

“It’s why you’re gone all the time,” she said. “See, you…you fly to South America…”

“Yes?”

She thought she’d been so smart when she came up with this, but now she could barely say the words. She spoke quickly, mumbling so maybe he could hear only half the words. The ones that didn’t sound stupid.

“You’re an independently wealthy doctor who flies to poor South American countries on humanitarian missions.”

His eyebrows flew up, and then a grin spread across his face. “You’re kidding, right?”

She shot him a look of total disgust.

“Wow. I’m spontaneous, romantic, rich and charitable. No wonder you married me.”

“Will you stop it?”

He eyed her carefully. “Why me?”

She turned away. “The picture was handy.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What other reason would there be?”

He gave her a cocky grin. “I’m unforgettable?”

Rachel shot him a look of disgust. Oh, he was so arrogant. And so conceited.

And so right.

Why had it been Jack’s picture? So she could look at him every day of her life? So she could remember what that night of fantasy had been like before she’d had to wake up to reality?

“I’m sorry I did this,” she said. “Believe me, I am. But you can’t tell anyone.” She looked at him warily. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

“If anybody asks, I’m Dr. Jack Kellerman, wealthy philanthropist. Your husband.” He eased closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Assuming, of course, that the job comes with conjugal rights.”

Rachel gasped. “You think just because I told a little fib, it entitles you to—”

“No entitlement,” he said. “I’m thinking of it more as…a perk.”

Just as she was on the verge of going totally ballistic, the door to her office swung open. She spun around, expecting to tell Megan one more time to please leave them alone. Instead Walter Davidson walked into her office.

Rachel felt as if her stomach had dropped right out of her body and plummeted thirty-eight floors. No, no, no!

Walter, a balding man in his late fifties with a big, booming voice, zeroed in on Jack and strode across the room toward him with his hand extended.

“Rachel! Megan told me you had a visitor! So this is your husband?”

This was it. Her life was over.

But to her surprise, Jack didn’t even look flustered. He met the man halfway with a broad grin and shook his hand.

“Dr. Kellerman,” Walter said, pumping Jack’s hand up and down. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

“Call me Jack.”

“Jack it is. And you call me Walter. Rachel here seems to have been a little reluctant to share you with us. I’m glad you finally dropped by. Are you planning on staying in the country for a while?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “For quite a while, actually.”

“Good. That means you can join us on the retreat.”

Rachel bit back a gasp.

“Retreat?” Jack said.

“Rachel didn’t tell you? I’m taking all the employees on a ski trip to The Summit in Silver Springs tomorrow morning. Four days. Rest and relaxation. Of course, spouses are invited.”

“Why, Rachel,” Jack said, “you didn’t tell me anything about a retreat.”

Rachel just about choked. “I—I didn’t think you’d be back in town. You…surprised me, you know.”

“Yes. I suppose I did.”

“I’d love to have you join us,” Walter said.

“He can’t!” Rachel said.

Walter recoiled with surprise.

“It’s just that…well, it’s just that I know how tired he usually is after his trips out of the country,” she said, stammering like an idiot. “I know he’d probably just like to stay at home. Rest. You know.”

“Rachel’s right,” Jack said. “She knows me so well. Whenever I come home from one of my trips, all I want to do is zone out. Relax. Take it easy.”

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief.

“Which means that a trip to a ski resort would be exactly what I need. I’d love to go.”

Rachel thought her heart was going to stop. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be. It was as if she was paying right now for every lie she’d ever told in her life. God had saved up and hit her with her punishment all at once, and boy, was it a doozy.

“Excellent!” Walter exclaimed. “I’m interested in hearing all about your work. That is, between ski runs. You do ski, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Glad to have you joining us. I know there are a lot of people who will be interested in meeting Rachel’s husband. You’ve been somewhat of a mystery man around this office.”

“And I’d love to meet them.”

“Well, I suppose if you’d like, I can introduce you right now.”

“No!” Rachel said.

Walter looked at her again with surprise.

“Uh…Jack is late for an appointment already.” She gave him a pointed stare, warning him not to disagree. “He can meet everyone tomorrow.”

“That’ll be fine,” Walter said. “We’ll see you both tomorrow afternoon at the resort, then?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “Thank you for the invitation.”

Walter left her office, and she spun around to face Jack.

“Are you completely out of your mind?”

“Out of my mind? To accept a free four-day vacation in the company of a beautiful woman? Yeah, I’m nuts, all right.”

“You are not going to be in my company!”

“Beg to differ. We’re married.”

“We are not married!”

“That lovely fake wedding ring you’re wearing says otherwise.”

“Just how do you intend to pass yourself off as my husband for four days?”

“You’ve been passing me off for six months. I figure four days will be no big deal.”

“That’s right! I’ve been doing it! I made you up, so I know what to say about you! You don’t! You don’t know you like I do!” Rachel put her hand to her forehead. “My God, that sounded insane.”

Jack laughed. “Calm down, will you? It’ll be fun.”

“Fun? Fun?” She paced in front of her desk, waving her arms. “This is my career we’re talking about! If anybody finds out—”

“Nobody’s going to find out.”

“I don’t believe this. You think you can just walk in here, and—”

“What I think, Rachel, is that you’ve been using me for six months. I should at least be entitled to four days.”

“I’ve been using your picture! Not you!”

“My identity.”

“Not exactly. You’re not a doctor.”

“So you embellished. Was that my fault?”

“You can’t come with me, Jack. You can’t—”

“Really? Walter says I can.”

“He thinks you’re my husband!”

“Isn’t that what you want him to think?”

“Yes! As long as it’s your picture he’s thinking it about, not you!”

He grinned. “You’re right. You do sound a little insane.”

This was a nightmare. An honest-to-goodness nightmare come to life.

“I’m going to tell them you had a medical emergency,” she said. “I’ll tell them you had to fly out suddenly—”

“Sorry, Rachel. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He walked over and stood in front of her, his smile dimming. “Why did you leave?”

“What?”

“In San Antonio. I woke up and found you gone.”

She turned away. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

He pulled her back around and took her by the shoulders, staring down at her with a gaze so hot it made her breath catch in her throat.

“One night wasn’t nearly enough. I don’t know why you left, but now that I’ve found you again, I don’t intend to let you go.”

“There’s nothing between us, Jack. That night meant nothing.”

“That night was absolutely explosive and you know it. Tell me you’ve had better sex somewhere else. Go ahead. Tell me.”

She swallowed hard. “I—I’ve had b-better sex somewhere…else.”

Well, those were the most unconvincing six words she’d ever spoken, and the tiny smile that came to his lips told her he knew it. Damn it.

“There are more important things in life than sex,” she said.

“It sure seemed to be at the top of your list that night in San Antonio.”

“I—I was drunk.”

“After one margarita?”

“I can’t hold alcohol.”

“You seemed plenty sober to me. I mean, if you’d been drunk, could you possibly have climbed up on that bathroom counter and—”

“Stop! Don’t say it!”

She shuddered out of his grip. God, she was going to die of embarrassment. Right here, right now.

His voice softened. “Why are you denying this? And why did you disappear?”

“Because that wasn’t me! The woman I was that night—she doesn’t really exist!”

“No, Rachel. Dr. Jack Kellerman, medical humanitarian, doesn’t exist. But the woman I knew in San Antonio—the woman I touched, the woman I kissed, the woman with more erogenous zones than I could count—she was very real.”

Rachel felt her cheeks flush red yet again. “Listen to me, Jack. Just because I took a side road one night doesn’t mean that’s the path I always travel. Or that it’s one I ever intend to go down again.”

“I see.” He nodded thoughtfully. “So you’re telling me that you don’t want any more of the best sex you ever had. For four days. At a ski resort. With a fireplace, a beautiful view…Yeah, I see your point. That would be a fate worse than death.”

“Stop it! Will you just stop it? I don’t want you coming with me!”

“Sorry, Rachel. You’ve made your bed, and now you’re going to lie in it.” He grinned. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep you company.”

Rachel remembered how spontaneous he’d been. How he’d teased and laughed and behaved in ways she’d found totally irresistible. It had all been very tantalizing when it happened between the sheets, but if he turned on those same characteristics full force around her coworkers and her boss, he could send her career up in flames. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Nothing. He knew her secret, so he held all the cards.

“What time do you get off work?” Jack asked her.

“I need to stay until six o’clock tonight.”

“Good. I’ll be back then.”

“You’ll be back? Why?”

“So we can go home together. Where is it we live again?”

She held up her palm. “No. No way. You’re not staying with me tonight.”

“This was a day trip to Denver for me,” he told her. “I haven’t got hotel reservations.”

“So make some.”

“But we’re supposed to be married. What would people think if they knew I was sleeping in a hotel?”

“No one will ever know.”

“Has it occurred to you that once we get to that resort, we’ll be sharing a room?” He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe even a bed?”

Rachel blinked with sudden realization. She hadn’t thought of that. And now that she did…

She’d had her choice of a king-size bed in her room, or two double beds. Of course, she’d reserved the king—she certainly didn’t need two beds. And how could she change it now? What woman wouldn’t opt for a king-size bed over two doubles when she was sharing a room with her husband?

“Seems to me that in light of that upcoming arrangement,” Jack went on, “my staying at your place isn’t a big deal. Then we can go to the resort together tomorrow.” He checked his watch. “Actually, I do have an appointment this afternoon, but I’ll be back here by six o’clock.” He opened her office door, then gave her a knowing smile. “Happy birthday, Rachel.”

He left her office and closed the door behind him. Rachel stared after him in total disbelief, then sank into her chair, put her elbows on her desk and dropped her head to her hands. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do now? For the next four days, she was stuck trying to control a powder keg by the name of Jack Kellerman, a powder keg that could explode at any moment.

She took a deep, calming breath. Okay. She had to focus here. Goal number one: Keep Jack’s identity a secret. Goal number two: Keep Jack’s body out of her bed. Goal number three: Keep Jack’s naked body out of her mind.

If she could pull off all three of those things, she just might escape from this outrageous situation with her career and her self-respect intact. If not…

Oh, boy.

She closed her eyes and promised God that if He’d just get her out of this one little pickle, she’d never tell a lie again.

4

AFTER LEAVING RACHEL’S office, Jack headed back to the Fairfax Hotel, where he met with the manager and got a tour of the place. Everything was as he’d expected it to be, and more. He called Tom, gave him some specifics, and told him to start working up a bid. Then he dropped the news that he wouldn’t be back to the work site for a couple of days. Tom had gone a little nuts over that, but this trip wasn’t negotiable. Business would keep.

Rachel wouldn’t.

He certainly hadn’t planned for things to go the way they had today, and he could hardly believe his luck. A four-day retreat? Sharing a room? And Rachel had to pretend he was her husband?

Did it get any better than that?

Okay. She clearly didn’t want him around. Or she thought she didn’t, anyway. But now he had four days to convince her otherwise. To put her into the same kind of atmosphere they’d experienced in San Antonio and see what might happen between them. If he could bring back just a glimmer of the connection he’d felt with her, it would all be worth it.

At the Fairfax, he begged for the use of a computer from the hotel manager’s secretary. He researched the Web sites of humanitarian groups who flew to other countries to offer medical assistance, committing buzz words to memory that he could use if necessary. Rachel would undoubtedly fill him in on information concerning what she’d told the people she worked with. Then he’d mesh the two together and come up with a profile he could use so he wouldn’t get tripped up. Even without the preparation, though, he wouldn’t have anticipated any problems in that regard.

After spending his entire childhood as the son of a petroleum engineer who was transferred every year or two, Jack had lived all over the United States and in several foreign countries. He’d been forced to give up friends, then turn right around and make new ones so many times that he’d become a master of the game.

At first it had been painful. Then he discovered the secret. If he made the other kids laugh, pretty soon he had them eating out of his hand. Life could be pretty dull, and the person who spiced things up was the person who had a list of friends as long as his arm. He sometimes felt that he could parachute into anyplace on the planet, and within two days he could have a party and invite twenty people who’d be happy to come. Consequently, he’d never met a situation in his life that he couldn’t talk himself into or out of, and this one would be no different.

After he finished his research, he went by a couple of downtown stores and picked up a few things. Ski equipment he could rent at the resort, but he needed enough clothes and other items to last him four days. He hadn’t planned on going on a buying spree, but as an independently wealthy doctor, shouldn’t he really look his best?

Then, at the appointed hour, he returned to Rachel’s office. Her attitude toward him hadn’t changed a bit. In fact, she acted so coldly toward him as they drove to her condominium that he wouldn’t have been surprised to see icicles forming on the inside of her car. Once they got there, she parked her car, strode inside and didn’t even bother to look back to see if he was following her or not. Jack just smiled. She couldn’t hold out forever. Sooner or later, the sweet, congenial, sexually insatiable woman he’d known in San Antonio would rise to the surface, and when she did, he’d be waiting.

Then he went inside her condo, and he wondered if maybe locating her wild side again would be a taller task than he’d imagined.

Her decor consisted of off-white carpet and off-white walls. Generic art that matched the drapes that matched the sofa that matched the chairs. Not a speck of dust anywhere or a statuette out of place. Dreary traditional furniture that looked as if nobody had ever sat on it. Her home looked like a place where a person twice her age might live—a person twice her age with a desire to freeze the pants off anyone who stepped foot inside it. It reminded him of the decor he’d seen at her office today—modern, efficient, practical, heartless. If he’d found just one cracked wall, a mismatched pillow, or even a family picture or two, he might have been able to feel comfortable.

No chance of that.

Did the same woman live here whom he’d shared the room with in the historic San Antonio hotel? The one with the leaky clawfoot tub and the four-poster bed? The one with the cracks in the walls? The one she said she loved the very smell of?

Impossible.

Rachel hung her coat in the front closet, then did the same with his.

“Have you eaten?” she asked him.

“No, but I’d be happy to take you out.”

She gave him a yeah, I’ll just bet you would look, then strode toward the kitchen. “I’ll order something.”

“Order?”

“I don’t cook. Not very often, anyway.”

“Then what do you eat?”

“Yogurt and granola for breakfast. A salad for lunch. Anything ready to microwave for dinner. Low fat, low cal.”

“How about a pizza?” he asked.

She winced. “I guess one without meat would be okay.”

“I was thinking pepperoni.”

Her lip curled, clearly showing her distaste. “Do you ever think of your arteries?”

“As little as possible.”

“I don’t blame you. They’re probably a real mess.”

“If you’ll remember, we ordered room service in San Antonio.”

She looked away. “So?”

“Steak and potatoes. Chocolate cheesecake for dessert. Extra whipped cream. In fact, as I remember, we talked the room service waiter into bringing us an entire can of whipped cream.” He grinned. “Amazing what you can do with one of those, isn’t it?”

Her cheeks flamed red all over again. She started to say something, then clamped her mouth shut, probably figuring that denial was pointless since she was the one who’d emptied most of the can.

She pulled open a kitchen drawer and grabbed a coupon. “Go ahead. Order pepperoni. Extra cheese. Stuffed crust. And why don’t you get a bunch of those bread sticks while you’re at it? The ones that you dip in garlic butter? That ought to really send the old cholesterol through the roof.”

He smiled. “Now you’re talking.”

She rolled her eyes with disgust. Slapping the coupon on the counter, she went into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Jack sighed and shook his head. He knew at heart she was a pepperoni pizza eater, but now was not the time to push the issue. He grabbed the phone, dialed the number of the pizza place and ordered a vegetarian supreme.

By the time the pizza got there and they ate, it was approaching eight o’clock. No matter how often he tried to start a conversation, Rachel rebuffed him at every turn. If she couldn’t stop him from coming to the resort with her, she clearly intended to make their time together as unpleasant as she possibly could. That was okay. He wasn’t blessed with an excess of virtues, but patience was one he had in spades.

After they finished eating, Rachel sent him to the living room, then cleaned up the kitchen. She then disappeared down the hall, brought back sheets, blankets and a pillow and lay them on the sofa. She returned to her bedroom. A moment later, he heard a shower running.

Well. So much for an evening of pleasant conversation. Or great sex.

Okay, the “great sex” thing had been a real long shot. But a guy could always hope.

Figuring he’d seen the last of her tonight, Jack located a TV behind the doors of an armoire. He pulled out the remote, ran the dial, stopped on a few things that he thought might be interesting only to find he really didn’t give a damn.

Finally he flipped the TV off, then got up and inspected her bookshelves, where he found all the latest titles of the day—Oprah picks, up-to-the-minute nonfiction, a few classics, a pristine coffee-table volume of modern architecture. On a wall next to the bookshelf hung two diplomas, indicating that she had both a bachelor’s degree and master’s degree in architecture from an institution he recognized as a prestigious women’s college.

Women’s college. He’d often wondered what kind of people went to a place for four years where they spent all day without ever setting eyes on a member of the opposite sex. He’d had a nightmare like that once. It wasn’t pretty.

Then he glanced down the hall and noticed a second bedroom. Guest room? Probably not, since he was sleeping on the sofa. Then again, she was out to punish him.

He walked quietly down the hall. The door was ajar. He pushed it open and peered inside.

A desk sat along one wall, a drawing board in the corner. More bookshelves. But the books they contained were hardly literary masterpieces or full of contemporary buzz. Most of them were history texts and books on architecture of all periods—ancient, medieval, eighteenth and nineteenth century—mostly used books with ragged covers. And the balance of the titles were fiction, mainly mysteries and romance.

Yes. This was more like it. He had the distinct impression that the books in the living room with the unbroken spines were the ones she showed to the world, while these tattered ones lived in her heart. Then he turned and got another surprise.

That day in San Antonio, they’d browsed through the Alamo gift shop, where he’d bought her a poster of an 1830s map of Texas. Here it was, matted, framed and hanging on the wall.

He remembered so clearly the time they’d spent there, perusing every document, every artifact. To find a woman with that kind of knowledge of the historical periods that fascinated him had pleased him to no end. That he was attracted to her in every other way possible made him feel as if he’d found the perfect woman. A soul mate, and he didn’t even believe in such things.

And then she’d disappeared.

“What are you doing in here?”

He spun around. Rachel was standing behind him, wearing a blue terry-cloth robe that gave a new meaning to the word frumpy. He knew a really hot body lurked under there somewhere, but he sure as hell couldn’t see it right now.

He shrugged. “Just looking around.”

“Well, don’t.”

There it was again. That crimson flush on her ivory cheeks, as if somehow he’d embarrassed her.

“The poster,” he said. “It looks good.”

She turned instantly and left the room. He followed. She started to go into her bedroom, but he caught her arm and pulled her back around.

“Hey, hold on. What’s the matter?”

She looked up at him, her pale blue eyes brimming with annoyance. “It’s bad enough for me to look up and find you standing in my office this afternoon. Then you beg your way into my house. And now you’re snooping around.”

“I wasn’t snooping.”

“Then what do you call it?”

“The door was open.”

“That room is private!”

She looked genuinely angry. “Okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in there.”

“That’s right. You shouldn’t have.”

“But I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want me to. The rest of this place isn’t you. That room is.”

She ducked her head, the color still hot on her cheeks. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He inched closer to her and placed his palm on the wall beside her head, dropping his voice. “Yes, I do. Maybe a whole lot more than most people do. That day in San Antonio, and then that night, I found out all kinds of things about you.”

“You have to stop this.”

“What?”

She closed her eyes. “Reminding me.”

“You don’t want to be reminded?”

“I did a very dumb thing that night, something I’d just as soon forget.”

“So that’s the way you remember it? As something you want to forget?”

“Yes.”

“You even want to forget how we met? The time we spent together that afternoon?”

He saw the indecision on her face. Was she going to acknowledge the truth, or continue to act as if their entire encounter had been the biggest mistake of her life?

“No,” she said finally. “That was nice.”

“Ah. Finally something we agree on.”

“But I wasn’t looking for a relationship then, and I’m still not looking.”

“I didn’t know we were talking about lifetime commitments here.”

“I don’t even want a four-day commitment from you. I don’t want anything from you. In fact, if you’d just go back to San Antonio and leave me alone, I’d be the happiest woman alive.”

“No, Rachel. I know what would make you the happiest woman alive, and it has nothing to do with me going back to San Antonio.” Slowly he dropped his head and placed a gentle kiss against her neck, then brought his lips up to brush against her ear. She was tense—so tense—and he wanted nothing more than to kiss all that tension away, for her to melt in his arms again.

“Let her out,” he whispered. “Right now. Show me that woman I knew in San Antonio.”

“Jack—”

“She’s in there,” he said. “I know she is. A beautiful, sexy woman I can’t wait to touch. We can be together again the way we were before, just the two of us, for hours on end—”

“No!”

She twisted to the left, then ducked beneath his arm and strode back down the hall.

Damn.

He thought about stopping her, then thought again. More than anything, he wanted to follow her into her bedroom, slip that frumpy robe off her shoulders, kick it aside, then make love to her until daybreak. But even if he managed to accomplish that tonight, he had the feeling she’d only wake up tomorrow morning as wary as she’d been in San Antonio, and he definitely didn’t want that. If he pushed her too hard right now, he could end up odd man out for the next four days, and there was no way he was going to let that happen.

As she reached her bedroom door, he called out to her. “Don’t you want to know what I was doing in Denver?”

She stopped, then slowly turned, eyeing him suspiciously.

“There’s a hotel not too far from where you work,” he said. “The Fairfax. They’re tearing it down.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “They’re what?”

“Tearing it down. Every brick, every chandelier, every doorknob, every strip of oak flooring—”

“But I love that hotel! I have lunch there at least once a week. Why don’t they just renovate it?”

“Because a new high-rise is going up in its place.”

She stepped back toward him. “But how can they tear down such a wonderful old building?”

“With a few well-placed explosives.”

“But all that history will be gone!”

“Not all of it. I’m bidding for the right to salvage the interior of the hotel.”

Rachel’s eyes lit up. “Oh! That’s right! You do restoration! Can you use all those fixtures somewhere else?”

“Absolutely. I’ve got one project I’m working on now in San Antonio of the same vintage, and another one is coming up. I’ll do something with all of the salvaged items eventually, or piece them out to other renovators who can put them to good use.”

“I guess it’s not the same as leaving the hotel standing, but at least you’ll be saving parts of it, right?”

There it was. That smile. That animated expression. That look of sheer radiance when she talked about anything connected to history. For the first time since he’d walked into her office this afternoon, he saw a glimmer of the woman he’d met that warm, sunny afternoon in San Antonio.

“That’s better,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re smiling. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten how.”

She looked flustered and turned away.

“Don’t stop now,” he said.

“Jack—”

“History. You love it. We talked nonstop about it that day, remember? And the hotel we stayed in. That was a piece of history all by itself, wasn’t it?”

“I—I have to go to bed.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, Rachel. As much as I’d like to join you, I’m not going to force my way into your bedroom.”

She seemed totally unconvinced of that. “You’re not?”

“No. Tonight I’ll just settle for the smile.”

She looked flustered all over again. She turned and disappeared into her bedroom, clicking the door shut behind her.

He found it amazing that a woman of her obvious professional capability could be so rattled by a tiny compliment. There was so much contradiction in her that he could probably take a year out of his life and still not figure it all out. Still, he had a feeling that it would be a year well spent.

She could try to fool him. She could wrap herself in that god-awful robe, or in wool from head to toe, put every hair in place and surround herself with hideous decor, but still he knew the truth. A passionate woman lurked beneath that cool surface, and he had exactly four days to get her to come out. And once she did, he’d never let her hide herself away again.

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