According to the press, he was among the hottest top ten bachelors in the nation.

Still, it secretly rankled that his luck with women had improved so phenomenally since he’d become a millionaire. Maybe Charlene Bellamy was his chance to put that worry to rest. Maybe that was why he’d invented a new identity for himself on the spur of the moment.

Something had told him that underdog-championing Charly would run from playboy millionaire D. K. Rudell. So he’d decided to play the game and see if plain Darren Rudd could capture her heart instead.

But this single soccer mom was the most genuine article he’d ever come across.

D.K. shook his head, wondering why that intrigued him so.

Still, the game was already in play.

And, as always, he intended to win….

Dear Reader,

With summer nearly here, it’s time to stock up on essentials such as sunblock, sandles and plenty of Silhouette Romance novels! Here’s our checklist of page-turners to keep your days sizzling!

A Princess in Waiting by Carol Grace (SR #1588)—In this ROYALLY WED: THE MISSING HEIR title, dashing Charles Rodin saves the day by marrying his brother’s pregnant ex-wife!

Because of the Ring by Stella Bagwell (SR #1589)—With this magical SOULMATES title, her grandmother’s ring leads Claudia Westfield to the man of her dreams….

A Date with a Billionaire by Julianna Morris (SR #1590)—Bethany Cox refused her prize—a date with the charitable Kane O’Rourke—but how can she get a gorgeous billionaire to take no for an answer? And does she really want to…?

The Marriage Clause by Karen Rose Smith (SR #1591)—In this VIRGIN BRIDES installment, innocent Gina Foster agrees to a marriage of convenience with the wickedly handsome Clay McCormick, only to be swept into a world of passion.

The Man with the Money by Arlene James (SR #1592)—A millionaire playboy in disguise romances a lovely foster mom. But will the truth destroy his chance at true love?

The 15 lb. Matchmaker by Jill Limber (SR #1593)—Griff Price is the ultimate lone cowboy—until he’s saddled with a baby and a jilted-bride-turned-nanny.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

The Man with the Money
Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Books by Arlene James

Silhouette Romance

City Girl #141

No Easy Conquest #235

Two of a Kind #253

A Meeting of Hearts #327

An Obvious Virtue #384

Now or Never #404

Reason Enough #421

The Right Moves #446

Strange Bedfellows #471

The Private Garden #495

The Boy Next Door #518

Under a Desert Sky #559

A Delicate Balance #578

The Discerning Heart #614

Dream of a Lifetime #661

Finally Home #687

A Perfect Gentleman #705

Family Man #728

A Man of His Word #770

Tough Guy #806

Gold Digger #830

Palace City Prince #866

*The Perfect Wedding #962

*An Old-Fashioned Love #968

*A Wife Worth Waiting For #974

Mail-Order Brood #1024

*The Rogue Who Came To Stay #1061

*Most Wanted Dad #1144

Desperately Seeking Daddy #1186

*Falling for a Father of Four #1295

A Bride To Honor #1330

Mr. Right Next Door #1352

Glass Slipper Bride #1379

A Royal Masquerade #1432

In Want of a Wife #1466

The Mesmerizing Mr. Carlyle #1493

So Dear to My Heart #1535

The Man with the Money #1592

Silhouette Special Edition

A Rumor of Love #664

Husband in the Making #776

With Baby in Mind #869

Child of Her Heart #964

The Knight, the Waitress and the Toddler #1131

Every Cowgirl’s Dream #1195

Marrying an Older Man #1235

Baby Boy Blessed #1285

Her Secret Affair #1421

Silhouette Books

Fortune’s Children

Single with Children

The Fortunes of Texas

Corporate Daddy

Maitland Maternity

The Detective’s Dilemma

ARLENE JAMES

grew up in Oklahoma and has lived all over the South. In 1976 she married “the most romantic man in the world.” The author enjoys traveling with her husband, but writing has always been her chief pastime. Arlene is also the author of the inspirational titles Proud Spirit, A Wish for Always, Partners for Life and No Stranger to Love.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

Fifty bucks. Fifty lousy bucks. Charlene Bellamy fought the urge to shove the rumpled bills into her boss’s smug, clueless face. The Dallas law firm for which she worked as an attorney was one of the wealthiest in the entire state of Texas, so she had naturally been encouraged when Pratt had promised her funds for her foster son’s soccer team. She still couldn’t believe that their contribution amounted to a measly fifty dollars.

It was going to take hundreds to outfit and equip sixteen underprivileged four- and five-year-olds, but when she’d pointed that out to her firm’s youngest senior partner, he had blithely suggested that she refrain from performing so much pro bono work and actually try to bring in some income for the firm so they could do better by her next “little project.” The cad knew perfectly well that her pro bono work had left her own bank account near empty. He also knew that, though protracted, her representation of the abused women’s and children’s shelter, her last case, had not only kept the shelter open by removing the threat of a frivolous but dangerous lawsuit, it had also garnered a great deal of positive press coverage for the firm. Unfortunately, positive press meant little at Bellows, Cartere, Dennis and Pratt, at least as compared to cold, hard cash.

What really angered Charly and turned her stomach, however, was the way Richard Pratt, a married man and her immediate supervisor, had stared at her breasts and suggested that he might make a hefty personal contribution if she was “nice” to him. It wasn’t the first such suggestion Pratt had made, and unfortunately it wasn’t likely to be the last, since her complaints to the other partners had brought her only smiles, lectures, reprimands and cleverly veiled threats, in that order. The irony of it was that the firm frequently prosecuted sexual harassment suits—most quite successfully. Yet, the good-old-boys mentality coupled with legal sagacity to let Pratt slide right under the bar needed to prosecute. The moment her employment contract expired—ten months and two days hence—Charly would be out of there. She was weary of being the token woman reluctantly admitted to the fringes of the good-old-boys club, but where she would go next she didn’t know. Her reputation for being unable to resist championing the underdog didn’t exactly make her a much-sought-after prospect for any firm dedicated to profitability.

A half hour later, she found herself standing outside a RuCom Electronics store, where she had more pressing matters to attend. Ponce and his little friends were counting on her. She pushed open the heavy glass door and walked through it into the shop, where her ex-husband was the branch manager. Surely he would help with some donation. A signal chimed. The muted clomp of the heels of her sensible pumps followed as she moved through stacks of computer accessories, telephones, radio-controlled model cars and stereo equipment on special sales promotion. RuCom was well-known for its rock-bottom prices and the stripped-down approach to retailing that made undercutting its competitors possible. The company was also known for its astonishing profit margins, and it was the latter that gave Charly hope, that and her ex-husband Dave’s easy-going demeanor.

While Dave’s level, laid-back manner made it possible for him and Charly to remain somewhat friendly after their divorce, it also added to Charly’s pain over the failure of the marriage. After a single short year of wedlock, she had been stunned when Dave announced that it had been a mistake. She hadn’t realized he was unhappy or that he blamed her preoccupation with work for it. While Charly had been thinking babies and how to fit a family into her schedule, David had been thinking divorce. Two years after the fact, she still smarted, not that she really thought much about Dave himself. It was more the opportunity to fulfill her desire for children that she missed, so much that she’d begun to investigate the possibility of adoption after Dave left her. Foster parenthood had been a step in that direction, and it was Charly’s most fervent hope that she would soon be allowed to adopt Ponce Jack, the angelic five-year-old with whom she’d shared her hectic life this past year. It was because of Ponce that she was here.

Walking up to the counter, she looked at the middle-aged clerk who wore his standard-issue RuCom T-shirt over a long-sleeved dress shirt and pleated slacks. The usual RuCom retail clerk was a teenager firmly rooted in computer geekdom. This guy looked more like an executive.

“Can I help you?”

“Dave around? Tell him Charly’s here.”

The man blinked at her name, then pointed to a posterboard sign on the counter. “Sorry, it’s Retail Staff Appreciation Day. The regular sales staff is off today.”

“Maybe I can help,” said another voice, and a tall, dark-haired man with brown eyes and a strong, square jaw stepped into view, a clipboard in one hand. “I’m in charge of the shop today.”

A blatantly handsome man, he looked to be about Charly’s own age, early thirties. The older fellow slid over and made room at the counter for him, an obvious act of deference. The newcomer wore his RuCom T-shirt with khakis, sans dress shirt, so Charly could only assume that he pulled rank due to actual sales experience. An odd, unfamiliar awareness shimmered through her, which was puzzlingly uncomfortable. She wished David was here, but since he wasn’t, she could only consider her options. The fees for the team had to be paid to the soccer league tomorrow, or the team would not be scheduled for games. If she struck out here, her only option was to borrow against her credit card and pay the fees herself. Might as well give this a shot.

Smiling, she stuck out her hand. “Charlene Michman Bellamy.”

The man put down the clipboard and took her hand in his, brown eyes sparkling. “Darren, uh, Rudd.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rudd.” Charly took her hand back and tried to relax, but a strange tingle made her tilt her head and shift her weight. “I have a problem I hope you can help me with. Actually, it’s sixteen four- and five-year-olds who need your help. These are underprivileged kids who can’t afford to buy their own school lunches, let alone the cleats, balls and uniforms needed to play soccer. I was hoping that—in exchange for advertisement, of course—your shop could sponsor the team.”

“I see.”

His gaze swept over her, and she wondered just what it was that he thought he saw. Fighting the urge to tug down the bottom of her demure navy business suit jacket, she pushed back her short, wispy red hair and squared her shoulders.

“I take it that your husband is the coach?”

Charly lifted both brows at what she considered a sexist remark. “Certainly not. I am the coach.”

His smile broadened, and he leaned forward, bracing both elbows on the countertop. “That’s cool. I just assumed…I mean, it’s usually the spouse who gets stuck with the fund-raising.”

“Well, I don’t have a spouse to stick with the fund-raising,” Charly retorted, amazed by the speculative gleam in those brown eyes. She cleared her throat. “What I have is a five-year-old who desperately wants to play soccer and no team to play on unless I get this thing off the ground.”

“This ‘thing’ being a team of underprivileged children,” he clarified.

Charly nodded. “The soccer commissioner gave me a list of kids who couldn’t get on teams because there weren’t enough scholarships to cover their fees. I intend to see to it that those fees are covered and the kids get to play.”

“Even if it means soliciting funds and coaching the team yourself,” he surmised.

“Yes.”

He straightened and folded his arms, asking, “Have you ever coached a soccer team before?”

She held his gaze. “No, but I’ve been reading a great deal and—”

“You think you can coach soccer from a book?” he interrupted skeptically.

She lifted her chin. “The proficiency level at this age is quite low, anyway. Besides, the most important thing is that they get to play.”

“So you don’t expect them to actually win any games.”

She didn’t, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Some of the teams in the league were outfitted with the very finest equipment and had committed, competitive coaches with the time and skill to turn out first-rate players. Some of them handpicked their players from a pool of eager applicants desperate to get onto winning teams. Most of that occurred with the older age groups, but the commissioner had already warned her that one coach in her level with a flawless win record had put together a team of all five-year-olds which he expected to “kick serious butt.”

Looking Darren Rudd right in the brown eyes—and quite enticing eyes they were with their long, black lashes and warm centers—Charly said, “Can you help me or not?”

To her surprise the older fellow butted in. “I’m afraid it’s just not possible, young lady. RuCom policy—”

“I am in charge here,” Darren Rudd interrupted mildly. The other man silenced like a tap turning off, but the look he turned on Rudd was all questions. The younger man smiled at Charly and said, “What Stevens was trying to say is that we don’t usually make such donations, but since the cause is so very good, I think we can make an exception this time.”

Charly closed her eyes in relief. “Thank you. This means more than you’ll ever know. If you’d like to verify what I’ve said, you can call the soccer commissioner.”

As she spoke, Darren Rudd moved to the cash register and began punching buttons. “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. You look like a trustworthy sort.” He smiled, and the cash drawer slid open. He started pulling out cash and counting it. “Will, say, five hundred dollars take care of it?”

Five hundred! Charly nearly collapsed. It was enough to pay the fees with nearly fifty dollars left over. “Yes!”

The older man gasped and exclaimed, “But Mr. Ru—”

Rudd held up a hand, cutting off his subordinate in midword. “If anyone has a problem with it, I’ll replace the funds out of my own pocket, all right, Stevens?”

Stevens gulped and nodded. Rudd handed over the money to an impressed Charly. With those warm bills in her hand, she felt as if she’d met a kindred spirit, and the way he held her gaze made her wonder if perhaps she hadn’t found more, but then she took a good look at him and mentally shook her head. The man was a hunk. It wasn’t just those gorgeous eyes or that wavy brown-black hair, the chiseled features or even the broad shoulders and powerful build. He exuded an aura of confidence and potent masculinity that made itself felt as surely as any physical touch. He wouldn’t really be interested in a woman like her. If she couldn’t hold Dave’s interest, she certainly couldn’t hold the interest of a man like this! Oh, he flirted. Of course he would flirt. It seemed a part of his nature. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it, but even if it had been more, it was still out of the question.

“The kids will be so thrilled,” she told him. “We’ll have the team shirts printed up with RuCom Electronics Store 796 on the front.”

“RuCom Electronics will suffice,” he said, sounding amused, “and it’ll save on printing costs.”

She laughed. “So it will.”

“By the way, what’s the team name? You never said.”

“Well, we haven’t really decided that yet,” she admitted.

“Good,” he said. “I might have some ideas about that. I mean, since you’ll be representing RuCom, we’ll want it to be something cool, naturally.”

“Oh, ah, well, the team would have to vote on it, you understand.”

He shrugged. “No problem. When can we have a team meeting?”

“Uh, Thursday. We’re practicing at a field over on Lovers Lane at Arroyo. We start about six.”

Darren Rudd smiled. “Then I’ll see you Thursday. Probably not by six, more like half past.”

“No problem. You could even come after practice, about seven.”

He rubbed a spot just in front of one ear and said, “We’ll have to see. Now if you’ll just give me a number where I can reach you…”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

He plucked an ink pen from the counter and turned over a brochure touting a certain computer package. She recited all ten digits of her home phone number, knowing that Bellows, Cartere, Dennis and Pratt took a dim view of her “bleeding-heart projects.” Darren Rudd jotted them down and wrote the name Charlene above them in bold block letters. “Actually,” she heard herself say, “nearly everyone calls me Charly.”

He hitched an eyebrow at that. “Is that a fact? Funny, you don’t look like any Charlie I’ve ever seen.” He actually winked at her then.

To her horror, she felt a blush start to rise. With her pale, golden coloring, it was impossible to hide it. “I’ll, uh, see you Thursday then.” Quickly she turned away, but then she turned back long enough to add, “Thank you. Thank you so much. And it’s Charly, with a Y.”

“Charly with a Y,” he echoed, tucking his hands beneath his folded arms and nodding.

Charly got out of there as fast as her sensible pumps could carry her without knocking something over, blaming her pounding heart on her haste. It was only after she’d made it out to the sidewalk that she began to think how this must be her lucky day, after all.

Dave would never have given her five hundred dollars! Oh, he’d have given her something, certainly more than Pratt, but five hundred? Never. She laughed as she stuffed the bills into her purse. She could kiss the feet of whoever had thought up Retail Staff Appreciation Day at RuCom Electronics. Just one thing bothered her.

Why had she told him to call her Charly? Only her family and friends called her that. Professionally, she was Charlene. Charlene was an attorney, all business. Charly was just a woman with friends and family. Charlene was a sharp, Amazonian warrior on the field of legal expertise. Charly was a much more vulnerable soul, a woman who desperately wanted a family of her own. Something told her that vulnerable was not a good thing to be when it came to dealing with Darren Rudd. He might be just some exec who’d worked his way up to the home office via outstanding performance in the retail end of the business at this point, but he was the sort of decisive, bulls-by-the-horn type. If she wasn’t careful, he’d steamroll her, and this would be his and RuCom’s team rather than hers and the kids’.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d take his flirtatiousness seriously, and that could only lead to trouble. Maybe he would call her Charly, but when it came to Darren Rudd, she was going to have to be Charlene.

Darren snapped his fingers, hovering over the open cash drawer where he’d just put in some bills. “Come on, come on. I only had three hundred on me. You’ll get it back, I promise.”

“It’s not the money,” Stevens said, passing Darren two hundred in cash. “I just can’t believe you, of all people, have expressively gone against company policy, policy you dictated, I might add. I knew nothing good could come of this retail staff appreciation program.”

Darren slid the bills into the cash register and closed the drawer, chuckling. “I’ll be honest with you, Stevens, having corporate staff substitute for retail associates is more about giving you stuffed shirts in your ivory tower a taste of the real business than letting the sales staff off for the day, though they do deserve it since they’re the real money-makers.”

Stevens made a face. “Point taken. But I don’t see what that has to do with sponsoring a soccer team against company policy.”

“It hasn’t a thing to do with it,” Darren admitted. “I just wanted to get to know the lady.”

Stevens rolled his eyes. “Five hundred dollars to get to know a woman, when you’ve got a whole string of them dangling after you?”

“It’s my five hundred bucks,” Darren said with a shrug.

“What about the company policy?”

“My company, my policy.”

“And how long do you suppose it’ll be before she figures out you’re D. K. Rudell instead of simple Darren Rudd?”

Darren grinned. “Long enough, I hope.”

Stevens shook his distinguished gray head. “I do not understand you, sir. I have never understood you. I don’t think I ever will.”

Darren laughed and clapped his vice-president of operations on the shoulder. “Stevens, weren’t you ever young and single?”

“Of course.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Didn’t you ever run the race just for the joy of the chase?”

“I couldn’t afford such indulgences,” Stevens intoned dolefully.

Darren shook his head in pity, then grinned unrepentantly and crowed, “Well, I can, and I have a closetful of track shoes to prove it.”

“And the notches on your bedpost, no doubt,” Stevens muttered.

Darren tapped his temple with a forefinger. “The only record I need is right up here.”

“Let us hope you keep it there,” Stevens said with a sniff. In another life, Darren mused, Stevens had undoubtedly been an English butler. No one else could be that starchy. Still, he was a genius at corporate management. Thanks to him and his team, RuCom ran like a well-oiled machine. His only real fault was in his attitude toward the sales staff, whom Stevens and most of the other executives in the corporate office considered beneath them, when in reality they were the lifeblood of the company. Darren had instituted a yearly Retail Staff Appreciation Day as a means of giving his corporate staff a taste of real retailing, and being one who believed in leading by example, at least in his business life, he had gladly taken a turn behind the counter.

In truth, he’d thought it would be just like the old days when he’d been struggling to find his niche in a marketplace dominated by giants, but it wasn’t. Too much water had gone under the bridge since he’d opened his first shop in Lubbock, fresh out of college at Texas Tech. The water had rushed under that bridge, actually, sweeping him along with it, and now he was the biggest boy in the business. Sometimes he missed the old days—but not for long. He made a mental note to ditch the Porsche and go with the Caddy when he met Charly on Thursday.

Charly. Odd nickname for a woman, especially one that looked like her, not that she was drop-dead gorgeous or anything. Now that he thought about it, she wasn’t his usual type at all. He tended to gravitate toward the heavily, usually surgically, endowed sort. He liked long hair, blond preferably, blue eyes and stunning figures, stiletto heels and red lipstick. What was it about redheaded, shapely but unremarkable Charly that revved his engines so? It certainly wasn’t the way she dressed! He’d had Sunday school teachers who dressed with more pizzazz.

Funny, he hadn’t thought about that at the time. Now that he did, he was pretty sure she hadn’t been wearing any makeup. Her squarish face was pretty, yes, in a wholesome fashion, her mouth pleasingly plump and dusky rose, nose short and, well, neither wide nor narrow, blunt nor pointed. Her brows were straight, short dashes of red-brown above round eyes that were definitely her best feature. An odd golden color mottled with specks of green and blue, they were rimmed with thick lashes much brighter and lighter than her brows. He’d had the strange sensation of waking up to find those eyes gazing at him from the next pillow, their red-gold lashes sparkling with morning light. He wondered what she’d be like in bed.

He always wondered what they’d be like in bed. That’s what kept him moving on, what made him one of the hottest top ten bachelors in the nation, according to the press, that and the millions he had stashed away. He didn’t fool himself that his appeal to the opposite sex was strictly personal, and while he was definitely not above taking advantage of the appeal of his millions, it secretly rankled, just a bit, that his luck with women had improved so phenomenally once his business had taken off. Maybe Charly was his chance to put that old hang-up to rest. Maybe that was why he’d invented a new identity for himself on the spur of the moment.

Something had told him that Charlene Michman Bellamy would run from D. K. Rudell. So he’d be Darren Rudd and let her run to him instead. It would be a new experience, and new experience, after all, was the name of the game, wasn’t it? Same old same old got boring all too quickly, especially these days. Yeah, it was worth five hundred bucks and more just to see if plain Darren Rudd could pull it off.

Stevens had worried that she might be running a scam, that she might not be who she said she was or soliciting funds for anything other than her own use, but Darren didn’t believe it for a minute. She was much too genuine, this Charly. She might be, in fact, the most genuine article he’d ever come across. He shook his head, wondering why that mattered, why it intrigued. But in the end, he didn’t really care: the game was in play, and, as always, he intended to win.

Chapter Two

She was waiting in the parking garage, ostensibly adjusting the strap of a sandal with a four-inch-high heel, her firm rump all but exposed by the minuscule skirt of her spandex slip dress, when he slid the silver sport car into its assigned space. As he got out of the car, she straightened and feigned surprise, one long-nailed hand flying up to her chest and calling attention to the abundant cleavage exposed by the two tiny triangles which comprised the bodice of the so-called dress. Frowning, she adopted a petulant air, rippling her leonine mane with a practiced toss of her head.

“I’m glad I ran into you like this, D.K. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about yesterday.”

He activated the antitheft device on the car by depressing a button in the tiny remote attached to his key chain and said drolly, “So you’ve decided to apologize for stepping out of line—way, way out of line—and making that scene yesterday.”

She folded her arms beneath her ample breasts and threw out a hip, red mouth pursed in an effort to appear either hurt or repentant and managing neither, despite great inducement. Tawny Beekman had been living rent-free in a luxurious apartment two floors below the penthouse that Darren Keith Rudell called home. He’d offered it to her as a means of helping her straighten out her abysmal finances, since he owned the building, the apartment had been empty and she’d been evicted by her roommate. The couple of months’ reprieve he’d initially offered had stretched to nearly a year, with Tawny tearfully declaring over and over again that she couldn’t afford a decent apartment since she’d given up “dancing” for a living. She was supposedly supporting herself as a waitress, but he had his doubts. During that year she had done her best to renew their brief affair, though he had deliberately ended their very casual sexual relationship even before she’d moved into the building.

D. K. Rudell knew better than to let his casual affairs come too close. He never made passes at the women who lived in his building or worked in his employ. He never played around with married women or the family members of his friends or business acquaintances. He made certain that no woman ever spent an entire night in his bed, and he never, but never, gave any woman, save the cleaning lady and his sister, Jill, the code to his private elevator and a key to his penthouse, not even their flighty mother DeeDee.

Jill had rarely used the access he’d given her, but yesterday had been an exception. She’d been waiting for him when he’d gotten home from work, anxious to speak to him about their mother’s latest folly, an investment scheme in a diamond mine located in, of all places, Missouri. Tawny had seen Jill accessing his elevator and assumed that she was a girlfriend. She’d ambushed him then just as she had today, complaining bitterly that he’d lied to her about not giving out his key to his lovers. She’d wept and exclaimed that she could satisfy his sexual needs far better than that “frumpy brunette.” When he’d explained, through gritted teeth, that the woman in question was his sister, for pity’s sake, Tawny had accused him of leading her on and breaking her heart. He’d left her screaming that he owed her, so he wasn’t too surprised to see her here again today.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, gliding up to him, “I’m so sorry. How was I to know she was your sister?”

“You weren’t,” he said flatly, “because it isn’t any of your business.”

“I know, I know, but I can’t help myself,” she pouted, sliding a hand lightly over his chest. “You know I’m crazy about you, D.K. You’ve ruined me for every other man. I’ve missed our good times so much.”

“But not enough to move out, I’ve noticed,” Darren retorted dryly.

Anger flashed in Tawny’s artificially green eyes but was quickly replaced by woe. “I thought you wanted me near you.”

Darren lightly placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed her away, saying, “You thought wrong.” He dropped his hand and stepped back several steps, adding, “I tried to help out, but you knew the ground rules from the beginning. I’ve been more than generous. Now it’s time for you to go.”

The spigot immediately turned on. “Oh, D.K.!” she warbled, sniffing and blinking her false eyelashes. “How could you?”

He was immune by this time and just shook his head. “End of the month, Tawny. You ought to have a tidy little nest egg put aside by now. It’s nearly four weeks, so you have plenty of time, but I’ll even help you locate a new place if you want. Hell, I’ll help you move, if that’s what it takes, but one way or another you’re out of here by the end of the month. Understand?”

She was sobbing openly now, her lovely shoulders shaking pitifully, her face buried in her hands. “How can you do this to me? I burn for you. You’ll never know how desperately I want you to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted. “The thing is, see, I’ve moved on, a long time ago. It’s past time for you to do the same thing.”

“But I only want you,” she insisted petulantly, reaching out for him.

He caught her arms and pushed them down. “But I don’t want you, Tawny,” he said softly but firmly. “I can’t be any more blunt than that.”

“But why?” she demanded, stomping a foot like an overtired child. “I know I turn you on.”

Oddly enough, she didn’t, not anymore. The awful truth was, in fact, that no one and nothing seemed to anymore, except…He pushed sudden thoughts of Charly Bellamy from his mind and took a good, hard look at Tawny Beekman. She was every man’s fantasy, so beautiful that she was almost unreal. Actually, she was a lot unreal, from her phony nails to those surgically enhanced breasts. In that respect she was not much different from most of the women with whom he’d been involved. For some reason he found all the artifice unpalatable at the moment.

“Tawny,” he said patiently, “it is so over. It has been for a long time, and it’s going to stay that way. So get it out of your head that you can get me back into bed. It’s not going to happen.”

“Then why can’t I stay?” she pleaded.

He almost laughed. Didn’t she realize how transparent she was? Her great passion for him obviously had more to do with free rent than anything else. Once again, it was his money.

“You can’t stay,” he said bluntly, “because I’m tired of you taking advantage of me. You’ve had a good, long, free ride at my expense. Now it’s over. Get used to it.”

She didn’t even try the tears this time, going straight to outrage instead. “You selfish son of a—”

“Oh, that’s rich, when you’re the one mooching free rent.”

“You can afford it, damn you!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re entitled to it,” Darren retorted dismissively, turning away. “Just vacate the apartment by the end of the month.” He began walking toward the exit.

“You’re going to pay for this, Rudell! You can’t just toss me out with the trash! I’m going to get you! If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’m going to get you, D.K.!”

He pulled open the heavy metal door that led to the elevator bank, walked through it and let it close solidly behind him, closing out the sound of her voice as she continued to shriek at him. Crazy woman. What did she think she could do? He was D. K. Rudell, after all, and she was a drama queen who’d hitched a free ride. Well, the ride was over. End of the line. And the instant she was off the gravy train, he meant to tear up the track behind it. From now on, his generous impulses were strictly little league, Little League soccer to be exact, if such a term applied.

As he fitted his key into the slot of his private elevator and punched in the code on the keypad below, he smiled, thinking of all those little kids running around with RuCom Electronics emblazoned on their chests—and a grateful Charlene Bellamy beaming up at him. He felt a fresh spurt of excitement as the elevator door slid open, followed swiftly by sheer relief. How long had it been, really, since he’d felt such eagerness? Pocketing his keys, he stepped into the elevator, turned and pushed the button, then leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, imagining Charly Bellamy in his arms. His heart thumped in an unexpected fashion. Oddly poignant, it almost hurt. A strange warmth spread through him.

Slightly embarrassed, he cleared his throat and glanced up at the tiny security camera mounted in the corner of the elevator car. Every elevator, every entrance, every corridor in the building was outfitted with them. He often wondered what his security officers saw on those constantly lit monitors. Not much of a criminal nature had happened in this building, despite its proximity to the downtown area. They’d nailed a purse snatcher hanging around the front elevator bank when he’d tried to grab a tenant’s handbag as the elevator door slid closed, and they’d flushed out a couple of prostitutes looking for a clean, out-of-the-way place to take their business. A pizza delivery guy had tried to walk off with a package left outside the door of one apartment on his way out of the building. Other than that, the residents themselves and their guests had to provide any entertainment for the security guys.

Darren had never asked, but he suspected that the silent, blue-jacketed guards had gotten an eyeful more than once, but never at his expense. He was too aware of being watched to misbehave in public or even in the seeming privacy of a closed elevator. It was an unpleasant fact of his life that people were always watching, and not just security guards. Even his most private moments often found their way into the press, however, so he made it a personal policy to break it off with any woman who spoke to reporters about their relationship. It didn’t keep him from being duped by the occasional publicity hound, but it kept him from investing more in them than he could afford to lose.

He was a little surprised that Charly hadn’t recognized him, frankly, but he was also glad. If he was very careful, she might never know who he really was. Perhaps that possibility explained his intense interest in her. Yes, that must be it. It wasn’t her so much as it was the opportunity to step out of his public persona and into a normal life for a time. Normal was something that he vaguely remembered, but he was pretty sure he could pull it off. It must be like riding a bicycle; it came back to you once you climbed aboard and pushed off.

Feeling confident, he whistled as he stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse foyer. He locked the elevator in place with a holding code, then opened the apartment, inserting the key into the slot in the wall that left his one-of-a-kind door unmarred by the obscenity of a keyhole. The massive twin slabs of polished and elaborately etched steel swung open with a satisfying hydraulic whoosh. Leaving them standing wide, Darren walked into the peaceful silence of his clean, spacious apartment, certain that he was utterly safe, completely untouchable. And alone.

The luxury sedan rocked over the rough ground and came to rest between a fifteen-year-old pickup with flaking paint and Charly’s own sensible, fuel-efficient import. Watching from the sidelines, she knew who it was even before Darren Rudd squeezed out of the car in the limited space. She felt a jolt of anticipation mingled with wariness the instant before an exuberant, near-sighted munchkin in baggy jeans and T-shirt bowled her over. At the impact, she stumbled backward and sat down hard. The child landed on top of her. The next thing Charly knew, she was staring up at blue sky, wondering how it was possible to drown on dry land, for, try as she might, she could not pull oxygen into her lungs.

Suddenly the weight on her chest lifted away, and fresh, fortifying air rushed in. Then a number of faces came into view, most of them small and worried, one of them handsome and rather amused. Small, grubby hands patted her shoulders and head.

“Miss Charly! Miss Charly!”

Ponce shoved his way through the mob of children and fell on his knees at her side, his big black eyes revealing his fear. Curls bobbing, he leaned over her, the angelic features of his face striking her anew with sheer awe. He was a Michelangelo sculpture with café au lait skin and a froth of light, reddish brown curls that must surely hide a halo.

“Mommy!”

Charly fought up onto both elbows and found a smile for him, her heart swelling with love. “I’m okay, sweetie.”

“Just had the wind knocked out of her, I think,” Darren Rudd said. Charly switched her gaze to him just as he let go of the child he’d scooped off her.

The boy pushed his thick, too-wide glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. They slid right down again, and Charly made a mental note to buy the kid an elastic sport band to hold them in place. “I’m sorry, Ms. Charly.”

“That’s okay, Calvin. No harm done. I was just about to call a break, anyway.” She sat up, and Darren Rudd offered her a hand, which she clasped without actually looking at him. He hauled her to her feet with athletic ease. Keeping her face averted so he couldn’t see her blush, she swiped at the surely grass-stained seat of her gray shorts, pushed up the sleeves of her white sweatshirt and addressed her team. “Guys, this is Mr. Rudd. He represents our sponsor, RuCom Electronics.”

“Do you have one a’ them remote cars?” asked the tallest player, Kental, his black face shining.

“Uh, I have one in my office,” Darren answered after a moment.

“Man, them remote cars is cool,” Kental said to the dark-haired little girl next to him.

“Juan gots one,” she crowed, referring to her older brother.

“Uh-uh. The kind I mean costs a whole bunch.”

“Mama bought it at the RuCom store!” Maria insisted.

“Did not!”

“Did, too!”

“Kental, Maria,” Charly interrupted firmly, one hand idly massaging her sore abdomen, “we’re not here to discuss our toys. We have important matters to decide. We have to have a name for our team, and Mr. Rudd has come to help us decide on one. Now I’m open to suggestions. Anyone have any ideas?”

The kids all looked at one another. Some shrugged. Others shook their heads. Then someone suggested, “Electrics! How ’bout the Electrics?”

“It’s electronics, goofy,” Ponce explained. “RuCom Electronics, like computers and stuff.”

“The Co’puters!” someone else cried.

“How about the Comets?” Darren suggested mildly. “The RuCom Comets.”

The kids looked at one another in question and confusion. “What’s a comet?” asked Sarah, pushing stringy blond hair from her eyes. Sarah was missing a tooth, and Charly was convinced that no four-year-old lost a tooth to natural causes, but Sarah clammed up whenever Charly asked what had happened.

Charly bent down to bring her face closer to Sarah’s, smoothed a hand over her none-too-clean hair and explained, “It’s like a shooting star, honey, a big fireball that streaks across the sky. It’s real fast and real hot.”

Kental nodded approval at Ponce, who nodded back. Calvin swaggered, thumped his chest and said, “Shootin’ star.” Maria giggled, and Sarah smiled her gap-toothed smile. Murmurs of “cool” and “sweet” went from one little mouth to another.

“So what do you think?” Darren asked. “Is it the Comets, or does someone have another suggestion?”

“Show of hands,” Charly directed. “Everyone gets to vote. In favor of calling our team the Comets, raise your hand. Against it, keep your hands down.” About twenty little hands went up, some voting twice. “The Comets it is,” Charly announced with a clap of her hands. The kids cheered as she turned to Darren Rudd. He was even more handsome than she remembered. The dark hair waving back from his forehead and temples called attention to those deeply set brown eyes. His angular jaw and chin bore the shadow of a beard that glinted rusty brown in the waning sunlight.

“I’ll let the commissioner know tonight,” she told him. “Thanks for coming by, but you don’t have to hang around. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

He shrugged. “Nope, not really.” He smiled, and his gaze scanned speculatively down her body. Heat blossomed instantly in embarrassing places.

Quickly turning away, she clapped her hands at the children. “Okay, back on the field! Back on the field!” The kids ran to obey, bouncing off one another in the process. “Ponce, will you get the ball, please?”

Ponce ran down the field and gathered up the single soccer ball while Charly attempted to set up a shooting drill. She wasn’t entirely sure what the objective was beyond connecting foot with ball, but she figured if they could accomplish that much, it would be an improvement. They seemed to have better luck kicking one another than the ball. She tried not to think of Darren Rudd watching with folded arms from the sideline as she placed the ball and directed Maria, who always seemed to manage to be first in line, to take a short run and boot the ball. She spent several minutes after that comforting the child, who had managed only to kick herself off her feet and land flat on her back, bouncing her little skull off the hard ground.

When the first parents began to show up to retrieve their children, some walking from a nearby public housing sector and past several other soccer fields, Charly had accomplished little with the team and was somehow exhausted in the bargain. It was like herding geese. Their attention spans were shorter than she had realized, Ponce being the obvious exception, and while she worked with one, the others naturally scattered in pairs and trios to chase and tussle, draw in the dirt and even throw it. Charly was too busy to even think about Darren Rudd—until she turned, an arm draped about Ponce’s small, narrow shoulders, and headed toward the sideline.

There he stood, talking to Kental and his mother, one large hand on Kental’s shoulder. The boy smiled up at him, rapture on his thin face. Kental’s mother shook Rudd’s hand, then turned away, tugging her son after her. Kental skipped happily, literally clicking his heels together at one point. One of his shoes flew off, and the pair stopped so he could pull it back on. Charly had noticed that his canvas shoes, though worn, were too large for him, but whether they were purchased that way in hopes that he wouldn’t outgrow them too soon or were inadequate hand-me-downs, she couldn’t say. Deliberately pushing Darren Rudd from her mind, she began mentally reviewing the practice.

One thing was certain: she needed some help. Corralling sixteen little ones in an open field was an impossibility for a lone adult. Actually teaching them anything was another issue entirely. She wondered which of the parents she should ask first. None of them was likely to be of assistance. They all either had other children to be supervised or were working late shifts or second jobs. At least one of them didn’t even speak English. Still, she felt that she should ask them first. After that, she would ask the soccer commissioner for help, and if that failed she’d start haranguing her friends. Someone had to be willing to pitch in.

Darren slid his hands into the pockets of his chinos and waited patiently for Charly and her son to join him, well satisfied with what he’d seen that day. Charly was so far out of her league that she’d have little choice but to accept his help. He was actually looking forward to it. “Helping” her coach the team would be like killing two birds with one stone. Not only would it afford him the perfect opportunity to get next to Charly, literally, but it ought to be fun. The kids were certainly eager, and she definitely had not overstated the needs of the children. Quite the opposite, in fact. Five hundred bucks obviously wasn’t going to address all the needs. He was already making a lengthy mental list of what they were going to need, including a whistle for the coach. He wondered if she realized how many times—and how ineffectually—she had snapped her fingers or clapped her hands for attention today. More than that, however, he wondered about Ponce, or rather, Ponce’s father.

As soon as Ponce had called her Mommy, Darren had remembered that she’d mentioned having a five-year-old. It simply hadn’t registered at the time, perhaps because he’d been too intent on learning her marital status. He’d never dated a “mommy” before, not that he was dating one now, not yet. The fact that she had a child didn’t bother him particularly. He liked kids. He doted on his nephew. Still, he couldn’t help wondering about Ponce’s dad, though. He must be an exceptionally handsome man, because Ponce was one of the most beautiful children Darren had ever seen.

His own curiosity about the man puzzled him. He wondered why Charly and Ponce’s father had parted and where the fellow was now. Could she still be in love with him? The need to know was like a splinter under the skin, not particularly painful but enough of a nuisance to constantly remind you that it was there. He resisted the urge to pick at it as she stopped beside him and lifted a forearm to wipe her forehead with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. The action left her damp bangs standing on end.

Darren felt a definite tug in his groin. What was it about her? The woman should have been completely unappealing. Her athletic shoes and even her socks were filthy. Her shorts were stretched out and baggy, not to mention grass-stained. In spite of the cool, early-spring air, perspiration had soaked her shirt in spots and left her hair plastered to her head, what wasn’t sticking up. She wore no cosmetics, and a spattering of freckles was even now rising across the bridge of her nose. His palms itched to strip her where she stood. Instead he smiled down at Ponce.

“You were a big help to your mom out there today.”

“Absolutely,” Charly agreed, squeezing the boy’s shoulders. “And speaking of help, could you grab the ball and the cups for me, honey?”

Ponce nodded and moved away with a glance in Darren’s direction. Darren hoped he wasn’t going to have trouble from that quarter. The kid was giving off hostile vibes. Probably wanted his parents back together. Darren put aside that issue and said, “I’m afraid you’re going to need more help than the boy can give you, however.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll speak to the soccer commissioner about it tonight.”

Something told him to tread softly, so he said only, “Well, if you can’t get anyone else, I might be able to give you an evening or two a week.”

She gaped at him. “Really?”

“If you can’t get anyone else,” he said, shrugging. She smiled, and her whole face lit up. She wasn’t beautiful, even now, but she was dazzling. He gulped and played his next card. “I, um, can see that the five hundred isn’t going to take care of all the team needs.”

“The fees took most of it,” she admitted with a grimace, “but we’ll make do.”

“I don’t see the point in that,” he said lightly. “Tell you what, why don’t we do a little shopping, figure out how much more is needed?”

She considered briefly, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll check around and let you know.”

He smiled and suggested mildly, “It’ll go faster if we just take care of it together. When can you go?”

She looked off into the distance, and he knew that she was considering the wisdom of spending time with him. He let her consider, and finally she said, “I’ll have to let you know.”

“How about tomorrow?” he pressed gently. “You busy tomorrow afternoon? I’ll meet you at Sports World. I hear they have the best prices.” He fished a piece of paper from his polo shirt pocket and added, “I got the kids’ shoe sizes as they came off the field, all but Ponce’s.”

She was staring at him now. “Shoe sizes?”

“They can’t play in what they’ve got,” he pointed out. “One little girl was out there in sandals.”

Charly pushed a hand through her hair, leaving it in wild disarray, and his heart literally thumped. What was it? “I know,” she said, “but sponsors usually just provide jerseys and a few balls.”

“You want them to be able to compete, don’t you? The other teams will have cleats and real uniforms. As they are representatives of RuCom, we want them to look as good as everyone else.”

She stared at him a little longer, and then those unusual golden eyes warmed. “That’s wonderful!”

Pure satisfaction flashed over him, but he shrugged it aside, saying, “It’s just good business, really.”

“I don’t care what it is,” she told him bluntly. “All I care about is what it’ll do for those kids.”

“So are you free tomorrow afternoon or not?”

She bit her lip and then nodded. “I’ll arrange for my grandmother to pick up Ponce from day school. How’s four?”

It was early, actually, but he nodded, already planning how he could stretch shopping into dinner. “I’ll be waiting out in front of the store. You do know where it is, don’t you?”

“Behind the mall,” she said, naming a popular shopping spot in Plano.

“That’s the one. You can give me Ponce’s shoe size then.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she said. “I’ll take care of Ponce. You just worry about the rest of the team.”

He just smiled and tucked the list back into his pocket. They’d see about that. He wanted her obligated to him, but his every instinct warned him to go easy. Unlike most of the women he knew, Charly Bellamy was not looking for a man. Well, she’d found one, anyway. All that remained to be seen was what she was going to do with him. He had some very definite ideas about that, but Charly would have to think they were her ideas first. He could wait. Then, when the moment came, he’d make his move. Something told him it would be worth it. What he didn’t truly understand then was that Charly was going to define a whole new category in his catalog of conquests.

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