Don’t look at his eyes…

Trisha quickly glanced to her boss’s hair – those dark, wavy curls that she’d threaded her fingers through on a number of imaginary occasions.

Hair, bad.

She shot her gaze down to his chest.

Oh no, not the chest.

His ear. She could focus on his ear, she thought, before remembering she’d nibbled on it in cyberspace last Tuesday.

As her eyes scanned Logan’s fine features like a pinball darting from one cushioned side to another, she realised she was sinking fast with no net.

She focused on the bronze Remington statue on the credenza behind him. How fitting. A team of wild horses. ’Cause it would take a team of wild horses to jolt the lust from my brain.

LORI BORRILL,

an oregon native, moved to the bay Area just out of high school and has been a transplant californian ever since. Her weekdays are spent at the insurance company where she’s been employed for over twenty years, and she credits her writing career to the unending help and support she receives from her husband and real-life hero. When not sitting in front of a computer, she can usually be found at the baseball fields playing proud parent to their son. She’d love to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.LoriBorrill.com.

Dear Reader,

That you’re holding this book in your hand is a dream come true for me. It’s my very first published novel, and hopefully the first of many more to come.

It’s a pleasure to be able to share the story of Trisha and Logan. The idea came to me as I was reading a piece about an anonymous cybersex affair. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if a person unwittingly spilled their darkest fantasies to someone they ended up knowing. Someone horrible, like a next-door neighbour, or worse – their boss!

Needless to say, I’d barely dropped the article on the coffee table before the plot for Private Confessions had completely unfolded in my mind, and I have to say, writing it was truly a blast.

I hope you enjoy the drama, the surprises, the laughs and yes, the romance. Please drop me a note and tell me what you think of it.

Happy reading!

Lori Borrill

PRIVATE CONFESSIONS

BY

LORI BORRILL

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Leeanne Kenedy, Samantha Hunter and

Kira Bazzel, writers whose wisdom and

friendship are the foundation on which I write.

To Trisha for supporting me from that first day I

skipped into the office and declared,

“I’m writing a romance novel!”

And for Al and Tommy,

you believed in me from the start, and offered

the support I needed to make this dream come

true. I love you more than words can say.

1

“YOU’RE WEARING a navy-blue skirt. It’s tasteful. The hem stops just above the knee. Very professional on the outside, but I know you’re naked underneath. You enjoy the silky feel of the fabric against your skin, don’t you, Scorpio?”

Trisha Bain gulped as she read the words on her computer screen.

“I do,” she typed, then hit Send.

“You step into my office and close the door behind you. Those gorgeous lips curve into a smile that makes everything else disappear. You lean against the door and look at me with those big blue eyes, eyes that reveal your innermost thoughts. Today, your eyes tell me you want me.

“Do you want me, Scorpio?”

“Yes,” she typed. Oh, yes.

“I want you, too, baby. I’ve always wanted you.”

She shivered.

“I pat my hand on the desk and you stroll over, swaying those hips that have been driving me crazy since the day we met. You’re taking your time, teasing me, making me wait.

“You prop up on my desk and lift your feet to the arms of my chair, spreading those long, sexy legs for me. So many times, I’ve wanted to reach out and touch them. Can I touch them, Scorpio?”

“Please,” she typed.

“I place my hands on your ankles and slide my fingers up to your thighs. Your skin is smooth. I always knew it would be. I’ve been waiting for you. All day, I’ve been waiting for our meeting, watching the hours tick by. I can feel you trembling. You’ve been waiting, too, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she typed, noticing how even the word looked breathy on the screen.

“I brush my fingers through your curls and groan when I feel the heat between your legs. You’re wet. You’ve been thinking about me. Your scent is driving me to the edge and I can’t resist a taste.”

Oh, my.

“I slide my tongue over you and glide it around in circles. You like that, don’t you, Scorpio?”

A bead of sweat moistened her upper lip and she squirmed as the sensation tingled in her most sensitive spot.

“Yes,” she typed.

“You’re so slick, so ready. Your breath goes heavy and you tilt your head back, thrusting your breasts in the air. I raise my eyes and watch them as they rise and fall with each breath you take, slowly at first then faster as the pressure builds.

“Your nipples pierce your shirt and their hardness fills me with need. You’re about to slide over the edge. You want to go over, don’t you?”

Trisha’s hands trembled. Her toes curled inside her fuzzy blue slippers. Pisces was coming on strong tonight, and after a busy day at the agency, she could use the extra heat.

With fingers stiff and shaken, she forced them to the keyboard and typed, “Yes.”

“It’s better if I tease you.”

Oh, no, don’t tease.

“My tongue is barely touching you. You arch your back and pull yourself toward me, whimpering, begging for more. You try to get closer, but I dig my fingers in your thighs and hold you steady, making you wait. Your sex is so plump, so ready. You ache for me to move to that spot, that special place I know so well. Through long, ragged breaths, I hear you whisper, ‘Please.’ You want that spot, don’t you?”

“Please,” she typed, barely able to move her fingers over the keyboard. She swallowed hard, her body pulsed. She ached to be touched, but she knew Pisces47 was far from the end.

“Here’s the spot, sweetheart, the spot that sends you over. My tongue slides along it with light, quick strokes, then harder, faster, until you burst in my mouth. You want to scream, but you’ve got to be quiet. People might hear. You bite your lip and hold your groan as the climax takes you.

“You quiver against my tongue. It feels so good, baby. I’m so hard for you. Every cell in my body cries to get inside, now, while you’re still clamped tight. I need to take you in my arms, feel those sexy breasts against my chest and plunge inside until you beg for me to come.”

Trisha’s mouth went dry. She shifted in her seat, trying to relieve the pressure that swelled between her thighs. She wanted to reach down and relieve the throbbing, but it wasn’t time. She needed Pisces inside.

“Can I take you now, Scorpio?”

With lightning-quick strokes, she typed, “Yes.”

“I rise from my chair. You’re open for me, so beautiful. Your eyes are heavy and sated, but the bulge between my legs starts the climb all over again.”

She clasped her hands to the chair and held the breath in her lungs, unable to move until she saw what happened next.

“I unzip my trousers and you gasp at my length.”

She gasped.

“I hold it at your entrance, brushing the tip against you, teasing you, swelling your already throbbing clit. You bite down on your lip some more and wait as your eyes plead for me to enter. You’re ready for me, aren’t you, Scorpio?”

She raised her hands to the keyboard. “Please,” she typed, amazed by the quickness of her fingers.

“I slide my hands up under your skirt and place them on your hips, holding you firmly. My hands are hot to the touch. You feel me probing at your entrance and your breath comes out in pants. You’re waiting, aching for the moment when I drive my shaft inside.” She dropped her hands from the keyboard and clasped them to the chair, digging her fingers into the rough woven fabric of the cushion. It was almost time, the pressure was nearly unbearable.

“In one quick stroke, I thrust inside and you clamp your jaw shut, holding the groan in your throat.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and closed her eyes to seal the image in her mind. It was time to give Pisces full control. Sliding a hand between her thighs, she began a slow stroke.

“I’m big, harder than I’ve ever been before, and you’re still tight from the climax. Your eyes roll back and close as a quick breath escapes your chest. Your smile tells me you like it. You need more. We’ve both wanted this for so long.”

Forever, she thought as she swept her finger between her folds.

“I clasp my hands to your spine and push deeper while I nibble at your neck. You’re salty from sweat. You smell like lavender. It’s turning me on and I have to go deeper.”

Yes.

“I fill you in one final thrust. You’re so tight and slick. Your groan tells me I’ve found that spot and I begin to stroke as another climax builds.”

Trisha gulped in air as she formed an image from the words on the screen. The room was hot, her breath shortened as she neared the edge of climax.

“My heart’s beating fast. You place your hands on my chest. It’s hard, damp and hot. You feel me growing inside. I’m about to lose control, Scorpio. You feel good, baby, and I need it all. I need to feel every inch of your body against mine. I thrust deeper and sink my face in the warm curve of your neck. And while I’m stroking inside you, you tell me your dreams.”

My dreams?

“What are your dreams, Scorpio?”

Trisha stared at the words on the screen. She was flustered, eager and ready for the climax, and Pisces47 wanted to know her dreams?

No man had ever asked her a question like that. None had ever cared, but then again, she’d never been so selective about a partner in the past.

Even if this was just a cyberpartner.

LoveSigns.com had promised something different in cybersex. They used astrology to match partners, which had brought Scorpio63 and Pisces47 together in the first place. According to their birthdates, she and her cybermate were perfect sex partners.

And based on how she felt right now, she had to give them a grateful nod.

Pisces47 was good.

Really good.

The words repeated on the screen.

“What are your dreams, Scorpio?”

She lifted a hand to the keyboard. “I want,” she typed, then clicked Send, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Scorpio, there isn’t much time. I’m aching for release. I’m going, honey. I need it now. Tell me your dreams, baby. I want to know your dreams.”

Oh, jeez.

“I want love,” she typed and sent.

“Then love is what I’ll give you, sweetheart. A fantasy love that only we can share.

“I whisper the words in your ear as we near the edge. I’m hard, Scorpio, so hard. I’m trying to hold on, trying to last longer, but you’re so warm and tight. I can’t look at your beauty without losing control. I have to close my eyes, but your flowery scent is driving me closer. Come with me. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she typed.

“Your body clamps hard around me, fisting my shaft in another searing climax. You begin to cry out, but we have to be quiet. I close my mouth over yours and drink in your cries as I lose myself inside you.”

And with that, she lost control. Her legs stiffened, her back coiled and a soft cry escaped her throat. The climax ripped through her, constricting every muscle from her jaw to her toes, pulsing between her legs, until the soft wave crashed over in soothing warmth.

“You collapse in my arms. Your skin is damp and those heavenly breasts are pressed against my chest. I reach down and take a bite through your shirt. Your dark, silky hair hangs down against my desk. I’m holding you in my arms, admiring the sleepy, sated smile on your face. You’re so beautiful, Scorpio. I press my lips between the folds of your blouse and taste the sweet skin between your breasts. I can feel your heart beating wildly against my lips, then it slows as we rest in each other’s arms.”

Oh, yeah.

There was a long pause. Trisha’s limp hands could barely make contact with the keyboard, and she wondered if Pisces47 felt the same way. She waited, allowing her heartbeat to slow when a message finally popped up on the screen.

“How do you feel, Scorpio?”

Her weakened fingers could only type, “Good.”

“Me, too.”

There was another long pause as Trisha tried to recover. She needed to return something, anything other than a few shaky pleas.

“I…” she typed, letting him know she’d be answering in a moment.

“No, Scorpio. Tonight’s for you. Crawl into bed. Curl up and think of me. Think of your dreams as you rest in peaceful sleep.”

She stared at the screen, the session still echoing through her mind.

“I will,” she typed.

“Good night, Scorpio. And remember, honey, whenever you need me I’m just a click away.”

Unable to move, she studied the words while the message popped up saying Pisces47 had logged off. She glanced around her bedroom suddenly realizing she had no idea what time it was. It had been light when they began tonight’s chat, but the sun had gone down somewhere during the first climax and now the room was dark, lit only by the white screen of the chat room.

She shook herself and pressed the keys to download the chat. She’d saved all of Pisces47’s chats. They were too good to toss into cyberspace, so she held them as memories of the man on the other end of the line.

Whoever he was.

Trisha’s brain told her he was probably either a pudgy old married man, or a sex-starved, geeky college kid. But in her fantasies, she knew exactly who he was.

Logan Moore.

Logan had been the object of her fantasies since she’d taken her job at the Moore Agency two years ago. And for two years he’d ruined her for every man that crossed her path. In Trisha’s mind, no one could stand up to Logan Moore and his dark, midnight eyes. She’d often wondered what secrets he kept in those bottomless pools.

But she’d never be the one to find out. Not only was Logan her boss, but rumor had it, the man went through women like a long-haul trucker went through diesel fuel. He was a consummate playboy with a preference toward wealthy supermodels and aspiring actresses. At least, that was the general consensus around the office, and if true, Trisha Bain was clearly out of the running.

For more than a year she’d tried to ignore her infatuation with Logan. She’d continued dating, hoping somewhere along the line Mr. Right would come along and help her forget the tall, chiseled man who filled her dreams. But she’d quickly discovered the effort was pointless. No man would be a worthy substitute for Logan Moore.

At least, not in the flesh.

That was when she happened upon LoveSigns.com and found the perfect solution. She could meet the ideal partner and carry out her sexual fantasies online, with no physical contact to remind her that the man feeding them to her was someone other than Logan Moore. She could put one man’s words with another man’s image and come up with the ideal mate.

For the time being.

Of course, she knew some day she’d have to move on and doing so would probably mean quitting her job. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life clinging to something that didn’t really exist. And she had no intention of doing so.

Her fantasies about Logan and her account with LoveSigns.com would only take her through the next few months, when she completed the ad campaign that would be the jewel on her résumé to help her land a high-paying job somewhere else.

Just a few months of fantasies, and Trisha Bain would forget about Logan Moore and move on with her life.

At least, that was the plan.

“READY FOR THE big meeting?”

Trisha glanced up from her desk to see her friend, Adrienne, peeking through the doorway of her office.

“Not really,” she replied. The pen she held jittered in her shaky hand. Not wanting to reveal her nerves, she dropped it on the desk and folded her hands in her lap. “Devon just called. His flight’s delayed and he won’t be back in time. It’ll just be me and Logan.”

The perky smile on Adrienne’s face sobered as she took a step into the room. “So? This is your campaign, what do you need Devon for?”

Devon made a threesome. Without him, she’d be left alone with Logan, in his office, causing the line between reality and her fantasies to become dangerously thin.

She squeezed her hands together, digging her fingers into the backs of her knuckles. “I just…” she started, not sure how to explain, and based on Adrienne’s knowing expression, she wasn’t going to have to.

Adrienne reached back and closed the door. “This is about Cyber Man.”

Trisha still didn’t understand the complete lapse of judgment that had caused her to confess her twice-weekly chats to Adrienne. Okay, so Adrienne had been her best friend since their days at U.C. Berkeley. If she were to confess to anyone, it would be her. But given the fact that Adrienne had been against the idea from the start, she wasn’t appreciating that I-told-you-so look on her face right now.

Trisha wanted sympathy, not a lecture.

She chose not to respond. Instead, she just frowned and moved her now aching hands from her lap and tucked them under her thighs.

Adrienne took a chair in front of the desk. She was making herself comfortable. She was apparently staying.

Lecture time.

“I told you that was a bad idea.”

So was telling Adrienne about Cyber Man.

Adrienne stared at her for what seemed like an excruciatingly long moment, then finally smiled. “Why don’t you just ask Logan out?”

What was better, the lecture or complete stupidity?

She scowled, letting Adrienne know she’d just crossed over to the latter.

“Gee, let’s see,” Trisha said, hoping to drag out the sarcasm in her tone. “I’m only five-foot-six, which makes me three inches too short for Logan Moore.”

Trisha’s height brought her eye level to his iron-pumped chest, but the six-foot-three Logan preferred women he didn’t have to bend for.

“My breasts are real,” she continued. “I’ve never been on a runway, I’ve never auditioned for Baywatch and I’m not a peroxide blonde.” She released her hands from under her lap and folded them across her chest. “How many strikes is that against me?”

Adrienne scoffed. “Oh, you think you know everything. The guy dated a few bimbos after his divorce and you think you’ve nailed his love life. Trust me. Logan prefers women with brains.”

“Sure. That Carmella Beal had quite the pair of brains. What was that she said at the awards banquet?” Trisha fluttered her eyelashes and took on a breathy tone. “‘I just love the beach. It’s so close to the ocean.’” Through Adrienne’s giggles, she added, “Someone should embroider that one on a pillow.”

“Okay, so Carmella was pretty dim, but if you’ve noticed, we haven’t seen her since.”

Trisha snorted. “She’s no doubt teaching a class in physics at MIT.”

“Oh, now you’re just being mean.”

“I am not. Believe me. Any woman who can stand erect with three-inch stilettos and double-D breasts deserves a degree in engineering.”

“Logan was mortified.”

“He should have been. She made him look like a complete ass.” She huffed and shook her head. “He’s so much better than that.”

“Of course he is. We all know that was just a phase he went through after the divorce.”

“Have you ever seen him with anyone normal?”

“No one has seen him with anyone at all in the last six months. I think he’s given up on women.”

“Well, there you have it. He gathered his jacks and went home.” She thought for a moment and sighed. “No, I’m not going to risk my reputation by chasing after the boss. Sure, maybe if I thought he was interested, but Ade, the man’s never so much as winked. I can’t jeopardize our relationship by making a pass that’s not wanted. It’s not worth it.”

She picked up her pen and resumed jotting down notes for the meeting. Despite Adrienne’s silly notions about her and Logan, the woman had managed to calm her nerves for the moment.

“Bill thinks you two are perfect for each other.”

A stab of fear stopped Trisha’s heart. “You promised me you wouldn’t breathe a word of this to Bill.”

Adrienne had been dating Bill Jeffries, Logan’s Vice President of Products and best friend, for nearly four months. Though Trisha had early reservations about the office romance, she had to admit, the two were cute as kittens together. They both had sandy-blond hair, dark eyes and matching sets of dimples that made them look as if they were born to be together. And the fact that they were still giddy lovers after four months left Trisha feeling as though they might be the real deal.

But no matter how well Adrienne’s office romance was going, Trisha didn’t share that same freedom when it came to Logan. Adrienne didn’t report to Bill, which made them simply coworkers. Trisha, on the other hand, had her eyes set on her boss and though there wasn’t a policy against office romance, dating a direct superior definitely treaded on shaky ground.

Adrienne breathed a sigh of frustration and sank back in her seat. “I’ve told you a dozen times, Logan and Cyber Man are between you and me.”

“I mean it, Ade. A word of this gets to Logan and I’m sending an e-mail to everyone in the office telling them your real name.”

Though Adrienne hadn’t shed her Birkenstocks and ankle-length skirts, there were two things about her hippie, Free Age upbringing she didn’t want spread around the office. One was her parents’ radical political views, which included their notion that the Moore Agency was in the business of brainwashing the public to further corporate greed.

The second was her real name, Hummingbird Eucalyptus, after her mother’s second-favorite bird and tree. Her older sister, Robin Willow, had been given the first choice, leaving Adrienne with a name she’d quickly found ridiculous once she’d graduated from her co-op schools and entered the real world.

Trisha rarely threatened Adrienne with their secrets, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I swear, Bill came up with the idea on his own.”

Trisha’s pulse resumed ever so slightly. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I agree, but that it’s up to you and Logan. I’ve done the matchmaker thing before and I swore I’d never do it again.” She crossed a hand over her chest. “Honest to God.”

Trisha studied her friend, looking for a twitch, a blink or a flinch that would tell her Adrienne was lying.

Nothing.

Her breathing resumed. “Thank you.”

“Listen, if you aren’t going to go for Logan, you need to move on with your love life. You can have practically any man you want. Why you’re talking dirty on the Internet with this stranger is beyond me. You have to know he’s a pimply teenaged kid.”

Trisha smirked. “Or a toothless rodeo clown.”

“Don’t you know you’re better than that?” Adrienne sighed. “Come on, sweetie, you deserve a real man. I don’t know why you dumped Hal. That guy was hot.”

“Ha! Harley Hal? Leather chaps aren’t my style.”

“Trish, the guy was hot and he adored you.”

“He wanted me to get a tattoo.” Trisha shook her head. “I’ll never be anyone’s motorcycle mamma.”

“What about Phil? What was wrong with him?”

Trisha’s expression went blank as she stared at Adrienne for an extended beat. “He’s never had a job.”

“He’s in med school.”

“He’s a thirty-four-year-old professional student. He already has a law degree but does he try for the bar? No. He decides to go into medicine. I swear. He’ll never amount to anything. He just stays in school so his parents will keep supporting him.”

“His parents are filthy rich, which means he’s filthy rich. What does it matter? You certainly wouldn’t end up in poverty.”

“I have no respect for a man who doesn’t attempt to make his own way through life.”

Adrienne sat back in her seat and let out a long huff. “Well, you’ve got to do something. Using a pimply kid to fantasize about Logan isn’t getting you anywhere. You’re just going to give yourself a nervous break-down.” She gave Trisha the once-over. “Look at you, you’re a mess,” she added, pulling the pad of notes from the desk and pointing to the last few entries. “You’ve written the same sentence three times. Are you planning to stutter?”

“I’m just a little distracted.”

“Because of Cyber Man.”

“No,” Trisha declared, but the tone didn’t sound at all convincing.

Adrienne tossed the notes back to Trisha. “Cyber Man is a pimply teenager. Just repeat that in your head. Wipe out whatever fantasy the guy fed you and replace it with pimply teenaged kid.”

Trisha doubted that was possible. She’d so thoroughly burned last night’s sex chat in her mind, surgery couldn’t remove the image of Logan Moore pleasuring her at his desk. Thank God, she hadn’t worn her navy-blue skirt today, but if Logan wore the crisp white shirt she’d envisioned, she was going to be in trouble.

Hopefully, they would conduct the meeting at his conference table and she was considering bringing enough materials to require it, though it wasn’t technically necessary.

Adrienne’s comment repeated in her mind. The woman was right. Her cybersex idea was beginning to interfere with her work and she would have to get over it fast before she soured her reputation and destroyed her career.

“I just need to get through this project and I’ll be free to go,” she said.

“You’re seriously going to quit?”

“I don’t have any other choice. I need to distance myself from Logan before I ruin my reputation and once I land Tyndale Resorts, I’ll have the reference I need to get a good job at another agency.”

“As good as what you’ll have here?”

Adrienne knew something. Trisha could always read the woman like a book, especially this particular look that said she had inside information she was dying to share. She was casually glancing around the office as if she’d never seen it before while her finger tapped a countdown on the arm of her chair, as if to tick off the seconds before she burst with her news.

“What do you know?”

Adrienne’s grin widened in that I-thought-you’d-never-ask smile. She straightened in her seat and leaned forward to whisper. “Well, rumor has it Logan’s planning to promote you to vice president.”

“Who says?”

“Came straight from Human Resources.”

Reliable source, but she still found it hard to believe. She’d only been with the company two years. She was the newest marketing director on staff. But then again, none of her peers had landed the accounts she’d recently brought in the door.

She sat for a moment, trying to let the repercussions of the notion sink in.

She decided there were none.

“Well, he’s wasting his time. I’m not staying. I can’t,” she said, but even she could hear the uncertainty of her tone.

Adrienne’s expression turned to shock. “Trish, we’re talking VP. What other agency is going to make a twenty-eight-year-old woman a VP? You’d be crazy to walk away from an opportunity like that.”

She hated when Adrienne was right.

“I’m going to have to give it some thought.”

“You’re going to have to dump Cyber Man and either make a move with Logan or get over him and find someone else.” She glanced down at Trisha’s hands, which had begun trembling again. “Look at you. You’re a disaster. The cyber thing isn’t working. You were handling Logan much better before you linked up with pimply kid.”

Trisha breathed a sigh of agreement. “I know. But I really like him. Sometimes when we chat, it’s like he knows me. It’s almost creepy how much we think alike.”

“Creepy being the operative word.” Adrienne tilted her head and flashed a warm sympathetic smile that bordered on pity. “Trisha, this cybersex thing isn’t for you. Dump pimply kid, get over Logan and take the VP job. Don’t trash your career over a man. You can handle Logan. You just have to try.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right,” she replied.

Unfortunately, knowing and doing were two different things.

2

“HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING tomorrow night?”

Logan looked up from his notes to see Bill Jeffries strolling into his office with a bag of beer nuts in his hand.

He glanced at the date on his Rolex. “What’s tomorrow, Thursday?”

“All day,” Bill said, plopping down on one of the maple chairs that faced Logan’s desk.

Without thinking, Logan muttered, “I’ve got a date.”

Bill’s eyes brightened. “Ha! I knew you couldn’t swear off women forever.” The stocky blonde tossed the bag of nuts on Logan’s desk in a gesture of offering. “What’s her name? Anyone I know?”

Logan wished he could answer that question. He had no idea who he’d been meeting twice a week in his dimly lit den. All he knew was that the more he chatted online with Scorpio63, the more intent he was to keep their dates.

He frowned at his own stupidity for making the absent comment. “It’s not that kind of date.”

Logan had no intention of sharing his cybertrysts with Bill, no matter how close a friend Bill was. After Logan’s post-divorce escapades left him with a playboy reputation he’d never live down, the last thing he needed was the embarrassment of admitting that he was now having an Internet love affair with a woman he didn’t know.

How a man in his position had been reduced to cybersex, he’d never know. It had started as a joke, a belated birthday present from his brother, Dane. Shattered by his divorce and frustrated with his new love life, Logan had thrown in the towel on dating altogether. He’d ultimately confessed his state to Dane, who in turn, signed him up with LoveSigns.com. Logan had been handed a password and a date with what he thought would be a virtual prostitute, one of those talk-dirty ladies that advertised on late-night television.

He hadn’t intended to keep the date, but after four gin and tonics and nothing else to do, he’d decided, what the hell? He hadn’t expected to log on and find a tender, intelligent woman, just as apprehensive as he’d been. Their first chat had been close to laughable, as bungling and awkward as real sex among strangers who weren’t accustomed to such things. If he hadn’t been sauced, he would have never made it through the hour. But something about the sexy, sensitive woman on the other end had him coming back and before he knew it, he was under her spell.

Sure, he told himself she was most likely some frustrated housewife. But for some reason, he simply didn’t care. Scorpio63 had become the image of everything he wanted in a woman, and as pathetic as it seemed, he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

“What is it, a business meeting?” Bill asked.

“Something like that.” He grabbed the bag of nuts and casually tossed one in his mouth. “So how’s Megan doing with the Puffy Cream Doughnut ads?” he asked, hoping to quickly change the subject before Bill pressed him for details.

Bill didn’t bite. “You’re really done with women?”

Logan’s beer nut turned to paste as the moisture left his mouth. He didn’t want to talk about his love life. “Puffy Cream, Bill. How’s it going?”

Bill snatched the bag from Logan, tipped a few nuts into his hand and tossed it back onto the desk. “Why don’t you ask Trisha out? She’s perfect for you.”

Logan nearly choked. Trisha Bain was the last woman he cared to get involved with. And the fact that his body had other ideas made her all that more dangerous.

“She’s a carbon copy of my ex,” he explained.

Bill gave a sharp laugh. “Oh, come on. Trisha’s nothing like Virginia.”

No, Virginia Matthews, formerly Virginia Moore, was one of a kind, but she and Trisha both shared that spark to succeed at any cost, which made Trisha Bain a woman he’d need to keep far from his heart.

“She wants to do well, not take over your business,” Bill added.

Logan didn’t intend to give her the opportunity. He’d been a stupid young executive when he’d married his ex-wife, stupid enough to let his smaller head make the decisions and hand over control of half his business. Business she’d taken with her when she’d walked out the door. It had taken the Moore Agency three years to recover its position as one of the top ad agencies in San Francisco, but it would take longer than that for him to recover his trust in women, especially women with the looks and brains of Trisha Bain.

“She is doing well,” Logan said. “I’ve seen the briefs of her ads for Tyndale Resorts. She’s nailed him. Landing Tyndale will be the feather in our cap that puts us back on top.” And sticks it in the craw of the lovely Virginia Matthews. Oh, what he’d give to be there when Tyndale pulled the rug out from under his ex. He’d pay money to see the look on that surgically enhanced face when they told her she’d lost her account to the man she screwed over three years ago.

“You two make a great team.”

He shot a glance at Bill. “In business, and that’s where it ends. I’ve been there, remember? We both almost lost our jobs thanks to my brilliant choice in women.”

And the fact that Trisha kept haunting his thoughts was proof he hadn’t learned a thing.

After Virginia, he’d sworn off dating women in advertising, especially women at his firm. It was the only way to be sure he’d never threaten his company again. But after two years working with Trisha, he’d nearly broken the rule, the brain in his pants apparently having a shorter memory than the one between his ears. Trisha was everything that had attracted him to Virginia—a bundle of smarts, a clever wit, a killer smile, all rolled up in one tantalizing body.

It all came together as one bright neon “No” and no matter now much he tried to see their differences, the similarities between Trisha and Virginia were too obvious to ignore.

“You’re forgetting one thing,” Bill said. “I know Trisha. She’s Adie’s best friend. She’s not another Virginia. And if you recall, I was the one who told you to watch out for Virginia in the first place, but you didn’t listen.”

No, he hadn’t, Logan thought. He’d been too smitten by Virginia and too stupid to care. She’d wrapped him in such a fog, he’d believed every word she’d uttered between the sheets, her lies about wanting a family, how much she’d loved him, all the dreams about their future. And in the end it had all been a ploy to gain stake in his budding agency.

Virginia hadn’t wanted a family or a husband. She’d only wanted her own agency and figured marrying a man who had one was easier than building one of her own.

The two were going to form a partnership, in business and in life. But the moment they’d made their mark, she’d dropped the bomb. Children weren’t her future, marriage wasn’t her bag and the only thing she wanted from him was a divorce and half his business.

He’d had to sink into debt to buy her out, giving her the money and status she needed to start a business of her own and then slowly snatch his accounts, one by one. He’d managed to restore his business, but the damage she’d done to his faith in his instinct was irreparable. How he’d been so colossally blind was a question for the ages, but he’d bought it all at a hefty price tag.

And it was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

“I’m not interested,” he said.

“Suit yourself, man. But one of these days, you should start listening to your old buddy here. I know what’s good for you.”

“So why are you asking me about tomorrow night?” Logan asked, trying once again to change the subject.

“Adie and I are going to a club to listen to some band she discovered. We were trying to get a few people to go along with us.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “What few people?”

“Nobody, just a couple friends, that’s all.”

The caged look on Bill’s face told him those couple of friends included Trisha Bain.

“Stop trying to fix me up with Trisha,” Logan insisted.

“I’m not. Trisha’s not even going.”

Confusion set in. If Bill’s plans didn’t involve matchmaking, then something else was up.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “What are you really doing tomorrow?”

Bill opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He stuttered a moment before finally confessing through a long exhale, “Okay, so it’s some sort of…poetry reading.”

Logan threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, come on, man. Adrienne’s mom is making her go. I guess it’s something special and she wants the whole family to be there.”

“I’m not family.”

“There will be music afterward.”

“What, a sitar?” Logan asked through his chuckle.

“Probably.”

“I don’t think so.” Although the thought of watching Bill trying to order a beer in some hippie tea house was tempting.

“Aw, come on. Help me out.”

Logan looked at Bill in amazement. “Are you kidding? My ears are still bleeding from that punk rock festival you dragged me to last year.” He shook his head in disgust. “What was her name?”

“Fawn and it was alternative rock, not punk.”

“It’s all the same to me.”

“You’re just an old fart.”

“And you’ve got bizarre taste in women,” Logan added under his breath. “At least Adrienne’s a move in the right direction.”

“And so is Trisha. I don’t know why you don’t go for her. You two would make a nice conservative couple, elevator music and all.”

Logan ignored the slam and shook his head. “Forget about me and Trisha. I have plans for her and none of them include sleeping with her.”

Bill perked. Insider information was his favorite joy in life. The man relished being in on a secret, and sometimes Logan truly believed that Bill was a thirteen-year-old girl in a past life.

“Spill, big guy. Don’t keep me in the dark.”

Logan smiled and paused, dragging out the tension. He loved toying with Bill, just as Bill loved toying with him. It was a little game they’d been playing since they’d met ten years ago.

Bill held up his hands. “Well?”

“Tyndale’s going to be big. He’s got six resorts along the west coast, with plans to open another in the Caribbean. If we get the account, we’ll need to hire more staff.” He picked up the bag of nuts and studied them for a moment, extending Bill’s agony for as long as possible. “I think Trisha would make a good candidate to head up a new travel segment.”

“So the VP rumor is true.”

Logan slammed the bag on the desk as Bill’s smirk told him he’d just been duped. “Son of a bitch. I can’t trust Sally with a goddamned thing.” He was more annoyed by losing his match with Bill than the knowledge that his Human Resources manager had loose lips.

Bill’s heavy chest rumbled as he laughed. “Sor-a-mundo, buddy boy. I already knew.”

“Well, keep it to yourself, although that’s probably pointless. I haven’t made my decision yet, and if we don’t get Tyndale, we don’t have enough business to form a separate segment. I don’t want Trisha disappointed if it doesn’t happen.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get Tyndale and everything will work out as planned. I’m sure of it.”

PIMPLY KID, pimply kid, pimply kid.

Trisha hesitated outside Logan’s door for a beat as she repeated the mantra in her head, trying to lose the nerves that held on like an angry cold. She’d hoped some miracle would have brought Devon back in time to join her in Logan’s office, but her last-minute check found him still sitting in O’Hare.

She was on her own.

She took one giant breath, exhaled the memory of the previous night’s chat and stepped into the office.

One look at Logan behind his desk sucked the image back to her mind. Not only was he wearing the starched white shirt she’d envisioned the night before, but he’d removed his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons, showing a faint hint of dark hair that told her his rocklike chest had the perfect blend of curls that made him masculine but not too hairy.

He’d rolled up his sleeves to the elbows and his hands were planted firmly on the arms of his chair, his fingers splayed over the ends, just as she’d seen it in her head.

She briefly made eye contact. Just enough to catch him sweep his dark eyes over her body in a manner that stopped short of lustful appreciation. He kept it professional, but sincere. Just a glance that made her wonder if he was interested, but didn’t reveal enough to answer the question.

It still sent a blizzard of tingles through her chest that twirled down to the spot between her thighs.

Her hands went numb, as if she’d just been shot with a local anesthetic. She attempted to wiggle her fingers, but they remained cemented to the files she clutched to her chest.

He lifted his hand and waved to her. “Come on in.”

For a brief millisecond her feet wouldn’t move. She didn’t want to sit at his desk. The image of sitting on it kept elbowing to the front of her thoughts. But she couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to ask him to move to the table.

Reluctantly she stepped inside, trying to keep her eyes focused on anything other than Logan Moore and those lips that, just last night, had been planted firmly between her—

Another clench between the legs told her to calm down and let it go. She was a professional. She hadn’t made it to where she was by lusting over something as silly as a few open shirt buttons.

She picked up her pace and casually took a seat across from him. She just wouldn’t look at him. They were here to discuss her ad campaign, not to gaze into each other’s eyes.

Without a word of greeting, she dropped the folders onto the desk and opened the first. She pulled the now sweaty pen from her left hand and flipped open her notebook preparing to get down to business.

“So this is what we’ve got,” she said. “I think Tyndale is going to like these ads.”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Trisha.”

She slowly brought her eyes from the ads to his face. His mouth was cocked in a half-smile, she could swear his gaze had just been planted on her chest, and when their eyes locked, a bolt of lightning shot through her, curling her toes.

Don’t look at his eyes.

She quickly glanced to his hair and those dark, wavy curls that she’d had her fingers threaded through on a number of imaginary occasions.

Hair, bad.

She shot her eyes down to his chest.

No, not the chest.

His ear, she could focus on his ear, she thought, before remembering she’d nibbled on it last Tuesday.

As her eyes shot around his features like a pinball, she realized she was sinking without a net. She needed to pull it together. She quickly glanced at the bronze Remington statue that stood on the credenza behind him. A team of wild horses. How fitting. She’d need a team of horses to jolt the lust from her head.

“You’re always business, aren’t you, Trisha?”

Her eyes met his as she mentally slapped herself in the face. It was time to act like a grown woman, like a company director who was supposedly slated for a VP position at the prestigious Moore Agency. And if she wanted that spot, she was going to have to prove to herself that she could overcome this lust for her boss and act maturely instead of being some sort of flustered teenager.

She cleared her throat, took a deep breath and began acting like a woman who belonged in the business world.

“I’m just excited about this campaign. I think we’ll get the contract. We’ve come up with some ideas that match the tone of the resorts and the image Marc Tyndale wants to portray. You’ll be impressed.”

He glanced down to the files. “I’m always impressed when it comes to you.”

Not helping.

“I appreciate that.”

With his elbows propped on the armrests, he laced his fingers together and tilted back his chair, relaxed, casual and entirely sexy. His movement caused a light breeze of his aftershave to sweep up her nose, sending another intoxicating wave of heat through her midsection.

“I only have one problem when it comes to you, Trisha.”

That iced her down and grabbed her attention.

She studied him, waiting for an explanation.

His brief grin let her know he’d noticed the look of concern on her face. “Trisha, you work too hard. There’s only a couple nights a week you leave here on time.”

Those would be the nights she cut out to have imaginary sex with her boss.

He pulled up his chair and leaned his arms on the desk, moving a little too close for her comfort.

“What I’m getting at is, I don’t want to be responsible for ruining your personal life.”

Too late.

“If you need another assistant,” he continued, “please just say the word.”

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and forced herself to relax.

“I appreciate that, but Devon and I are fine.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Really,” she insisted. “If I feel it’s too much, I’ll tell you, but for now, I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. And I assume your boyfriend would agree?”

She opened her mouth, but any attempt at words would have only resulted in a low gurgle in her throat. Logan had never made reference to her personal life before. He’d always remained strictly business, and being that he was the reason she had no boyfriend, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

His smile turned to reluctance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life.”

“No, please.” She couldn’t let her silence make him feel like a cad. “It’s just…I don’t have a boyfriend, that’s all.”

Logan’s eyes darkened. She couldn’t tell if it was disbelief, or suspicion, but something inside him turned, and for the life of her, she didn’t understand why.

Why would Logan care that she was unattached? And why would he react with such obvious distaste? Plenty of people in the office were single. Logan himself was single, uninvolved in a serious relationship.

What did it matter to him?

And without a doubt, it mattered.

It was written all over his face.

She opened her mouth to inquire, but he cut her off.

“There’s more to life than work. You’re already doing a great job, you don’t need to do more and I need to know that you can delegate responsibility.”

Well, there it was. The hint that Adrienne’s VP rumor might actually be true.

“I’m just giving extra attention to Tyndale. I know how important this particular account is to you.”

A faint smile crossed his face. “It is important, but I won’t sacrifice my staff to get it. Besides, I need you rested for the sales pitch next week.”

A lump formed in Trisha’s throat. This was exactly the glimpse inside Logan Moore that snatched her heart and twisted it in knots. It was this caring, supportive side of Logan that he didn’t often show, but when he did, it made her want to unpeel those layers of stoic professionalism to see what was truly inside.

“I appreciate that,” she said. “And I promise, once these go to print, I’ll take some time off.”

He cleared his throat and took the folder in his hands. “I suppose that’s a reasonable deal. So let’s get the ball rolling.”

“SORRY I’m late.”

Trisha dropped her purse on the kitchen counter of her parents’ Tiburon home, pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek and took a seat at the bar next to her brother Mark.

“Devon’s been out of town and I’ve had to handle everything,” she added.

“No worries,” her father said. “I’m just putting on the potatoes. We won’t be eating for at least a half hour.”

“How is the Tyndale campaign coming?” her mother asked.

“Good. Logan seems pleased and I think we’ve got a solid shot at the account.”

She grabbed a wineglass from the counter and poured herself a glass of Bordeaux, ready to put the day behind her and relax in the company of her family. Despite their busy schedules, everyone still gathered twice a month for dinner with the folks. It was a ritual they’d shared since childhood.

Her parents both had hectic careers, her father, Phillip, an economics professor at U.C. Berkeley, and her mother, Monica, an executive for Sunwest Bank. But no matter how demanding their careers, her parents had always made sure the family sat down to a meal together at least once a week. The tradition had lasted through Trisha’s childhood, and even though the kids had grown and moved out, they all kept returning for the weekly meal that only recently had dropped back to twice a month.

Her parents had never insisted they make it, the dinners were simply an open invitation to whoever could come. But they always did. Her older sister, Cheryl, was a stay-at-home mom of two young toddlers and these dinners were her opportunity to get off her feet and let someone else do the cooking for a change.

Trisha’s younger brother, Mark, was still in college working toward a doctorate in psychology and he never turned down the chance to come home, laundry in tow.

For Trisha, the visits were her way of staying grounded, the frequent reminder of what she wanted from life. Watching her parents work together was her way of staying real, the scene before her reflecting everything she hoped to find in a marriage someday. Her mother and father loved cooking together and had perfected the task to an art. They bustled around the kitchen like two lovers in a dance and it was a symbol of how they shared their lives. Juggling careers and three children wasn’t an easy task, but Phillip and Monica Bain had always made it look easy, their deep respect for each other and unyielding camaraderie working together to make a success of their lives and their family.

They had become the litmus test Trisha used when evaluating a current lover. If a man didn’t treat her like her father treated her mother, he wasn’t long in the arms of Trisha Bain. Though she admitted her parents were a hard act to follow, she always believed she could find that special someone who could work with her through life like her parents worked together.

Like she and Logan did at the office.

She blinked away the errant thought, insisting on keeping that subject on the shelf while she enjoyed dinner with her family.

“So, you’re just in time to help me,” Mark said as Cheryl took a seat at the bar.

“Help with what?” she asked.

“Valentine’s Day is coming up and I need some ideas on what to get Grace.”

“Getting serious about Grace, are we?” Monica asked as she snapped peas into a large glass bowl.

“Maybe. I’m not ready for the altar, but I think a woman who can handle me through finals deserves something nice.”

Cheryl chuckled. “She deserves sainthood.”

“Okay, so short of that, what should I get her?”

“That’s easy. Diamonds and gold.”

“I said I’m not ready for the altar.”

“I was thinking necklace, idiot.”

Mark mulled over the suggestion. “What do you think, Mom?”

“A necklace would be nice, or maybe a bracelet.”

He turned to Trisha. “Anyone give you jewelry for Valentine’s Day?”

Trisha tried to remember getting anything on Valentine’s Day, but none of her relationships seemed to make it to that level. Somehow, before things got serious, she’d always found some sort of deal breaker in a man that nixed their future together—a thought that left her wondering about the choices she’d made in the past.

She considered the question. “No jewelry, but Hal had taken me for a motorcycle ride up the coast. That was kind of sweet. He’d told me to bring my camera and we’d stop and shoot some landscapes along the way.”

Trisha had a passion for nature photography, and she’d remembered thinking how sweet it was that Hal had considered her hobby when planning their day.

“Although,” she recalled, “it didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped.”

“God, I remember that.” Cheryl chuckled. “You ended up in some dingy bar, didn’t you?”

“The place was a dive. I spent the whole time worrying my camera would get stolen.”

“What were you doing with that guy?” Cheryl asked. “He was so not you.”

Trisha took a sip of her wine. “I fell for his body and forgot there was a personality inside.”

“He was hot,” Cheryl agreed. “Tell me, is it true what they say about the size of a man’s hands? That guy had some big hands.”

“I’m not hearing this,” their father proclaimed.

Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Come on, Dad, we’re grown women. How do you think you ended up with two grandchildren?”

Phillip gasped and jokingly turned to his wife. “You told me that was divine intervention!”

“It was, honey.” Monica winked. “Cheryl’s just pulling your leg.”

“Can we get back to gift ideas?” Mark asked, that baby-brother whine still evident in his voice at the age of twenty-five.

“I told you,” Cheryl said. “Women are easy. Buy her a necklace. Grace will love it. Men are the hard ones to buy for. I never know what to get Steve.” She looked at their father. “Dad, what was the best Valentine’s present Mom ever gave you?”

“That’s easy. I got a lovely handmade card telling me we were going to have a baby. And eight months later, you were born.”

“Seven,” Monica said. “Remember? All my babies were early.”

Phillip chuckled. “You almost delivered Trisha in the middle of a business meeting. I remember the nurses saying you were the best-dressed screaming woman they’d ever seen.”

Monica groaned. “That was awful. My water broke right in the middle of a roomful of bankers.”

“If you ask me,” Mark chimed in, “I think Trisha just wanted to join the meeting.”

“I’m so sure,” Trisha scoffed.

“Get real. You were born in a business suit and your career is your red-hot lover. You’ve always been that way.”

Had she? Admittedly, she’d always aspired to be like her mother, showing up at dance recitals in those sharp business suits and her hair twisted in a perfect French roll. Trisha had been so proud to show her off, and at a very young age, had aspired to be just like her.

But was that the path she was on? Looking around the room, she realized she was the only one in the family who hadn’t found a serious relationship. Even her little brother had stumbled across that someone special, while Trisha had put her career before everything.

Is that what she really wanted?

Watching her parents together, the answer was a resounding no. Their careers were only a part of their lives, not the sum of it, and Trisha wondered if she’d been too focused on first things first. Admittedly, a woman didn’t make vice president at her age without making her job a priority. But that wasn’t what she’d wanted and the whole issue had her rethinking her priorities.

Her mother hadn’t become an executive until all the children were grown. For most of their lives, she’d just been a branch manager, a job that required little travel and half the responsibility she shouldered now. And as if to make it worse, Trisha had chosen advertising, a career with sharp deadlines and plenty of extra hours. Maybe the VP prospect wasn’t the greatest idea. Not only would it up the ante on the pressures at work, but the Tyndale account would have her on the road for weeks on end.

No wonder Logan had been so concerned about her home life. Maybe he’d seen what she hadn’t—that she’d set aside everything for a fast path to the top, and the thought that it concerned him left an ache in her heart. It was just another reason she needed a man like him, someone who could cut through the fog and remind her that life was about more than work and business.

And if she wanted that life, maybe she would need to set the VP job aside and look for work at another agency. Staying focused on what she wanted was hard enough without pining over a man she couldn’t have. Between her tendency to put her career first and this unending lust for her boss, she was blending a cocktail of misery that she might later regret.

“Mark, don’t be so hard on your sister,” their mother said.

“No, Mom,” Trisha replied. “I think that’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

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