“I swear, Kyle, sometimes you’re so charming I think you must be part Southern.”

“It’s not charm. It’s the truth.” His hand tenderly captured hers, his thumb tantalizing her palm. “And for the record, Southern men don’t have a monopoly on complimenting smart, beautiful, giving women.”

Was it possible for bones to actually melt? Sure seemed like hers were. Even knowing it was a bad idea, Shayna couldn’t seem to keep her hand from flipping over, her fingers tangling with his. “I think the wine might be going to our heads.”

“I’m dead sober and dying to kiss you.” His voice was so strong and deep, Shayna felt the words all the way down to her toes.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Land’s Cross! You’ve picked a wonderful time for a visit. Christmas means the Noël Festival: parades, parties and people donating their time to make the season brighter.

But this year, the holiday season also brings trouble for our friend Shayna Miller. Her birth father surfaces, offering her a million dollars to publicly endorse his version of their history. Problem is, his version isn’t the truth. Worse yet, the truth could damage her “daddy’s” reputation.

Personally, attorney Kyle Anderson doesn’t agree with his client’s plan, but until he makes partner, he doesn’t have the luxury of walking away from this case. Unfortunately, he’s underestimated Shayna’s backbone—not to mention just how strong her convictions are!

I really enjoyed playing with the notion of what a person wouldn’t do for a million dollars.

Here’s hoping life blesses us all with convictions and memories we wouldn’t trade for any price!

Wishing you laughter and love,

Dawn

Moonlight and Mistletoe

by

Dawn Temple

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

DAWN TEMPLE was born in Louisiana and, despite having now lived more than half her life in Texas, in her heart, she still considers the Bayou State home. Everything about the South appeals to her: lazy days, nosy neighbors, old buildings and ancient trees. But the best thing is the people. In fact, her favorite part of writing is trying to honestly and emotionally capture that warm Southern spirit on the page. She loves to hear readers say they really connected with one of her characters—especially among the eclectic cast she uses to populate the background. Look closely. With any luck, you might recognize a few characters from your own life.

Dawn lives in the Texas Gulf Coast region with her husband, twin sons and three neurotic dogs. Stop by for a bit of Southern hospitality at www.dawntemple.com where friends are always welcome.

MILLS & BOON

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Writing a book is like raising a child, and this baby has been blessed by many mothers. Thanks and hugs go to:

—My own Thomas, Peake and Moore. You ladies helped conceive this story’s bare bones, and I hope you’ll be proud of how she’s grown.

—Terri Richison, aka the Bionic Critiquer. You helped add life and love—not to mention blood, sweat and tears (literally). Friendship and support, above and beyond, on page and off. You rock!

—Susan Litman, my generous, patient and awesome editor. You provided the structure and guidance every awkward girl needs to grow into a beautiful woman.

Thanks for never giving up on me or this story.

Chapter One

Shayna Miller gritted her teeth as she grabbed a handful of threadbare red wool and yanked at the hem of her borrowed Ms. Noel costume.

Good news—she managed to cover a bit more leg.

Bad news—her boobs nearly popped out.

Fearful any more tugging would shred the ancient fabric, she let the dress be and faced the mirror, frowning at the pregnant blonde reflected behind her. “This is going to be the first X-rated parade in the history of the Noel Festival.”

“The dress isn’t that tight.” Lindy Monroe insisted. “Now, quit trying to change the subject. Tell me about Los Angeles.”

Shayna had avoided her best friend—and this very conversation—since she returned to Land’s Cross two days ago. Judging by the stubborn tilt of Lindy’s chin, she wasn’t going to let the matter drop until Shayna spilled the beans about the reunion with her birth mother, Patty Hoyt.

“It was horrible,” she admitted sadly. “A huge waste of time and money.”

“Her letter said she wanted to make amends.” Lindy patted the bedspread near her hip. “So what went wrong?”

A resigned sigh shuddered through Shayna as she sat. The frightened little girl still huddled in her heart had naively hoped for a loving reunion, for answers to years’ worth of unanswered questions. So much for childish wishes.

“Patty’s still hustling the next big score. She only invited me to L.A. to talk me into helping with her current scheme.”

“Which is…?” Lindy prompted.

“Seems my biological father is a big-shot psychologist who’s been offered a ton of money to star in his own talk show.”

“Wow. What’s his name?”

“Steven Walker.” Just saying his name made Shayna feel sick to her stomach.

“Ohhh. I’ve heard of him. He’s done guest spots on nearly every daytime talk show.”

“Yep. Turns out they had an affair while he was married, but he dropped her when she got pregnant with me. She said he paid her a bundle to keep quiet, but now she plans on scoring big.”

“Why now?”

“She figures he’ll pay anything to avoid tarnishing his reputation before the TV deal is officially signed.”

“What a witch.”

“That’s not the worst of it.” As it had when Patty first outlined her ridiculous plan, Shayna’s anger began to spike. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unwound the band from her waist-length braid and began unknotting her hair.

“She wants me to go to some Who’s Your Daddy clinic and have a DNA test so she’ll have hard evidence and can get even more money out of him.”

Lindy laid a gentle hand on Shayna’s knee. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetie, but will people really care that he fathered a child out of wedlock twenty-five years ago?”

“I asked the same thing. Apparently, Dr. Walker’s claim to fame, and the premise of his show, is family therapy, with an emphasis on old-fashioned, wholesome values. Ironic, huh?”

“Ouch.” Lindy winced sympathetically.

Rehashing the encounter was making Shayna as antsy as a turkey in November. Her attempt to reconnect with her past had failed. All she wanted now was to keep moving forward.

Restless, she surged to her feet, but the costume’s skirt remained bunched around her hips. Good Lord—the wavy mass of brown hair spilling over her shoulders covered more skin than this miserable dress! She skimmed her hands over her hips, but the snug material didn’t budge.

“We’ve got to do something about this outfit before the festival starts.”

Lindy, bless her understanding heart, ran with the defensive subject change this time. “Definitely. I can’t believe old Mrs. Brinker ran it through the dryer. As petite as you are, I had hoped it might still fit.”

“Petite?” Relieved to be discussing anything other than the soap opera Patty had wanted to make of her life, Shayna snickered. “That’s just a fancy word for short as a stump.” In her bare feet, she topped out at a whopping five-two. A very full-figured five-two.

“Imagine how that dress would fit if you were any taller.”

“If I were any taller, it’d be little more than a belt, and the vice squad would raid the parade for sure.”

“Nothing illegal about showing a little skin.”

“A little skin? I look like a stripper from the North Pole.”

“Yeah, but think about the fundraising possibilities. Thousands of dollars—singles, fives and twenties—tucked into your skimpy costume, one bill at a time. It would be the festival’s most profitable year ever.”

Lindy’s ridiculous suggestion cracked Shayna up. Within seconds, they were both giggling like schoolgirls. The happy sound helped to chase away the cloud that had hung over her since her return from California.

For the first time since telling Patty to take a hike, Shayna began to relax. She’d always cherished her calm, uncomplicated life. For the past week, she’d worried her mother’s vile drama would destroy her hard-won happiness, but that wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t allow it.

In the bedroom’s far corner, the phone rang. Shayna skipped over to answer it, but one look at the caller ID brought her laughter to an abrupt halt. Over the past few days, the Southern California area code had become annoyingly familiar.

Lindy stopped giggling and sat forward quizzically. “Are you going to answer it?”

“No.” Shayna’s voice, and her answer, sounded weak.

Her recorded greeting filled the room, followed by a beep, then, “Ms. Miller. It’s Kyle Anderson. Again.”

“Who?” Lindy mouthed, but Shayna waved her off as her one and only meeting with the man played in slo-mo across her memory’s high-def, digitally clear screen.

She’d been standing in her hotel lobby, waiting on a cab to carry her to the airport, away from L.A. and her mother’s world of make-believe. When he’d first stepped through the glass doors, his movie star good looks had her thinking she was on the cusp of a celebrity encounter.

Behind him, an elderly couple struggled to open the door against the powerful Santa Ana winds. Before Shayna could react, Mr. Delicious hustled up, opened the door and ushered the thankful couple inside. His kind gesture and warm smile caused an unexpected stir of warm fuzzies in her belly. She’d always been a sucker for good manners.

Once the grateful couple moved off, he removed his sunglasses. As his gaze collided with hers, the warm fuzzies exploded into sizzling sparks. She stared openly, helpless to pull back from the most piercing blue eyes she’d ever seen. It was as though he looked straight into her soul. She’d felt simultaneously intrigued and challenged. Her pulse had skittered into high gear.

In a blink, his intense stare had been camouflaged behind a polished charm. A single dimple winked from his left cheek. He’d extended his hand and introduced himself in the same deep, powerful voice now pouring through her phone. Long distance didn’t diminish the voice’s effect one darn bit.

“It is urgent that I speak with you. A few minutes of your time, and we can put the whole matter to rest. Please contact me immediately.”

He paused, then quickly rattled off his office and cell numbers. Shayna expected him to hang up. He always hung up after repeating his numbers. But the voice continued, his baritone plunging lower. “Ms. Miller, you can’t keep running from me.”

“Wow.” Lindy enthused when the room was silent again. “Does he look as good as he sounds?”

“’Fraid so. Nearly six feet, broad shoulders, stunning blue eyes, sun-kissed blond hair. Your basic California pretty boy.” Okay, that wasn’t quite true. There was nothing basic about his looks.

“Sounds yummy. Who is he?”

“An attorney from Beverly Hills.”

“Ooh la la. What’s he want with you?”

“I’m not exactly sure. He said Dr. Walker hired him to ‘contain the Patty Hoyt issue.’” Her fingers wiggled air quotes. “Then he started spouting some legalese about contracts and compensation, but I told him I had no part in Patty’s plans, and I certainly wanted nothing to do with a hypocritical scumbag like his client.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did, but luckily my cab pulled up before I could say anything really nasty. I just told him to consider the issue contained and hightailed it out of there.”

“Are you going to call him back?”

The answering machine’s message-waiting light flashed red, like a danger signal. “No.” She pressed the erase key. “I’m not interested in anything Dr. Walker or Kyle Anderson have to say. Too little, too late.”

Despite the frustration boiling through his bloodstream, Kyle Anderson carefully returned the phone to its base. He had a hard-earned reputation as a cool cat here at Thomas, Peake and Moore, and he wouldn’t dare let his guard down.

“Foolish girl.” He chuckled for effect, knowing his boss, Roscoe Thomas, expected it. “She’s playing hard to get.”

“If she’s avoiding your calls, why not pay her a visit like you did the mother? No one’s better in person than you, Anderson. Especially with the ladies.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “The mother was easy.”

“We already knew that. If she weren’t, our client wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

He smiled again because it was expected. He sure as hell didn’t see any humor in the situation. Years of hard work and sacrifice, and now his goal of becoming the firm’s youngest partner hinged on the whims of a stubborn hick from Nowheresville, Tennessee? Not funny at all.

“I meant, Patty Hoyt was only after money. Her kind’s easily dispensed with. Besides, the daughter has already left town, which makes me think she’s got something bigger in mind.”

“Like what?”

“This girl grew up dirt-poor while Walker’s legitimate kids had every advantage money can buy. Judging by her bank records, she’s still barely scraping by. Sounds like a recipe for revenge to me.”

The glint of humor in Roscoe’s eyes turned to steel. “Then stop her. Immediately.” Still intimidating at sixty, Roscoe stood. “This is your chance, Anderson. Steven Walker pays a lot of salaries around here. He wants this matter resolved quickly, and the partners want him happy.”

Kyle stood and crossed his arms. At a sniff under six feet, he had to cock his chin to meet Thomas’s icy stare, but he dialed back the aggression with a cocky wink. “Leave Shayna Miller to me. Like you said, I’m good with the ladies.”

“We can’t afford to lose Walker.” Thomas’s voice turned as cold as prison bars. “You want a lucrative future with this firm, then do whatever it takes to get this girl on board before the press gets wind of any potential scandal.”

Kyle kept his lips from snarling until after Thomas swaggered out of his office. He resented the ultimatum, but he didn’t blame the old guy. Dangling the partnership as bait was a strong, strategic move, but damn, he hated occupying the weaker position.

He settled back into his high-backed leather chair and glared at the phone. After learning that Walker didn’t intend to deliver the quick score she’d hoped for, Patty Hoyt had gladly provided Kyle with her daughter’s number. He’d left Shayna Miller six messages since letting her slip away from the hotel. The annoying woman hadn’t returned a single one.

The tiny doe-eyed girl he’d encountered in that hotel lobby couldn’t have been further from what he’d been expecting. Unlike her overprocessed, overpainted mother, Shayna’s skin had been naked and clear, a glossy peach lipstick her only ornamentation. She’d smelled like sunshine. After years of being assaulted by manufactured fragrances on women, the purity of her aroma had been intensely sensual. Most arresting, though, had been her wide, amber eyes. Clear, unguarded, welcoming.

All that had changed the instant he’d introduced himself and explained his connection to Steven Walker. She’d closed up. Her smile, her eyes, her attitude. Everything went blank, as if she’d flipped a switch and turned off her inner light.

He’d gone to that hotel for the very reason Thomas had just suggested. He’d intended to force the issue, do whatever it took to obtain her cooperation. But he’d failed. Not only had she fled before he could outline the lucrative details of Walker’s offer but watching the wary distrust that replaced her initial shy smile had thrown him off his game.

Now, as he drummed a pen against his desk’s blotter and plotted his battle plan, he once again cursed himself for squandering his opportunity to get a handle on Shayna Miller.

The longer he thought about that encounter, the more convinced he became that she’d been playing him. Complete lack of emotion was a learned skill, the kind of thing a calculating daughter would learn—or possibly inherit—from a calculating mother. The nut didn’t often fall far from the tree.

So why the hell did his gut keep insisting he was misjudging her?

“It’s just the voice,” he assured himself as he flung the pen down and spread the Walker file out on his desk. That sexy southern accent had been playing on a continuous loop through his brain for nearly a week now.

Damned if he’d be swayed by slow vowels and exaggerated syllables. His future hinged on getting Shayna Miller to consent to the agreement Steven Walker was paying the firm megabucks to secure. And he didn’t intend to fail.

He might not like his reputation as the office lady-killer, but he had been the one to negotiate Patty Hoyt’s lump-sum payment—contingent upon her daughter’s cooperation—in exchange for never bothering their client again. Ever.

So what if he despised this whole case? So what if he felt Walker’s requests—both of the firm and the child he’d walked away from over two decades ago—skated ethical and moral lines. Personal feelings aside, his job was to satisfy the firm’s most influential client, and until he made partner, that was all that mattered.

After he had his name on the letterhead, then he’d have the luxury of turning down clients who made his skin crawl, who reminded him of the human trash he’d grown up with. For now, he was one assignment away from achieving his professional goals and moving on to the next stage of his life plan: attractive trophy wife, two kids, a beach house in Malibu. By then, he hoped to hell his success would obliterate the image of the scrawny, unwanted street punk who still stared back at him in the mirror every morning.

An unusually frigid breeze swooped beneath the hem of Shayna’s skirt as she scanned the crowd who’d turned out for today’s ground breaking ceremony. Her teeth chattered as she snuggled deeper into her green-and-gold Fighting Lions letterman sweater. Had she known winter planned to make a surprise appearance today, she’d have skipped the sweater’s sentimentality and gone with her more practical—and much warmer—parka.

Numb fingers fluffed her hair out around her ears as she fought back sentimental tears. She loved this little tight-knit community. It was the day before Thanksgiving, with temperatures suspended in the mid-thirties, and still nearly a hundred folks were gathered in the town square to celebrate the official start of the James Miller Youth Center.

For nearly three years, she’d dedicated herself to making the youth center a reality, helping with everything from fundraising to building plans to investigating the best playground surface material. It was scheduled to open next spring, and she—and her newly completed social services degree—had already accepted the director’s position. But to have the place named after her daddy? She couldn’t imagine a greater honor.

He’d suffered a stroke and died seven years ago, so when the town council made the announcement earlier this year, she’d been too overjoyed to speak. They wanted to honor James Miller for his accomplishments with the high school football team—in the South, there was little that could top three consecutive state titles. But for her, his greatest accomplishment, the reason she celebrated his memory every day, was the fact that he’d saved her life. Blood relation or not, he was the only true parent she’d ever known. He’d stepped in when no one else wanted her and had chosen to love her and care for her and give her someone to love in return. He’d made them a family.

“How’re you holding up, sweetie?” Lindy, who’d been smart enough to bundle up, sidled over to Shayna.

“Other than wishing I’d worn long pants, I’m fine.”

“This weather is a shocker. Weatherman’s calling for a thirty percent chance of snow for Thanksgiving.”

“Judging by the wind blowing up my skirt, I believe him.”

“What are you two pretty ladies whispering about over here?” Travis Monroe asked as he slipped an arm around his wife’s expanding waist and pulled her snug to his side.

“Just griping about the weather,” Lindy told him.

“Typical farm girls,” Travis teased. He nodded toward Mayor Evans, who stood behind the podium as he got the ground breaking underway. “You ready for your big speech?”

“Yep,” Shayna assured him. “I’m going to keep it short and sweet so we can all get back to our warm homes.”

Just then, the mayor announced her name, and the crowd cheered and clapped enthusiastically. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, she took the podium. “I want to thank all of you for braving this unusual weather. Daddy would have been honored—and embarrassed—by this wonderful turnout.”

Her voice began to wobble, forcing her to pause for a second, clear her throat, gather her composure. “James Miller was more than just a great coach. He was a great man. His calm, quiet demeanor hid an inner strength he gladly loaned to anyone who needed an extra push in life, and as you all know, he was uncomfortable with public kudos.”

The sea of heads surrounding the podium nodded as one.

“I’ll never forget the paper’s headline after that first trip to state. ‘Coach Miller Wins Title.’ I was so proud, but Daddy said it wasn’t true. He didn’t win that title, the players did. So he rewrote that article, naming and praising the entire thirty-seven member squad. He wanted each of those boys to bask in the pride of their accomplishments.”

A mumble rippled through the crowd, growing into another burst of applause. Several teary faces stared back at her.

“That was typical. James Miller did great things every day and always preferred to shift the accolades to someone else. So today, in honor of his memory and because he’s no longer here to deflect the praise—” she paused for a second as she accepted the gold-ribbon-embellished shovel the mayor handed her “—I proudly dedicate this site as the future home of the James Miller Youth Center, and I challenge us all to go out every day and do something great, just like he taught us to.”

Sniffling back the tears she could no longer contain, she gingerly placed her high-heeled shoe over the shovel’s edge and ceremoniously scooped out a bit of preloosened dirt. She lifted watery eyes, smiling and nodding at the crowd. Several loved and familiar faces smiled back, sending a wave of support and encouragement her way, helping her put a plug on her emotions.

Moving her gaze to the rear of the crowd, she spied an unanticipated and unwelcome spectator. Despite the icy nip in the air, a layer of cold sweat suddenly covered Shayna’s skin.

Dark glasses protected his eyes, but his sun-bleached hair and blatantly expensive wool trench coat gave him away. The nerve of that man. What part of “not interested” did Kyle Anderson not understand?

With an effort, she pulled her attention back to the mayor as he offered his own words of praise. She listened with half an ear, her stomach pitching as Kyle wove his way through the crowd. She felt the pressure of his regard like a high-beamed spotlight and knew the locals wouldn’t fail to notice a dashing, big-city stranger hanging around.

If asked—and in Land’s Cross, being asked about your business was a sure bet—would he share his reasons for being in town? Would he blab about her unfortunate tie to Steven Walker?

Feigning calm, she smiled and clapped as Mayor Evans drew the celebration to a close. Shayna’s inner wuss begged her to run as fast and far away as possible from the threat of Kyle’s presence. But her pride shushed her fear, giving her the strength to march calmly and confidently in his direction.

Between them, the throng of well-wishers formed a gauntlet she had to kiss and hug her way through. By the time she stood face-to-face with Kyle, the community’s love and support had steadied her backbone. Land’s Cross was her turf. She had home field advantage. Let him take his best shot.

She accepted his outstretched hand, her smile so brittle she feared her cheeks would crack. “Kyle Anderson. What an unexpected surprise.” She kept her voice as cordial as possible, hoping folks would assume he was as harmless as everyone else.

“This was too important for me not to come.” He tugged her a few steps outside the crush before dropping her hand and leaning in to whisper, “Patty wanted to come, too, but I convinced her to give me one more chance before she traveled all this way.”

Nausea boiled in her stomach at the mere idea of her bleach-blond bimbo mother invading Land’s Cross—her home, her sanctuary. Anger surged through her system, demanding action, but pure stubbornness kept her from bolting. “That sounds an awful lot like blackmail, Mr. Anderson.”

“I prefer to think of it as smart negotiating, Ms. Miller. I gave you the opportunity to set a convenient, private time and place to discuss matters, but you’ve forced my hand.”

The fact that he had a valid point fueled Shayna’s churning temper. Her stubborn refusal to return his calls had backfired. Big-time.

Hyperaware of the curious looks shooting their way, she shifted her body farther from Kyle’s and nodded and waved at the nearest clutch of people.

“Mr. Anderson, I admit that not taking your calls was cowardly, and I give you my word that I will rectify the mistake. But only if you promise to keep Patty away from me and my home.” She did her best to keep her face blank as she met Kyle’s stare. Displaying her panic would sink her cause.

“Agreed.” He pointed to Dixie’s Diner across the street. “How about we get out of the cold and discuss Dr. Walker’s proposal over a hot cup of coffee?”

“No. Not in public. We’ve given the gossips enough to chew on already. Besides, I’m busy right now.” Maintaining a forcefully civil expression, she nodded goodbye and started to turn back to the crowd.

His hand snagged her wrist and stopped her escape. “Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, and I’ll be busy then, too. You’ll have to wait till Friday.” She tugged her arm free and took a step backward. The heel of her shoe caught on a clump of dirt, and she started to stumble.

Kyle reacted quickly, catching her around the waist and steadying her. Her chin grazed his broad chest. He smelled like fresh air and sun-warmed leather. For a split second, she entertained the fantasy of melting into him, of huddling into the heat that radiated from him, but his words instantly counteracted her body’s momentary weakness.

“Don’t abuse my generosity, Ms. Miller. If I have to track you down again, I won’t be so understanding. Or subtle.”

Alarmed by her own weakness as much as his audacity, she tipped her chin up and glared at him. “Turn me loose,” she ordered briskly.

“If you insist.” He relaxed his hold immediately, and she scurried back a step.

“Shayna? Everything okay over here?” Travis’s voice sounded deeper and meaner than usual. Grateful for the interruption, she turned to find Lindy and Travis shooting visual bullets over her shoulder.

“You bet.” She hoped her big, goofy grin would help sell the lie. “Mr. Anderson was just leaving.”

“Anderson?” Lindy’s brows rose. “From California?”

“Yes ma’am.” Kyle flashed Lindy the same warm smile he’d shown the elderly couple back in Los Angeles, but here in Land’s Cross it missed its mark. Lindy’s expression didn’t soften one bit.

Dropping the smile, he extended his hand to Travis and introduced himself. “Kyle Anderson.”

Travis, a dyed-in-the-wool problem solver, accepted Kyle’s hand, but his gaze remained pinned on Shayna. She knew he’d see her nerves plain as day and do what he could to set things right. But this was one problem she had to solve herself.

She spoke up quickly, before Travis could intervene. “Mr. Anderson, as I’ve explained, now is not a good time for me. Please call me later to discuss this matter.”

“Certainly, Ms. Miller. I have your number.” A flash of something Shayna chose to interpret as respect lit Kyle’s sparkling blue eyes. “Until then.”

Deliberately taunting her, he extended his hand for a goodbye shake. Refusing to be intimidated, she closed the gap and slipped her hand into his. Rather than immediately releasing it, he tugged her closer and lowered his voice.

“The clock is ticking, Shayna. We will talk.” He leaned a smidge closer and added, “Soon.”

His warm breath wafted against her cold ear. She couldn’t contain the shudder that danced down her spine, but privately, she insisted it was just the weather.

As she watched, he climbed into a clean but wimpy gray rental car and drove off. Relief nearly buckled her knees.

“Oooh, you were so right about the pretty boy thing.” Lindy’s excited voice recaptured Shayna’s attention.

“Shayna, who was that guy? Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Touched by Travis’s unwavering concern, she reached up and lovingly patted his cheek. “I’m fine, Papa Bear.” For now, at least. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow, okay? For now, I just want to go home and recharge.” She gave them both a quick hug and a kiss then dashed to the safety of her sturdy old hatchback. She cranked the engine and waited for the heater to warm up.

Wishing for the hundredth time she’d never opened that stupid letter from her mother, Shayna forced her sticky transmission into gear and headed home. Mind spinning, she drove out of town and up the mountain to the cabin that had been in the Miller family for generations.

Kyle’s dogged determination had her mind reeling. What in the world could Walker possibly want with her? He hadn’t shown her one iota of interest in twenty-five years. He darned sure hadn’t been interested all those nights Patty had passed out, leaving a very young Shayna essentially alone. And what about the times her mother had been arrested and Shayna had been shuffled into and around the overcrowded foster care system?

No, the only person who’d cared for her then had been James Miller, the kindhearted schoolteacher who’d lived next door. He’d cared enough to petition the courts for temporary custody. A single man with no biological or legal ties. Talk about an uphill battle.

And now, all these years later, Dr. Steven Walker pops up out of nowhere and sics his bulldog lawyer on her, egotistically expecting her to drop everything to accommodate his wishes?

Well, James Miller’s daughter didn’t kowtow to bullies. She’d honor her word and give Kyle Anderson thirty minutes to speak his piece; then she’d send him and his sleazy client packing.

Chapter Two

Shayna snapped her eyes open and stared at the cabin’s vaulted ceiling, trying to figure out what had disturbed her nap. Snuffly snores drew her attention to the floor next to the couch, where her hundred-pound German shepherd snoozed. She rolled over and smiled at the sleeping giant—not much of a guard dog, but for her, Brinks was the perfect companion.

She registered the muffled crunch of tires on gravel half a second before the sound of a car door slamming finally roused the dog—and answered the what-woke-me-up question. Brinks jumped to his feet and ran to the front window.

She sat up just in time to see a masculine silhouette move across the curtain. Dread set her teeth on edge. She wasn’t surprised that Kyle Anderson had tried to follow her home, but she was flabbergasted that the stubborn fool had succeeded. There were no street signs on the mountain. Here, directions were given in terms of burned barns and tree stumps.

She was still several steps from the door when he knocked. Brinks rushed forward, a low growl sneaking past his bared teeth. Shayna laid a reassuring hand on his head. “Sorry, pup, but his spoiled city hide is probably too tough to chew.”

Secretly wishing she were ornery enough to ignore him, Shayna pushed back the curtain. Other than his flapping coattails and wind-tossed hair, it was like someone had superglued an immovable statue to her front porch. A two-hundred-year-old oak should be so sturdy.

Over his shoulder, the sky sagged low and gray. While she’d napped, this morning’s bad weather had turned downright nasty. If the temperature kept falling, there’d be sleet before nightfall. Which made getting rid of her uninvited guest even more critical.

Mentally gearing up for battle, she shooed Brinks out of the way and opened the door. A blast of frigid air whipped across the front porch, spilling a hunk of thick blond hair across Kyle’s forehead before racing through the narrow wedge of the open door.

His gaze flicked over her, head to toe. She knew she looked sleep-rumpled and sloppy but darned if she’d fidget and primp for him. “Yes?” She didn’t hold the door open or invite him in out of the cold. Rudeness went against her grain, but sometimes a girl had to break the rules.

His nose glowed Rudolph-red, yet he somehow managed to appear patiently inquisitive, as though he could wait all afternoon if need be. “You don’t look too busy at the moment. Perhaps now’s a better time for our discussion?”

Shayna bit her cheek to keep her lips from curving. Despite her pique over this man’s nerve, she couldn’t help but admire his tenacity. He’d have made one heck of a defensive tackle. Eye on the quarterback and don’t stop running till you’ve mowed him down.

Only problem was, that made her the quarterback—but she planned to stay on her toes till the end of this game. Which meant she had to maintain control.

“Fine. But let’s make it quick. The storm’s moving in.” She stepped back and reluctantly invited him in.

Kyle shuffled forward a step, and stopped immediately when Brinks issued a growled warning, his bared-tooth snout level with Kyle’s most vulnerable parts.

She grabbed the dog’s leather collar and attempted to pull him back, but the mutt refused to budge. “As you see, he’s a mite overprotective, so you’d best mind your manners.”

“Hey, boy.” Kyle spoke softly, holding his palm near Brinks’s snout. The dog took his time before accepting the offered sniff, and rather than his customary lick of approval, Brinks backed off just enough for Kyle to enter, then sat, keeping their visitor well within his sights.

Bolstered by the rare glimpse of Brinks’s underused guard dog skills, Shayna pushed the door closed against the wind’s pressure. She had promised to hear Kyle out. She hadn’t said a thing about being pleasant.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes, Mr. Anderson. One cup of coffee and then you’re gone.”

Kyle’s jaw ached with the effort of keeping his teeth from chattering. His custom-tailored suit and silk-lined Armani wool coat were no match for the frigid temperature and howling wind. He’d held on to his stern posture by willpower alone, but Christ, he’d been seconds from folding when she’d finally opened the door.

Of course, he’d prefer death by icing to having that behemoth dog pin him to the wall by his balls. He wanted that partnership, but he didn’t want it that badly.

Keeping one eye on Cujo, he assessed Shayna’s personal space, looking for insight into her character, the kind of impressions and vibes you couldn’t access through paper trails.

The cabin’s spacious main room had the wide-open feel of a converted warehouse loft. In L.A., this space would rent for a small fortune. Wide-planked pine floors bore the scars and marks of old age beneath a sheen of polish. The furniture was an eclectic mix of new and old, littered with an abundance of odd-shaped pillows in every color imaginable. The overall effect was vivid and energetic, yet still homey and comfortable.

“Great space.” He followed her to the kitchen, trying not to notice the sway of her full hips or the way her black leggings hugged her short but shapely legs.

“Thanks.” She gestured toward a sturdy oak chair. “Sit.”

The pony she called a dog was sprawled out in front of the fridge, his jet eyes sparkling, as if the mutt found humor in her ordering Kyle around. Refusing to be intimidated by a house pet—or his fierce-looking owner—Kyle removed his damp coat and threw it over the vacant chair she’d indicated.

“I’d prefer to stand.” He leaned against the counter.

“Suit yourself.” Neither of them spoke while she got the coffee going. When she turned, the glint in her sleepy amber eyes warned him she intended to fire the first shot.

“So, tell me, Mr. Anderson—” she folded her arms and glared at him “—what kind of proposal does Dr. Walker have for his bastard daughter?”

Her bluntness surprised him. He’d expected her to dodge the point as long as possible. “You’re aware of Ms. Hoyt’s plan to blackmail my client?”

“Yes, but I made it clear to her that I don’t want any part of it.”

“Unfortunately, she’s decided to proceed anyway.”

“I figured as much, but regardless, Patty’s actions have nothing to do with me.”

“That’s a very naive statement, considering your mother’s blackmail threats center around your birth.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps, but without my help, her claims are just hearsay, right?”

“Hearsay?”

She spun and started rummaging in the cabinets but not before he saw the tinge of pink staining her cheeks. When she blushed, she reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. All that naturally unadulterated beauty in a sea of silicone implants and hair extensions.

“I’m a big Law & Order fan,” she mumbled, pulling down a couple of coffee cups and filling them.

“Me, too.” He accepted the cup she handed him, handle out, to avoid the possibility of brushing fingers. “Without your corroboration, her claims would indeed be hearsay, if the matter went to trial, but Patty isn’t threatening to sue Dr. Walker in a court of law. She intends to drag him through the court of public opinion.”

“Ah.” She smirked, intelligence sparkling in her eyes. “A much more dangerous venue for your client, to be sure.”

Kyle hid an unexpected grin behind his cup. He’d always admired women with quick wits. “In light of recent career developments, my client is justifiably interested in maintaining his good public reputation.”

She snorted, obviously not buying his PR spiel. “Either way, I won’t become involved. If your client wants to keep his ex-mistress quiet, why doesn’t he just pay her off?”

“Because this isn’t the first time she’s promised to take the money and disappear forever.”

She didn’t look a bit surprised. “Still not my problem.”

“True, but you are a part of the solution.” Offering her his most reassuring smile, he removed a bulky envelope from his breast pocket. “Dr. Walker and I have formulated a simple resolution, one that insulates both himself and you from Patty’s threats, both present and future.” He held the envelope out. “Take a look. It’s a very…generous compromise.”

Kyle’s wording was eerily similar to what he’d told her in that hotel lobby. Unsettled, Shayna took the envelope and slid a shaky forefinger under the seal. Instinct told her this would not be good.

Watching the papers emerge, she felt as anxious as a tourist at a snake-charming demonstration. Rationally, she knew the papers couldn’t harm her, but that didn’t stop her inner warning alarms from clanging ninety to nothing.

Her teeth worried the inside of her lower lip as the pages slipped free. Atop the bundle was a cashier’s check, made out to her, for two hundred fifty thousand dollars.

Stunned, she tentatively touched the dollar amount, half expecting the check to be a mirage. When it didn’t vanish under her fingers, she forced her slack jaw back into place. A familiar sick pain twisted in her gut. Patty had said Walker would pay big bucks to keep Shayna’s existence a secret, and she’d been right.

So much for her hope that the other fifty percent of her DNA contained a smidge of human decency. Obviously, Patty Hoyt and Steven Walker were cut from the same cloth.

“Ms. Miller?” he asked gently.

Floundering to make sense out of what was happening, she shifted her focus to his face. One side of his mouth kicked up, cranking his dimple to life. That pleased, confident smile brought the entire bizarre situation into crystal clear focus.

This man expected her to be thrilled, to simply agree to whatever Walker had in mind, pocket the check and send him on his merry way. No doubt with a grateful hug and hearty thank-you. She’d never been so disappointed or outraged in her entire life.

“Shayna?” Kyle’s normally robust voice was smoother than fresh cream. “I’m sure that much money comes as a shock—”

“Shock? It’s an insult!” she hissed. She could practically feel the blood draining from her face. Brinks immediately scrambled to his feet and came to stand at her side, his massive body braced against her hip.

Her temper, which normally took forever to erupt, rose to a full boil as she bundled the wad of papers, check and all, and chucked them at the trash. They bounced off and landed under the table. The placid look on Kyle’s face melted into confusion, but not even temporarily rendering him speechless could lessen Shayna’s anger.

“What does your no-good client expect in return for a quarter of a million dollar payoff, Mr. Anderson? Maybe he wants me to murder Patty and bury her body on my mountain?”

“No, of course not. Shayna, calm down—”

“Calm down! I don’t think so. How dare that…that—” she couldn’t come up with a word vile enough to describe Dr. Walker “—that man, try to buy me off.” The last words emerged as a shriek, but she was beyond caring. How dare he suggest she sell her pride.

Hands fisted at her sides, fury blackened the edges of her vision. “He’s afraid of what Patty’s information will do to his precious reputation, so he sends you down here with a counteroffer. Of all the rotten, lowdown, dirty—”

“Shayna!” Kyle’s shout ended her tirade. She barely heard Brinks’s growl over the roaring in her head. Kyle grabbed her arms and gave her several firm shakes. “Breathe, Shayna, breathe.”

Shocked, she drew in a gulp of air. Her temper had never before gotten so out of hand that she nearly passed out. Hell, she didn’t even know she could get that mad.

“Better?” Kyle asked gently, slowly releasing his hold on her arms.

Embarrassed, she nodded. Fearful her knees would give out any second, Shayna threaded her fingers into Brinks’s fur and tensed every muscle in her body. “Your time is up, Mr. Anderson. I think you should leave now.”

Brinks seconded the order with a teeth-baring snarl.

Barely holding herself together, she marched back to the front door, listening to the slap of Kyle’s thin-soled shoes and the patter of Brinks’s nails crossing the wood floor behind her. Her fingers shook as she yanked the door open. Another gust of wind roared inside, but she was too numb to feel the cold. Anger made an excellent insulator.

Kyle tossed a last wary look at Brinks. If not for the dog, Shayna knew Kyle wouldn’t have left without a fight. Feeling deflated, she leaned against the door and waved Kyle toward the front porch. Unfortunately, he stopped in the open doorway and turned to face her. His unexpected maneuver put them much too close for rational verbal communication, but pure stubborn pride wouldn’t allow her to back off a step.

He put a knuckle under her chin, leaving her no choice but to meet his gaze. Gone was his practiced charm and polish. All she saw was kindness and concern. The warm combination made her as light-headed as her earlier debilitating burst of temper.

“I’m sorry to have upset you, Shayna, but you have to realize this isn’t over. Please read the agreement. You’ll see that Walker’s only trying to make things right.”

He sounded so convincing that it took her a second to remember he was a master player, a lawyer, a professional manipulator. A man not to be trusted.

Frowning, she stepped back from his tempting touch and straightened her spine, doing her best to look strong and intimidating. “You can tell your client that unlike my mother, I cannot be bought.” Then, before he could respond, she slammed the door in his face.

Kyle swore viciously as his dumpy rental slogged down the curvy mountain road. This should have been a one-day assignment. Get in, get her signature and get out. He hadn’t expected to be delayed by a tiny package of grit and pride. Shayna Miller’s disdainful glare had made him remember what he’d once been—the delinquent son of a two-bit criminal, a kid without hopes or dreams. A kid without a future.

But that kid was gone. Kyle had locked him away a long time ago.

The tires squealed as his foot agitated the accelerator. The car zoomed too fast around a corner, sending the tail end flying dangerously close to the mountain’s edge and his briefcase to the passenger floorboard. He eased off the gas. Struggling to regain his composure, he drew in a lungful of dry, forcefully heated air.

Law had been an ironic yet deliberate choice. He’d vowed to become his father’s complete opposite. He’d worked hard, graduated at the top of his class, and after taking a grunt position at Thomas, Peake and Moore, had worked his way up, establishing a reputation for unconventional yet effective tactics while always working within the bounds of the law. Seeing that stricken look on Shayna’s face had made him feel like a heartless jackass, no better than the Walkers and Patty Hoyts of the world.

She obviously despised Patty and Walker, and he couldn’t blame her. At least she’d lucked out and somehow landed with James Miller, who, from all reports, had managed to give her a mostly happy childhood. That put her miles ahead of most children in that situation.

Still, his instincts kept insisting something didn’t add up. Most people would be overjoyed to receive a quarter of a mil, but not Shayna. She had freaked out, gotten so overwrought she nearly passed out.

Although, he had to admit that the melodramatic line about murdering Patty had almost been funny—until her face had turned blue. She’d reminded him of one of his foster sisters, who used to hold her breath until whatever adult was in charge gave in to her demands.

Was that it? Had she—like her mother—put on an act and tried to play him for a fool? Her response had been frighteningly real, but a good con woman needed Oscar-caliber acting skills.

The ping of his BlackBerry cut off his internal line of questioning. He was expecting word regarding pieces of Shayna’s background report that hadn’t been completed this morning when he’d left L.A. Maybe whatever information Amanda, his secretary, had dug up would explain whether Shayna’s irate, over-the-top response to Walker’s offer was genuine or not.

Amazed to be getting cell reception amid the massive, shadowy trees and steep, rounded slopes, Kyle made a grab for his fallen briefcase and the cell phone tucked inside. The lightweight car veered to the right. Jerking upright, he overcorrected. The tires skied over the road’s glassy surface, sending the car sideways down the mountain. The tail flared, throwing him into a full skid.

Hands gripped tightly at ten and two, Kyle steered into the skid. The drum of adrenaline rushing through his brain blanketed out all sounds. His lungs froze. Suddenly the swirling stopped, replaced by a swift loss of altitude. The car hit ground with enough force to rattle his skull but not enough to deploy the airbags.

Inertia slammed him against the doorframe. Cautiously he flexed his muscles. His head felt ready to split open, and his knees, which had jammed into the steering column, stung like a son of a bitch.

He rolled his neck to check the view out his window. A relieved breath shuddered through him. The landscape tilted at a forty-five-degree angle, the car’s grille was buried nose down in the ditch, but he hadn’t gone over the edge.

Hands shaking, he shoved the door open with his shoulder and crawled out of the crumpled car. Wind and freezing rain slapped his face. He ducked back in, retrieved his coat and shrugged it on before snagging his briefcase off the passenger floorboard.

He scrambled up the steep embankment as fast as he could, slipping to his knees several times in the icy mud. Night was falling quickly, the already-freezing temperature plummeting, the rain lashing at him furiously.

Once he reached the road, he took shelter under a large tree. It blocked the deluge, but the wind continued to roar under the canopy of branches. To his right, something rustled through the underbrush just as the sun disappeared. Nature towered above him, blocking the moonlight, but the crooked beam of his headlights bouncing off the side of the ditch showed Kyle all he needed to see.

She was to blame for this mess.

She had him so frustrated and confused that he’d gotten careless.

She, with her sexy Southern drawl, her stubborn refusal, her well-portrayed outrage.

And whether she knew it or not, Shayna Miller had escalated the stakes. Now it was more than just business.

Now it was personal.

Shayna took Kyle’s advice and read Dr. Walker’s “generous” compromise. Definitely a shocker. By all rights, she should be even more livid than when she’d seen the check. No one would blame her if she suddenly burst into tears or started flinging breakables against the wall, but at the moment all she felt was numb. Overwhelmed. Lost.

Tossing the offending document onto the coffee table, she pushed to her feet and stood in front of the fireplace. Stirring up the flames helped melt away a layer of disbelief. As did imagining feeding the annoying papers to the hungry fire.

When she’d first seen that check, she’d been terrified. What would a man like Walker demand in exchange for such an obscene amount of money? Turned out the quarter mil was only a down payment. The full agreement, which turned out to be little more than an appalling, drawn-out employment contract, promised her a million dollars if she cooperated.

Wanted: one formerly mistreated and unwanted child to play the part of Dr. Steven Walker’s long-lost, much-loved and stupidly forgiving daughter. Experience as Patty Hoyt’s stooge preferable. Ethics: optional. Pay: one million dollars. Office hours: one hour on live television—as the surprise guest for the debut episode of Dr. Walker’s new talk show.

She could practically see the tagline: Benevolent father and prominent family therapist welcomes daughter he never knew into his happy family, saving her from a lonely life of poverty and despair.

What a load of malarkey. Or was it? All Shayna had to go on was Patty’s word that Walker had paid her off when he’d learned she was pregnant. Hell, even that much of her backstory could be a lie.

Sagging against the arm of the couch, she rested her sock-covered feet on the hearth. Walker’s offer did come with one very appealing caveat. In return for Shayna’s cooperation, he would pay Patty fifty grand a year for life, providing mommy dearest didn’t so much as blink in Shayna’s direction.

That kind of peace held way more appeal than a million-dollar bribe. Not that any prize could ever tempt her to agree to such a ludicrous plan.

She couldn’t believe that pompous jerk actually thought she’d go on national television and tell the world her daddy hadn’t taken good care of her. Sure, money had been tight in the Miller household, but they’d always had everything they needed. She’d had a far better life than a lot of kids. A hell of a lot better than the life she’d been living before James Miller became her daddy.

Letting her body fall backward, Shayna lay across the couch, staring up at the portrait over the mantel. It had been taken at the annual Moonlight and Mistletoe Ball. She’d been ten, with Bugs Bunny teeth and her first pair of high-heeled shoes. Daddy had looked handsome despite the four-inch-wide red-and-gold tie she’d insisted he wear, because it matched her new dress.

Even now she still considered it one of the happiest nights of her life. Despite the complete lack of physical similarities, the picture screamed family.

And now Kyle Anderson, her personal messenger of doom, had delivered a bizarre request that threatened everything she’d ever cherished. Dredging up her and James Miller’s past on national television would stir up entirely too many questions. With answers that could very well mean the end of her life as Shayna Miller.

Chapter Three

Kyle had managed to talk himself out of his unjustified anger with Shayna during the forty-minute hike back up the slick, icy mountain. He’d decided to withhold judgment on whether or not she was playing him until he’d had a second chance to thoroughly outline Walker’s plan. But after standing in the freezing rain, banging on her blasted door for five minutes, his good intentions had vanished. His fury rocketed back to full force.

She had to be in there. The damned weather had them both trapped on this mountain. No way he was going to freeze to death while she sat in her toasty cabin and ignored him.

The door finally swung open. Warm air brushed against his face but didn’t do a damn thing to thaw his temper. “What the hell took you so long? It’s damn cold out here!”

“Ex-cuse me?” Shayna tossed a mass of wet hair over her shoulder.

The apology he knew he owed her froze in his throat. Damn, but she was beautiful. Freshly showered, smelling like vanilla, her sensuous hair hanging loose to her waist, her curvy body wrapped in the most atrocious robe he’d ever seen.

Desire scorched through him. He barged inside, no longer aware of the cold that seconds before had nearly turned him into a block of ice. His briefcase slid from his grip and landed on the floor, unheeded by them both. Standing this close, her intoxicating aroma made him lightheaded. He swayed forward, his hands intent on touching her skin, but his aim was thwarted when she rushed him, grasping his biceps, her face scrunched in concern.

“Kyle?” The urgency in her voice cracked through the fog in his brain. “Are you all right?”

Hell no, he wasn’t all right.

Pulling himself together, he stepped away. As soon as he’d cleared the way, she shut the door behind him. Without the benefit of the mountain’s wide-open spaces, the lamp-lit cabin felt too small, too intimate.

The concern in her amber eyes intensified. Again, she moved closer, this time with her hands aimed for his face. “You’re bleeding.”

At the touch of her warm fingertips against his freezing forehead, his icy blood melted, ratcheting his temperature to a dangerous degree. What the hell was wrong with him? The blow to his head must have knocked all his brain cells below his belt.

Desperate to restore his equilibrium, he swatted her hand away. Hurt washed over her expression, but of course, stubborn woman, she didn’t back down. Instead, she snagged a box of tissues off the entry table and, after gesturing at his forehead, shoved them against his chest. “Care to tell me what happened?”

The terrifying experience replayed in his memory, reigniting his earlier fear and anger. “You nearly got me killed, that’s what.”

Her face paled. “Killed?”

“Yeah.” He flung out his right arm, gesturing toward the closed door. “You threw me out in a damned ice storm, and my car almost skidded off this godforsaken mountain.”

Kyle had forgotten about Shayna’s giant dog until the beast charged him, his enormous front paws pinning Kyle’s shoulders to the door. Keeping one eye glued to the dog’s bared teeth, he glanced at Shayna. The color had returned to her face with a vengeance.

To his surprise, she ignored her dog’s threatening behavior. “First of all—” she ticked her point off with her index finger, as if preparing to recite a long list of his sins “—I didn’t throw you out into anything. You showed up uninvited. Not my fault you chose to tackle the mountain in bad weather. Secondly,” she said with another ticked finger, “you can hardly blame me if you aren’t smart enough to slow down and take care on a dark, rainy night.”

Her logical response angered him further. He hated stupid mistakes. Especially his own. “Who expects ice in November?”

The dog took exception to the vehemence in Kyle’s voice. Brinks’s weight pressed against him even more forcefully. Fist-sized paws branded his chest, restricting his airflow and threatening permanent damage to his ego.

“Think you can call your dog off?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Not until we get a few things straight.” She planted her hands on her hips, drawing the butt-ugly robe even tighter against her lush figure. “Obviously, if you drove your car into a ditch—”

He opened his mouth to object, but reminding himself of the power of silence decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

“—you’re going to need a dry, warm place to sleep tonight. Unfortunately, Brinks and I don’t offer shelter to rude jerks.”

Cautiously, he raised both hands to his sides in modified surrender. “Please forgive me. I was angry with myself for being careless. I shouldn’t have taken my temper out on you.” Swallowing hard, he mustered up a charming smile. “Since I find myself at your mercy this evening, I hope I can convince you—and Brinks—to reconsider.”

She nodded imperially, but the movement wasn’t quick enough to hide the smirk flirting with the corners of her mouth. Seemed the price of her sofa was a slice of his pride.

She snagged Brinks’s collar and wrestled the dog off his chest. Her robe slipped, exposing one creamy, delectable shoulder. He forced his eyes level with hers and ordered them to stay put as he remained pressed to the door, awaiting her verdict.

The dog, his watchful eyes glued to Kyle, backed up and sat at attention next to Shayna.

“Brinks and I have decided to accept your apology. You are welcome to the spare bed.”

“Thank you.” He moved away from the door, and his soaked shoes squished. How could he have forgotten how cold and wet his clothes had gotten while he’d traipsed around in the icy rain? “Can I also borrow your shower? And some dry clothes?”

“The shower, yes, but—” she eyed him from head to toe, her perusal warming him from the inside out “—I’m not sure I’ve got anything that’ll fit you.”

The middle-of-the-night huskiness in her voice hit him below the belt. He turned away, one hand propped on the paneled wall as he toed out of his drenched shoes. In his periphery, he saw her nibbling her bottom lip, toying with the length of hair draping over her generous breast, wordlessly assessing him. His discomfort—and suspicions—grew.

Were her nerves—like her earlier meltdown—legitimate or calculated? Were the ill-fitting robe and husky voice deliberate ploys designed to distract him? He could easily imagine Patty using sex to get her way, but Shayna? Sure, he’d seen her short fuse, but he’d also seen her fierce pride. She didn’t strike him as the type to degrade herself that way, but desperate people often took desperate chances.

How far was Shayna willing to go to protect her secrets?

Testing her, he closed the distance between them. The color in her cheeks heightened, and the fingers twining through her hair trembled. He couldn’t help but imagine the erotic tickle of those long strands sliding across his thighs.

She sidestepped him and let the dog outside. When she turned back around, her robe slid even more. He realized the exact instant Shayna’s nervous fingers encountered the exposed skin of her shoulder. The red in her face deepened from embarrassed to horrified.

“Oh, my!” She clutched the warped collar in both hands as she started backpedaling toward the stairs. “Please excuse me for a moment. I need to, uh—” the hem of her robe flared as she swiveled and ran “—change.”

At the base of the stairs, she stuttered to a slow stop. One hand released its death grip on her robe and grabbed the newel post so hard her knuckles turned white. She drew in several long, deep breaths before pivoting towards the room.

Her cheeks remained flushed, but her precise posture gave the impression of confidence.

“The bathroom’s through there.” She pointed to a door below the stairs. “It’s connected to the spare room.” Tension clenched her jaw, and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, yet her voice betrayed none of her distress. “I’ll see about finding you something to wear.”

She didn’t make it past the third riser before she stopped again. Kyle was pretty sure he caught the sound of a whispered four-letter word. With a heavy sigh, she turned and headed back down the stairs.

“I don’t get many overnight guests, so I need to double-check and make sure there are clean towels in the bathroom.” She crossed the den, both hands clutching at her neckline.

While he waited, Kyle laid his ruined shoes out in front of the toasty fire, hoping to hell they dried before morning. He shed his heavy, wet wool coat, looking around for something to prop it on. He stopped his scan when he noticed Walker’s agreement on the coffee table. Dropping the coat next to his shoes, he picked up the papers just as Shayna reentered the room.

“Bathroom’s all set, but I’m afraid you’ll have to let the shower run for several minutes before you get any hot—” Her words and her feet came to an abrupt halt when she saw what he held. Her robe was very tidy and very securely belted.

“So.” He saluted her with the papers. “You read it?”

The layers of composure seemed to visibly flake off her frame. “Yes.” Slowly, she continued across the room.

“What do you think?”

“I think I should have made my terms clearer up front, Mr. Anderson.” She took the papers and shoved them in her pocket. “Tonight’s offer of hospitality is contingent upon your not speaking about anything or anyone mentioned in that agreement.”

She’d ducked his question, but her formal wording provided all the confirmation he needed. “So what do you propose? We spend the evening staring at each other?”

“Of course not. Surely you can discuss matters outside your job. Current events? Movies? Coke versus Pepsi?”

Was she nuts? She expected them to engage in chitchat? The gash on his head throbbed painfully. He clenched his eyes and rubbed his fingers over his knotted forehead.

“Goodness, look at that scowl. A body’d think I suggested we spend the evening learning to macramé!” The musical vibrations of her laughter compelled him to reopen his eyes. All her earlier tension was gone. Her confidence and grace had returned. “Go ahead and start your shower. I’ll see what I can dig up for you to wear and leave it on the bed. Then I’ll scrounge up something for dinner.”

Kyle couldn’t help admiring the view as she disappeared up the stairs, her hair glistening like a stream of sable running down the center of her back, ending just above her swaying derriere.

So she had a healthy sense of humor to go with her temper. Kyle felt the corner of his mouth turn up at the image of the two of them, snuggled together on the couch, roaring fire and soft music in the background, mugs of steaming hot chocolate in their hands.

In his mind’s eye, the cocoa—and that ugly green robe—suddenly vanished. The room’s temperature skyrocketed as he imagined her nimble fingers undoing his belt.

A loud, ferocious bark from the front porch vanquished his fantasy vision. Good thing Brinks had such excellent timing. After a quick zipper check, Kyle let the dog inside. The beast gave him one indifferent sniff before racing into the kitchen.

He started unknotting his tie and headed for the bathroom, thinking he might have to start with a cold shower. Tempting as it was to lose himself in the possibilities of being alone in a cozy, isolated cabin with an intriguing, sexy woman, he couldn’t forget what was at stake.

His job.

His future.

She may have attempted to set out guidelines for their forced confinement, but no way in hell was he going to waste this prime opportunity. They were stuck with each other tonight, and like it or not, Shayna Miller would be discussing her father’s proposal.

Who knew a big-city lawyer would be so discombobu-lated by the idea of strictly social conversation? The horrified look on Kyle’s face had been priceless. Chuckling at the memory, Shayna pulled on a crew-necked, long-sleeved T-shirt and smoothed it over her hips. Good to know her sense of humor had survived the day from hell. She’d need it to endure the hours ahead.

While she’d showered, she sorted through all the surprises lobbed at her today, and she’d been forced to admit—to herself, at least—that Kyle wasn’t to blame for the bombshell he’d dropped. He’d only been doing his job, and regardless how unsavory the message, he didn’t deserve the full force of her anger.

That belonged to Walker and Patty.

Besides, what could a man like Kyle Anderson know about trying to put distance between yourself and your sleazy parents? More than likely, he’d grown up in a perfect Beaver Cleaver household where fighting over the television remote was the full extent of family strife.

A final check in the mirror assured her she was decently covered. Banishing all thoughts of Kyle Anderson and his ideal childhood, she grabbed her robe off the foot of the bed. The poor thing had seen better days and was stretched out nine ways to Sunday, but it had been a gift from Daddy and she treasured it. Funny how a ratty old scrap of material could feel like a warm hug.

If only seeing Kyle hadn’t driven all rational thought from her head, maybe she’d have had the wherewithal to change clothes immediately instead of running around flashing him.

When she’d opened the door, he’d been fierce, primal and sexy as all get out. Her girlie parts had instantly flared to life. Heck of a time for her libido to raise its hand and demand attention.

Of course, Kyle had opened his mouth and spoiled the effect. It was going to be darn hard to treat him like an innocent messenger if his every word got her dander up.

She hooked the robe on the back of her bathroom door. Beneath her feet came the familiar vibration of well water rushing through the cabin’s ancient copper pipes. Forcefully blocking out all thoughts of Kyle in her shower, Shayna straightened her spine and headed for her closet. She had to find him something to wear.

The first thing she thought of that had half a chance of covering his broad shoulders—which she wasn’t picturing in her mind—was Daddy’s old coaching gear. The fit would be questionable, but it beat the heck out of having Kyle running around in a towel until his things dried. Thinking pure thoughts, Shayna snagged the green-and-gold track suit—the only clothes she’d saved all these years—from the darkest regions of her closet.

Out of habit, she brought it to her nose. His scent had faded from the material but not from her memory. Old Spice, leather and pipe tobacco. Eyes misty, she returned the hanger to the back of her closet.

No way she could handle seeing Kyle Anderson wearing her daddy’s coaching gear. That outfit represented the essence of James Miller. To allow Steven Walker’s legal minion to borrow it—even if the alternative was a near-naked man in her house—felt like a betrayal.

Digging deep in the other corner of her closet, she unearthed a paint-stained sweatshirt, one she’d appropriated from a college boyfriend. She aimed herself at the mirror and held the sweatshirt up to her chest. Since she couldn’t see herself around the gigantic black wall of material, she figured it would work. Now she just needed something to cover his bottom half. Out of the blue, memory struck. Shayna balled up the sweatshirt, quickly retrieved a thick pair of hiking socks and raced downstairs. A few months back, Travis had left a pair of coveralls here when he’d volunteered to fix her leaking dishwasher.

As she hit the first-floor landing, she paused for a beat, listening for the familiar rumble of the shower. Assured Kyle was still occupied—and no longer bothering to pretend she wasn’t picturing him in her mind—she raced into the smaller of the two bedrooms, which had been hers as a girl.

On the other side of the wall, the shower sounds stopped. With a squeaky groan, Shayna kicked it into high gear. She so didn’t want to be here when Kyle wandered out of the bathroom, most likely naked as a jaybird. The sweatshirt and socks landed on the bed as she rushed to the dresser. She pulled open the top drawer and dug through it. No coveralls. Same story for the second drawer. And the third.

Drat! They had to be in here somewhere.

She yanked open the bottom drawer, and just as her fingers connected with the folded piece of denim she’d been searching for, she heard the bathroom door open behind her.

Easily picturing him crossing the room buck naked, she jerked to her feet. “Don’t come out yet,” she ordered, blindly tossing the coveralls to the bed. “I was just leaving.”

“No problem. I’m decently covered.”

Not certain what a Hollywood pretty boy considered decent, Shayna turned slowly and had to bite her tongue to keep from sighing. Her stomach literally cramped at the delicious sight of him.

He had an oversized bath towel wrapped around his tight, flat waist. Holy cow, he had a great body. Who knew attorneys had six packs? And those shoulders? Wow! The entire beautiful package was coated in a golden California glow. Imagine. A tan in November.

Afraid she’d start foaming at the mouth if she allowed her inspection to wander any farther south, Shayna racked her brain for a sophisticated, blasé remark. Nothing there. Seemed she didn’t have a single G-rated comment left in her head.

Surprisingly, Kyle bailed her out. He picked up the coveralls and held them to his chest. “The mechanic look isn’t exactly my style, but beggars can’t be choosers. Hell, I was afraid you’d make me wear that awful robe, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have done it justice.”

He threw her a wink before picking up the bundle of clothes she’d brought downstairs and returning to the bathroom. Completely stunned, Shayna sank onto the bed. She had to use her palm to close her gaping mouth.

So in addition to being stubborn, rude and doggedly determined to do Steven Walker’s bidding, Kyle Anderson was also charming, funny and extremely hot. Talk about a lethal combination.

And since she was stuck with him for a while, she’d best find a way to put the man and the situation into perspective.

Pushing to her feet, she left the room, making sure to pull the door closed. Headed for the kitchen, she decided to deal with this the way she did most forms of stress. Food.

Since she wasn’t alone, she’d have to forego her favorite comfort food—strawberry ice cream, straight from the carton. A nice everything-but-the-kitchen-sink sandwich sounded like a good second choice.

Then, hopefully, they could kill a couple hours before bedtime with a nice, safe family movie, or better yet, a sappy holiday special. Anything to keep her from dwelling on her heart-pounding reaction to Kyle Anderson.

The sound of him clearing his throat alerted her to his arrival. She looked up and had to fight to keep her eyes from rolling into her head.

Not fair. The man looked nearly as scrumptious in the baggy hand-me-downs as he did in the snug towel.

This was going to be an extremely long night.

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