Blackhawk Desires

BLACKHAWK’S BETRAYAL

BLACKHAWK’S BOND

BLACKHAWK’S AFFAIR

Barbara McCauley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

About the Author

BARBARA McCAULEY, who has written more than twenty novels for Silhouette Books, lives in Southern California with her own handsome hero husband, Frank, who makes it easy to believe in and write about the magic of romance. Barbara’s stories have won and been nominated for numerous awards, including the prestigious RITA®Award from the Romance Writers of America, Best Desire of the Year from Romantic Times BOOKclub and Best Short Contemporary from the National Reader’s Choice Awards.

BLACKHAWK’S BETRAYAL

Barbara McCauley

This book is dedicated to Jennifer Stockton,

Chef Extraordinaire! Thanks for all your help and

expertise, sweetheart. Your secret for chocolate

mousse is safe with me.

One

She should be in Paris.

Sighing, Kiera glanced at the yellow-lit dial on her rental car dashboard. Nine thirty-two, Texas time. If she had got on her plane this morning, she would have landed at the Charles de Gaulle Airport two hours ago. At this very moment, she would be checking into her room at the hotel Château Frontenac. Ordering room service. Sipping espresso while she nibbled on a navettes. Sinking her exhausted body into a Louis XVI four-poster bed.

Instead, she sat in the cracked asphalt parking lot of Sadie’s Shangri-La Motel and Motor Lodge.

Welcome. Park Your Cars Out Front, Your Horses Out Back, flashed the pink neon vacancy sign.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she dropped her head into her hands and did both.

“Damn you, Trey,” she said through clenched teeth. “Damn you, damn you, damn you.”

She let herself rant for a full ten seconds, then wiped her tears and flipped the visor down to study her face in the lit mirror. Scary, was her first thought—deal with it, her second. Mumbling curses again, she dug through her purse and pulled out a compact of cover-up, then carefully blotted the fading bruise beside her left eye. Not perfect, but the best she could do unless she put on her sunglasses, which, considering the fact that it was pitch black outside, just might draw attention to herself.

And that she certainly didn’t want to do.

Adjusting her bangs and the sides of her hair to hide the fading bruise, she stepped out of the car and stretched her stiff muscles. She was too tired to care that her skirt, a pristine white ten hours ago, now looked like tissue paper pulled out of a gift bag. Nor did she care that her sleeveless blouse, a clean, crisp green when she’d left the ranch this morning, currently had the appearance of wilted lettuce.

It is what it is.

A double-trailer big rig rumbled past the motel, jarring her out of her thoughts. She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, sucked in a breath, then made her way to the motel’s front office. Heat from the sweltering day lingered, and the humidity clung to her like wet plastic wrap. Shower, she thought, drawing the heavy, damp air into her lungs. She needed one desperately. A long one to wash off the grime and sweat of the day’s travel.

When she opened the glass door, a buzzer sounded overhead and the scent of coffee hung heavy in the air. The desk clerk, a well-endowed petite blonde with Texas-size hair, stood behind the counter, hands on her voluptuous hips and her gaze locked on the screen of a small corner television.

“Be right with y’all,” the woman said without even glancing up.

Kiera held back the threatening whimper. Born and raised Texan, she knew what “be right with y’all,” really meant: sometime between the near future and next Christmas.

Living in New York the past three years had made her impatient, she realized. She’d become accustomed to the frantic rush of people, the swell of city traffic, skyscrapers and closed-in spaces. A delicatessen on every corner.

The thought of food reminded her she hadn’t eaten today. She’d kill for one of those deli sandwiches right now. A ten-pound ham and cheese, with lettuce and tomatoes and—

“No!”

The shout made Kiera jump back and clutch her purse. The desk clerk threw up her hands in disgust, which set the strands of silver circles on her earlobes swirling.

“I knew I couldn’t trust those two,” she exclaimed, gesturing angrily at the TV. “For eight weeks she carries Brett and Randy’s scrawny, lazy asses and what did it get the poor girl? What?”

Kiera wasn’t certain if the woman—Mattie, according to the plastic badge on her white polo shirt—really wanted an answer, but she doubted it.

“A boot in her butt, that’s what. Lower than manure, that’s what those two jerks are.” Shaking her head, Mattie grabbed the remote and lowered the volume, then turned and stretched her bright red lips into a smile. “You checking in, honey?”

Kiera hesitated, briefly considered taking her chances that she might find a room at a hotel in town. Someplace not quite so far off the beaten path. Someplace … safer. Then she remembered how much cash she had and shook off her apprehension. “The sign said you had a vacancy.”

“Sure do.” Mattie moved to a computer monitor behind the counter. “Single or double?”

“Single.”

Mattie’s long, glossy red nails clicked over the keys. “Kitchenette?”

Kiera didn’t really plan on cooking, but, then, she hadn’t planned on being here, either. “Sure.”

“How long y’all staying?” Mattie asked.

“I—I’m not sure.” God, this was a bad idea, she thought. A really bad idea. “Maybe a week or so.”

“Name?”

Kiera shifted uneasily. She didn’t dare use her real name. At least, not her last name. “Kiera Daniels.”

The desk clerk entered the name into her computer, then printed out a form and slid it across the counter. “Credit card?”

She thought about the name on her credit card, the fact that she could easily be traced back here if she used it, not to mention the fact that the name might raise questions. “I’d, ah, like to pay cash.”

Lifting one penciled brow, Mattie glanced up. “I’ll need two night’s deposit.”

“All right.” She pulled out her wallet and opened it, felt her heart sink as she remembered most of her money was in francs, which obviously wasn’t going to help her now. She counted what usable money she had, then tentatively laid out the amount that the desk clerk had entered on the printed card. If she was very, very careful, she might last two or three days before she ran out of cash.

Mattie stared at the bills Kiera had so carefully and reluctantly counted out, then looked up again. Kiera shifted uncomfortably when the other woman studied her face.

“Husband or boyfriend?”

“Excuse me?”

“Honey, I know it ain’t none of my beeswax,” Mattie stated flatly. “But it’s hard not to notice that shiner you got there.”

Instinctively, Kiera reached up and pulled her hair forward. So much for makeup. “No—I— It’s not like that. I fell off a horse.”

Sympathy softened the harsh edges of Mattie’s eyes. “Like I said, it’s none of my beeswax. But a woman comes into my motel late at night, alone, looking like she’s been chewed up and spit out, and I can’t help it, it’s my Christian duty to ask.”

Do I really look that bad? Kiera thought, biting her lip. She glanced down at her rumpled clothes, knew her eyes were probably still red from crying, and she realized that she did look that bad.

“If you need an ear or a shoulder …” Mattie went on “ … I know a few things about men. I hear there’s a few good ones around, but, honey, my experience is most of them are asses.”

At the moment, Kiera might tend to agree with that assessment but decided against encouraging the topic. “If I could just get my key.”

“Sure.” Mattie shrugged a shoulder, dropped the money into a drawer, then held out a key. “Room 107.”

“Thanks.”

“You know,” the desk clerk said when Kiera turned. “If you decide to stick around for a while and need a job, they’re hiring at the hotel in town.”

“Thank you, but—”

“I could put a good word in for you,” Mattie offered. “My sister, Janet, is head of human resources. I’m sure she could find a spot for you.”

“I’m really not—”

“You don’t even have to have any experience,” Mattie continued. “They got all kinds of jobs open since they expanded. Between conventions and conferences and the new wedding chapel, the place is packed most of the time. I hear the new owner, Clair Blackhawk is great to work for.”

Blackhawk?

The name sucked the breath out of Kiera’s lungs. She stared at the desk clerk, had to swallow before she managed a weak reply. “Blackhawk?”

“Well, that was her name, but she got married a few weeks ago, so I’m not sure what her last name is now. Oh, wait—” Mattie snapped her fingers “—it’s Carver. Clair Carver.”

With her heart clamoring so loudly, it was hard for Kiera to concentrate. The name Carver meant nothing to her. But Blackhawk … God, was it possible? It was all she could do not to grab the desk clerk’s arm, ask her point-blank if—”

“You okay, honey?”

Kiera blinked, watched Mattie’s face come back into focus. “What?”

“You look a little pale. You feelin’ okay?”

“It’s just been a long day.” The longest of my life, she thought, and forced a smile. “I appreciate your concern, but, really, I’ll be fine.”

Mattie nodded. “You’re the last room on the left, just past the ice and vending machines. You need anything, just give me a call.”

“Thanks.”

Knees shaking, Kiera turned and walked back to her car. She wasn’t certain how long she sat there, dazed, staring blankly into the deep shadows of the poplars edging the motel. As a child, she’d always been afraid of the dark, knew that ferocious monsters lived there, waiting to swallow children whole.

At twenty-five, maybe she was still a little afraid of the dark, she realized.

When she walked back into the motel office, Mattie glanced up from the TV.

Kiera closed the door behind her. “About that job …”

When Sam Prescott made his morning rounds through the lobby of the Four Winds Hotel, bellmen straightened their shoulders, desk clerks smiled brighter, valets hustled. The entire staff of Wolf River County’s largest and most luxurious hotel knew that nothing slipped past the general manager’s penetrating gaze. The white marble floors and vast expanse of glass windows had better sparkle, the chic black uniforms be crisp, the massive floral arrangements fresh.

The sharp, sculpted planes of Sam’s face and the hard angle of his jaw played well with his thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. It was a combination that made grown women sigh and young girls giggle. Even with his football player’s chest and lean waist, Sam’s six-foot-four inch frame wore Armani well.

A few lucky women knew he wore nothing at all even better.

Joseph McFearson, the Four Winds doorman, tipped his hat when Sam approached. “Mornin’, Mr. Prescott.”

“Mornin’, Joseph.” Joseph was one of the few employees whose height—and eyes—directly met Sam’s. “How’s Isabel?”

“On a rampage our boys don’t call more often,” Joseph groused. “Says they got their father’s cold heart.”

Sam grinned. Everyone knew Joseph had a heart of gold, just as everyone knew that his wife adored him. “Give her my best.”

“Will do.” Joseph nodded, then added when Sam walked by, “Call your mother.”

I probably should, Sam thought, realizing he hadn’t talked to her for a while. Maybe he’d just send flowers. Last time he’d called her, all he’d heard was, “Samuel, you’re thirty-two years old, when are you going to stop living in hotels and give me more grandchildren?”

“Soon as I meet a girl like you,” he’d say to placate her. He had no intention of changing his bachelor status any time soon, but he knew his mother needed hope, so he gave her that much.

His rounds complete, Sam stepped into a mirrored elevator, noted the quiet, instrumental version of McCartney’s “Band On the Run” playing overhead. He had a ten o’clock briefing with Clair, an eleven-thirty lunch meeting with the publicist for the Central Texas Cattlemen’s Association, then a two o’clock appointment with the city council and the Department of Building and Safety. The Four Winds had already outgrown its original tower, and the proposal for a second, taller tower and conference center had been submitted two weeks ago.

The elevator doors had nearly closed when a hand slipped in to stop them. Long, slim fingers, no rings, short but neat unpolished nails. Automatically, he pushed the open door button.

“Sorry,” the woman muttered a bit breathlessly and stepped inside, her head down while she rummaged through a white purse.

She was taller than average, maybe five-nine, slender. Shoulder-length hair, shiny as polished coal, swept softly across her shoulders. Her suit was pale pink, the lace-edged camisole under the jacket lime-green. She’d turned away so he couldn’t see her face.

Damn, she smelled good.

“What floor?” he offered, lifting a hand to the button panel.

“I’ve got it.”

She started to punch a button on her side of the elevator, then pulled away when she saw it was already lit.

“Six?” Turn, he thought. Just a couple of inches this way …

She didn’t. “Yes, thank you.”

There was no smile in her voice. More of an I-can-handle-it-don’t-bother-me polite tone.

Discreetly, he watched her in the mirror—it was, after all, he reasoned, part of his job to notice the people in his hotel. She seemed tense. Her shoulders and back just a little too straight, the grip on her purse a little too tight. The sixth floor was all offices, which probably meant she was here for business of some sort.

He started to introduce himself when the cell phone in his jacket pocket buzzed. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. Clair.

The elevator doors opened smoothly and the woman hurried away. Sam stepped out, watched her walk down the hall, enjoyed the gentle sway of feminine hips and purposeful stride of long, sexy legs. When she paused at the door to Human Resources, he sighed. Too bad. If she was here for a job, his fantasy of soft black hair sliding over his naked chest was shattered.

Rule Number One: He did not date employees.

When his phone vibrated again, he flipped it open. “Mornin’, Boss.”

“You can be boss today, Prescott. In fact, I think I’ll just give you the Four Winds and crawl back to my bed.”

Sam frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I think the bug my nephews had last week decided to visit me, too,” she said weakly. “Will you ask Suz to reschedule my appointments?”

“Sure.” He noticed the woman was still standing outside Human Resources, though it seemed a bit odd she had put her hand on the doorknob and not moved. “You need soup or something sent over?”

“Please,” she groaned, “don’t mention food. And Jacob’s home today, so if I—oh, God, not again. Bye.”

The line clicked dead. Poor kid, Sam sympathized, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He could think of much better ways to spend a day in bed.

That thought drew his glance back down the hall. The woman was gone. He could still smell her, though. A soft, pretty fragrance that seemed to whisper in his ear.

Damn.

He’d never even seen her face.

Heaving a sigh, he glanced at his watch and headed for his office, hesitated briefly outside of Human Resources, then kept going. Since Clair had cancelled their morning meeting, this would be a good time to get a jump on the end-of-the-month reports. At the rate the Four Winds was growing, he could barely keep up with the paperwork. He didn’t have time to traipse after beautiful, mysterious women.

Halfway down the hall, he stopped.

Oh, hell, why not?

Even if she was applying for a job, she wasn’t an employee yet, he figured. He turned back around and headed back for Human Resources. He might as well satisfy his curiosity while he had the chance. No harm in putting a face to that sexy body.

He stepped into the office and glanced around. Janet’s secretary was not at her desk, and the door to the inner office was closed. The waiting room was empty.

Damn. He’d already missed her.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Sam wandered closer to the closed door.

“I see you’ve had some restaurant experience, Miss Daniels,” Sam heard Janet say. “Anything in particular?”

“Hostess, waitress, bussing,” the woman replied. “Some kitchen training.”

“Are you available nights, weekends and on call?”

Sam waited for the woman to mention a husband or children, but she didn’t, simply answered that she was available whenever she was needed.

“Miss Daniels—”

“Please, call me Kiera.”

“Kiera, you haven’t listed any references on your application. Could you give me your last place of employment?”

“No, Mrs. Lamott. I—I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

No references? Sam lowered his brow. Janet couldn’t possibly hire the woman without references.

“Kiera.” Janet’s voice softened. “My sister explained your situation to me, which is why I’m meeting with you so quickly.”

Situation? Sam leaned closer to the door. What situation?

“I appreciate it, and I assure you, I’m a hard worker and learn quickly.” Desperation edged the woman’s voice. “I’ll work any hours you ask, do whatever you need me to do, but please just give me a chance.”

Sam narrowed his eyes and frowned. He didn’t care what the woman looked like, or what her “situation” was. The Four Winds was not a charity. It was a business. They hired people based on qualifications, not because they said please.

Rule Number Two: Hotel policies applied equally to the entire staff.

Sam wished like hell he could see what was going on inside the office. He could hear both women speaking, but they’d lowered their voices and he couldn’t make out their words. His ear was all but touching the door when he heard Janet speak again.

“Can you start tomorrow?”

What? Sam raised his head, then stared at the door and frowned. Janet had actually hired this woman without any references at all?

“Yes, of course I can start tomorrow. Thank you.” The woman’s voice trembled. “Thank you so much. You won’t be sorry, I promise you.”

“Go downstairs to the lower lobby employee entrance and ask for Francine. She’ll fit you for a uniform.”

He rarely interfered with the head of a department, but there were times it was necessary. Anything that took place here at the Four Winds was ultimately his responsibility, and that included hiring and firing. He straightened, set his jaw and prepared himself to face both women. Janet might not like it, but if he had to supersede a decision, then she’d just have to—

The door opened, and his mind simply went blank.

Her face was everything he’d imagined and quite a bit more. A sensuous, delicate sculpture of high cheekbones, straight nose and wide, full mouth. Smooth, sun-bronzed skin against deep, smoky-blue eyes. Eyes that considerably widened when they met his.

The faint tinge of black and blue next to one of those bewitching eyes was like a sucker punch in his gut.

“Sam, I didn’t know you were here.” Smiling, Janet moved to the door. “This is Kiera Daniels. Kiera, Sam Prescott, general manager of the Four Winds.”

“Mr. Prescott.” Kiera’s smile never made her eyes. “How do you do.”

He took the hand she offered; it was as soft as it was warm. “We’re not formal here, Kiera. Just Sam.”

“I hired Kiera for the lunch shift at Adagio’s,” Janet said. “She’s on her way downstairs to see Francine.”

“Welcome to the Four Winds.” He realized he was still holding the woman’s hand and reluctantly let go. “I’m headed in that direction. Why don’t I show you the way?”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” Kiera hitched her purse a little higher on her shoulder. “I can find my way.”

“I’m sure you can.” He kept his gaze steady with hers. “But it’s no trouble at all.”

He saw the resistance in her eyes, knew she wanted to refuse his offer but, under the circumstances, couldn’t. He’d cornered her, and she countered with a lift of her chin and a nod.

Janet looked at Sam. “Was there something you needed?”

Something he needed? Oh, right. He had been lurking outside her office, hadn’t he? “I want to take some stats into my lunch meeting with the Cattlemen’s Association. I’d like to reassure them we have the staff to handle a convention their size.”

“No problem.” Janet’s gaze shifted to Kiera and softened. “If you have any questions, or if you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Sam set his back teeth. Obviously, Janet had let her heart rule her decision, not her head.

Rule Number Three: Do not get emotionally attached.

Which he wouldn’t. But what he would do, at least for the moment, was trust Janet’s decision.

And keep an eye on Miss Kiera Daniels himself.

“I know how busy you must be,” Kiera said politely when he walked with her in the hallway. “I hate to trouble you.”

“No trouble.” He pressed the elevator button, slipped his hands casually into his pants’ pockets. “My ten o’clock meeting was cancelled.”

Her lips pressed into a tight smile before she turned away to adjust the strap of her purse. With her attention elsewhere, he allowed himself the pleasure of drawing her scent into his lungs, held it there for a long moment.

And for reasons that had nothing to do with hotel policy, wished like hell Janet hadn’t hired her.

“In fact—” he followed her onto the elevator when the doors slid open, made a decision he was certain he’d regret “—since I’m free for the next hour, why don’t I give you a tour?”

Two

Kiera was certain she hadn’t heard him right. She cleared her throat and calmly met his eyes. Dark, intense eyes, that seemed to bore straight through her. “A tour?”

“Every person on the staff needs to know their way around the hotel.” He pushed the elevator button. “But if you haven’t the time …”

“Not at all.” Why would he do this? She’d worked in hotels before, knew perfectly well that the general manager didn’t take new employees on a tour. She also knew perfectly well she couldn’t refuse. “Now is fine.”

“Good.”

The smile he gave her made her pulse jump. Something told her that very few people—especially women—ever said no to Sam Prescott. He had a … presence, she thought. Not just his height, or the broad stretch of shoulders. Not even those lethal eyes, strong jaw and thick, espresso-brown hair.

No, it was much more than the way he looked. The first time she’d stepped into the elevator with him, she’d felt it.

Power.

The air inside the elevator had sizzled with it. She’d intentionally kept her gaze turned from him, even when she’d felt the gripping pull to look. Perhaps for self-preservation, perhaps to prove to herself that she could resist. She hadn’t even been able to breathe until she’d stepped out of the elevator.

And here she was again. Same elevator. Same man. Same sizzle.

Trey had told her on more than one occasion that she was naive. When they’d argued before she’d left the ranch, he’d told her again. So maybe she was. But she wasn’t so naive to think that Sam Prescott standing outside Mrs. Lamott’s office door was an accident. And she wasn’t so naive to think that this tour he wanted to take her on was hotel policy.

She certainly hadn’t done anything to attract this man’s unwanted attention. As far as he knew, she was simply a new employee—a waitress. There was nothing about her that should warrant interest from a general manager.

Unless he suspected she wasn’t being completely honest …

Oh, good grief, Kiera, she silently chided herself. You’re being paranoid. Of course he doesn’t suspect anything. How could he?

This has to be the slowest elevator I’ve ever been on.

“You’re not from around here,” he said flatly.

She hesitated, decided that the best way to avoid questions was to offer information. It might be useless information, but she hoped it would alleviate any apprehensions he might have about her. “I was born and raised in East Texas. Have you heard of a town called Rainville?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“It’s not exactly a tourist spot.” It wasn’t exactly where she was from, either, though it was close. “Unless you’re interested in honey.”

“Honey?”

“Rainville’s claim to fame.” When the elevator finally slid to a stop, she stepped forward. “They raise bees.”

“Really.”

When he pressed the button to keep the doors closed, then leveled those piercing eyes at her, Kiera’s stomach twisted.

“What happened to your eye?” he asked.

Her eye? Confused, she stared at him. Oh, her eye. She’d forgotten about that. She released the breath she’d been holding, waited a moment for her pulse to slow down. “I fell off a horse.”

His frown darkened. “I’m not asking to be nosy. If you have a problem that might become this hotel’s problem, I need to know.”

So that’s what he was suspicious about, she realized. Not because he knew who she was or that she lied but because of her black eye. Relief poured through her. “Everyone has problems, Mr. Prescott,” she said evenly. “But I assure you, whatever mine are, they will in no way affect my job or this hotel.”

He stared at her for a long, nerve-racking moment, then removed his finger from the button. “Sam,” he said and straightened.

The elevator doors opened and he stepped out.

On unsteady legs, she followed.

The decor at Adagio’s Ristorante was elegant and contemporary. Crisp white linens, airy palms and high ceilings invited diners to relax, while the menu invited them to indulge. Homemade fusilli, a carpaccio sauce that made even the most hardened critic shed tears and “the best crème brûlée on the northern continent,” according to one reviewer, had made the restaurant legendary in the few short years it had been open.

The fragrant scent of warm spices and fresh bread mixed with the clink of tableware. The lunch crowd was always louder than dinner, and the animated voices of hotel guests and local business owners filled the softly lit room.

Sitting in a corner booth, Sam speared a bite of the steak he’d ordered, chewed attentively while Rachel Forster, publicist for the Central Texas Cattlemen’s Association, discussed her schedule.

“I’ll be sending out a press release to all the local newspapers within a hundred-mile radius, and I have a photographer coming out next Tuesday,” Rachel said. “I’ll have him call to set up an appointment.”

It was more information than Sam really needed, but the blonde sitting across from him, young, extremely efficient and heavily armed with pages of notes, seemed determined to go over every minute detail of the upcoming conference.

“I’d also like to write an article for The Dallas Register on the Four Winds chef. I understand he’s won the Hotelier’s Choice Award three years in a row. I thought maybe I could tie that in with some kind of a Texas beef angle.”

“Chef Bartollini is on hiatus for the next six months.” Actually, he’d flown home to Italy for a family emergency, and, unfortunately, no one knew when, or if, the man would return. “Chef Phillipe Girard is with us until then.”

“Would it be possible for me to meet him?” she asked.

Not a good idea, Sam thought, but simply smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’d appreciate that, and oh, I was wondering—” she pushed her black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose and scribbled on her notepad “—I’d like to meet the new owner and get some background so I can write a story about her, as well.”

“She’s out of the office today.” Sam doubted that Clair would consent to an interview. Even though most of the people in Wolf River knew her family history, Clair wouldn’t want it printed in newspapers across the state. “Why don’t I have her secretary call you?”

When the publicist moved on to the next item on her list, transportation issues, Sam listened patiently. Well, half listened, anyway.

He glanced across the crowded restaurant to the serving station, where Kiera busily filled water glasses with ice. Francine had already fitted her with Adagio’s standard uniform: white, long-sleeved shirt and tailored black slacks. The only variation the restaurant allowed for the servers was their personal choice of tie. Kiera’s was silver, with thin stripes of white and black. She’d knotted her dark hair on top of her head and secured it with shiny red chopsticks. The style not only revealed her long, slender neck but gave her an exotic look, as well.

Unwanted, restless, something stirred in him.

The tour he’d taken her on had included the lobby, conference rooms, employee gym and wedding chapel. She’d paid attention and asked several questions regarding hotel policies but had kept a stiff, polite demeanor. In itself, that wasn’t odd, he reasoned. New employees were usually nervous around him. But with Kiera, she hadn’t seemed nervous as much as simply reluctant to be anywhere near him.

Especially when he’d questioned her about her eye.

I fell off a horse.

Who the hell did she think she was kidding with that line? She might as well have said she’d walked into a doorknob, for God’s sake. And why the hell should he believe her problems wouldn’t follow her here? Because she’d said so?

She was hiding something, that much was obvious. For now, he decided he’d simply keep an eye on her.

Which was exactly what he was doing, he thought, watching as she hefted the tray of water glasses. When she moved smoothly toward a table of noisy businessmen, the silver in her tie shimmered.

Dammit. Why the hell did he think that tie looked so damn sexy?

“Will that be possible?”

Sam realized the publicist had asked him a question, something about the banquet meals, and he snapped his attention back to her. He had no idea what the woman had said, so he flashed a smile. “I’ll personally work with the catering department to see that your every need is met.”

“Oh—” Flustered, Rachel’s face turned rose-pink. She fumbled through her papers. “Well, thank you. Ah, now if we could go over the local publicity I’ve planned, I’d like to be sure it meets with your approval.”

“Of course.” With a silent sigh, Sam dragged his mind off the woman serving water several feet away and back to his job.

“Hey, babe, I need two iced teas and one soda at table six, one coffee, one soda at eight, refills at ten and eleven.”

Kiera quickly memorized and filled the order, didn’t bother to take the time to be annoyed that Tyler, the server she’d been paired with her first day, had pretty much called her everything except her name. She understood there was a pecking order in every restaurant, and as the new girl she was going to have to take her share of hits. She’d been there before and she could handle it.

What she couldn’t handle, she thought, hefting the tray of drinks, was Sam Prescott.

He’d been watching her from that corner booth for the past hour. He hadn’t been obvious about it, but, nonetheless, she’d been very aware that he’d been keeping track of her. As if it wasn’t difficult enough that this was her first day on the job and she had to not only learn the staff’s names, the layout of the restaurant and the stations, but keep her orders straight so Tyler-honey-baby-sugar-darling wouldn’t be on her back.

While she smiled and dropped off the first order of two iced teas and a soda, she casually glanced in Sam’s direction. He sat with a cupid-faced blonde who wore thick-framed glasses and a tailored pantsuit the color of buttered toast. They appeared to be having a serious conversation, although the woman was doing most of the talking, while Sam simply listened and nodded.

She knew he didn’t trust her, and that tour he’d taken her on had been more of a fishing expedition than anything else. Even his questions hadn’t been all that subtle.

Have you been in town long? Not really.

Will your husband be joining you? No.

So what brings you to Wolf River?

She’d wanted to say, “A car,” but managed a response that was much more vague and certainly more polite. Her answers hadn’t satisfied him, but something told her that Sam Prescott was not a man who was easily satisfied.

She knew all about men like that.

His gaze suddenly lifted and met hers. The knot of stress in her stomach twisted a little tighter, but she managed to curve her lips into what she hoped looked like a smile, then moved on and finished delivering her drinks. She hadn’t even dropped off the tray in her hands before Tyler thrust another one at her.

“Take these salads to table ten. One chicken barbecue and one Caesar. And hurry it up, will you, toots? Table six is waiting for more bread.”

Toots? Kiera ground her teeth, bit the inside of her lip, then turned with the tray.

And froze.

Trey?

Kiera stared at the man talking to the hostess. His back was turned to her, but it had to be Trey. Same wavy devil-black hair, same broad shoulders, same bronzed skin. That all-too familiar stance of arrogant authority.

Oh, God. She felt the blood drain from her face. How had he found her?

“Move it, sweet cheeks.”

Startled at the sudden voice behind her, Kiera swung around too quickly and knocked the tray into Tyler. To her horror—and Tyler’s—the food went down the front of him. The tray and salad plates crashed to the ground.

“You idiot!” Tyler hissed under his breath while he swiped at the bits of shredded lettuce and diced tomatoes clinging to his white shirt and burgundy tie. Barbecue sauce dripped from his collar.

Every head in the restaurant turned her way, but Kiera only cared about one. She glanced back toward the hostess desk, locked her gaze with a pair of curious dark brown eyes.

Oh, thank God.

It wasn’t Trey.

Even as Tyler continued to berate her, overwhelming relief swam through her. Relief that quickly dissipated when Chef Phillipe Girard stepped through the double kitchen doors.

Her first thought was he looked like a rutabaga, round at the top, narrow at the bottom. Fleshy cheeks framed an oversized nose and underscored pale, deep-set eyes. A tall, black chef’s hat sat like an exclamation point on top of a sand-colored ponytail. He had a knife in one hand and an onion in the other.

Kiera had heard about the man from a couple of the other servers. She’d been warned, “Stay out of his way,” “Don’t make him mad” and double-warned, “Don’t mess with his food.”

In the span of less than thirty seconds, she’d managed to do all three.

Based on the chef’s ominous frown, Kiera had the feeling he’d like to dice and chop more than onions. He glared down his large nose at her.

“Clean this mess up immediately,” he snarled, then he turned and swept back into the kitchen.

Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Kiera bent and picked up the tray and broken salad plates.

“You’ve done it now, miss butterfingers,” Tyler hissed, still brushing bits of green and red from his shirt. “He’ll take it out on all of us and God only knows what hell he’ll put—”

“Tyler, that’s enough.”

Kiera looked up and met Sam’s somber gaze. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but when he shifted his attention to Tyler, Sam’s mouth hardened.

“It wasn’t my fault.” Tyler pursed his lips. “I was just—”

“Never mind. Go change your shirt. Christine can cover for you until you get back.”

“Yes, sir.” Tyler tossed a look of annoyance at Kiera as he flounced off.

A busboy appeared with a trash bag and hand broom. When Sam cupped a hand on her elbow, Kiera pulled away. “I’ll finish here,” she said anxiously, still picking up chunks of broken plate. “I can help with those tables, too.”

“Not necessary.” Sam wrapped his fingers around her arm, tighter this time, and pulled her up. “Come with me.”

Every bone in her body, every cell, vibrated in protest. Terrific. Just what she needed. One more lecture. He released her arm and turned away. Because she didn’t want to make a scene—again—she followed Sam through the restaurant, down a hallway of offices, then outside to a shaded back alley.

An air conditioning motor whirred and blew hot air over her feet; in the distance, church bells chimed the three o’clock hour.

She lifted her chin, prepared herself to be fired. A perfect end to the perfect day.

“What happened in there?” he asked.

“I tripped.”

He frowned at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a lousy liar?”

Trey, she thought. And Alexis and Alaina. But she sure as hell didn’t need this man telling her. Still, common sense overrode defiance, and rather than speak she pressed her lips firmly together and stared blankly at him.

“You didn’t trip, Kiera,” he said evenly. “I was watching you. Something spooked you.”

“Maybe it was you watching me.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Do I make you nervous?”

“It’s not unusual to be nervous when the boss is staring at you.”

“You have an interesting way of avoiding a direct answer to a direct question.” He studied her face. “Do I make you nervous?”

Yes, dammit, she thought. But she had no intention of admitting it. She glanced over her shoulder. “I really should be getting back to work.”

“You turned white as your blouse when you looked at Rand,” Sam replied, ignoring her comment. “Do you know him?”

“Rand?” she asked calmly, but her heart skipped a beat. Sam had obviously seen her staring at the man who looked so much like Trey. “Who is Rand?”

“There you go again.” Sighing, he shook his head. “Rand Blackhawk. He moved back to Wolf River a few months ago, got married. He’s rebuilding the family ranch outside of town.”

She gave him her best I’m-really-not-interested expression, but her heart was beating fast. “Fascinating story, but I’ve never seen him before.”

Sam moved closer. “But he looks like someone you know, doesn’t he? Someone you’re worried might find you.”

He was too close, not only in his estimation of her situation, but physically. Close enough she could see the subtle but fierce striations of deep brown in his irises, the web of lines at the corners of his eyes, the thick fringe of lashes. His scent was pure male, and the female in her reluctantly responded.

“No one is looking for me, Mr. Prescott.” For once, she could answer a question truthfully. At least, she prayed it was true. “Now if you’re going to fire me, then fire me. Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me get back to work.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then stepped back. “I’ll speak to the chef. I know he can be difficult.”

She knew that Chef Phillipe would only dislike her all the more if Sam said even one word to him about her. “Thank you, but that’s really not necessary.”

Somehow she managed to walk away without stumbling or without looking back. In the employee restroom, she let out a long breath, shook off her jitters, then washed her hands and returned to her station. The spill had been cleaned up and Tyler had changed into a clean shirt and tie. His surly attitude, however, remained the same. He glared at her and gestured to a pitcher of iced tea.

“Refills at ten and twelve, miss grace, if you think you can manage without spilling anything.”

Enough was enough.

Narrowing her eyes, Kiera moved in close to the server, stuck her face nose to nose with his and pressed a fingertip against his bony chest. “My name is Kiera. Got that? Kiera. Next time you call me anything else, next time you insult me, next time you even look at me with disrespect, you’re going to be wearing more than a few scraps of lettuce and barbecue sauce.”

Smiling, she smoothed a hand over the startled server’s clean tie, then turned and picked up the iced tea. Red-faced, Tyler moved out of her way.

So much for keeping things low key, she thought while she refilled glasses. Rand Blackhawk. She glanced at the man now sitting in a booth with a pretty redhead, then quickly looked away before she did something stupid.

Too late, she thought with a sigh, then watched Sam walk back into the restaurant.

Way too late.

Three

With the Fourth of July only two weeks away, the town of Wolf River had already tuned up to celebrate. Red-white-and-blue bunting adorned the two-story brick storefronts down Main Street, patriotic slogans welcomed tourists, posters announced an upcoming rodeo and carnival. The holiday would bring in tourists from across the country and locals as far away as Houston.

It might be a small town, but it was a busy small town.

And growing every day, Sam noted as he strolled down the sidewalk. On Main Street, the city council had carefully kept Wolf River’s country charm through strict building ordinances, but off the main drag they had slowly allowed the big city in. Three-story office buildings, two fast-food restaurants, a small water park, a multiplex theater and the most recent addition, a country-western dinner house with live entertainment and nightly line dancing. Sam had heard the rib-eye steaks were as thick as a phone book and tender as warm butter. He made a mental note to check it out for himself soon.

“Gonna be a hot one,” Fergus Crum said dryly. The old man had been pushing a broom across the sidewalk in front of the hardware store, but he stopped and rested his arthritic hands on the broom handle when he spotted Sam coming his way.

“Come by the bar after work,” Sam said as he passed. “Have a cold one on me.”

“I’ll do that.” Fergus was never one to turn down a cold beer. Or any beer, for that matter. “How ‘bout some of those onion thingies, too?”

“You got it.”

Sam nodded at a local rancher coming out of the barbershop and the man touched the brim of his cowboy hat. Even though Sam knew most of the locals, he didn’t come into town very often. He had no reason to. Most everything he needed he could get at the hotel. Food, clothes, even a car. He had few personal possessions, considered them a hindrance when it was time to pick up and move on. He kept his life—professional and personal—simple.

Exactly how he liked it.

His two-year contract with the Four Winds had been up for two months now. Clair had been pressing him to sign a new one, but he’d put her off. He figured it was about time to start putting out feelers for his next job. His entire life, he’d never lived more than three years in one place. He had no intention of breaking that record any time soon.

“Hey, handsome, where you headed?”

Sam smiled when Olivia Cameron pulled her sleek red Camaro up to the curb alongside him. The stunning redhead owned Vintage Rose, one of the antique stores in Wolf River and she’d also done the interior design on the lobby in the Four Winds.

He leaned into her open car window and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “On my way to the courthouse, gorgeous.”

Her green eyes sparkled. “You finally going to apply for our marriage license?”

“Just say the word, Liv.” They’d gone out on a couple of dates, but the chemistry hadn’t quite been there between them, so they’d settled into a more comfortable, flirtatious friendship. “We could buy one of those tract homes they’re building in Oak Meadows. Have a half dozen kids and join the PTA.”

Olivia winced. “I’ll get back to you one of these decades. Want a ride?”

He straightened and patted his stomach. “Walk will do me good.”

“As if you need it. Every woman in this town knows you work out from five to six-thirty every morning in the Four Winds gym.” Olivia gunned her engine. “Why do you think there are so many females in there at that ungodly hour?”

With a wink, Olivia shot away from the curb.

Grinning, Sam watched her disappear around the corner, wished there had been chemistry between them. Like him, the woman wasn’t looking for a commitment or a picket fence. They could have simply enjoyed each other, without worrying about the theatrics or complications of a messy breakup. Olivia could have been an enjoyable distraction.

And Lord knew, right now he certainly needed one.

He’d spent the past three days watching Kiera. Watched her effortlessly memorize the menu and wine list. Watched her skillfully serve a heavy tray of dishes without fumbling or getting an order wrong. Watched her astutely make recommendations, then offer suggestions for a complimentary wine. Already, she not only had people asking for her station but actually waiting for her.

He’d never seen anything like it.

But—to his annoyance—he hadn’t just been watching her. He’d also been thinking about her.

At the most unexpected times, he’d suddenly find himself wondering what the woman’s story was, who or what she was running away from. If she was in some kind of danger.

The bruise next to her eye had nearly disappeared, but he couldn’t get the image out of his mind. Couldn’t stop the raw fury that knotted his gut every time he thought about it. The idea of some man raising his fist and—

Realizing he had balled his own hand into a tight fist, he stopped in front of the barbershop, stared at the swirling red-white-and-blue pole. He loosened his fingers, then shook off the anger bubbling through his blood. Dammit! A walk through town on his day off should have cleared his mind and relaxed him, and here he was, barreling down the sidewalk as if he were looking for a fight.

Maybe I am, he thought with a sigh. Lord knew the woman had frustrated him enough. It was obvious she had a problem, obvious that she’d been scared to death when she’d looked at Rand Blackhawk. Obvious she was lying about something. When he’d asked her if Rand looked like someone she knew, the answer in those smoky blue eyes of hers had obviously been yes.

And obviously, she hadn’t wanted his help.

So fine. Why should that bother him?

He waited for a truck to pass, then crossed the street leading to the courthouse. As long as her problem didn’t become the hotel’s, then he’d keep his nose out of her mess. Lord knew he’d already given Kiera Daniels way too much time and thought. He was a busy man. With the upcoming conferences and events, not to mention the impending construction on the hotel, his focus needed to be on his job, not a pretty waitress.

And then suddenly that pretty waitress was walking out of the glass courthouse doors.

Surprised, he stopped beside a hedge of white blooming roses. Good God, he thought with annoyance. He couldn’t even get away from her here.

Head bent, loose-limbed, she moved down the courthouse steps, her eyes focused on a piece of paper in her hand. She wore denim as if it had been invented just for those endlessly long legs of hers. Her jeans, low on her hips and snug, were faded in all the places a man liked to look. And touch. Her white tank top dipped demurely across her collarbone and hugged her breasts, then rose just high enough from her hips to show the barest hint of smooth, flat stomach.

A drought settled in his throat.

It took a will of iron to drag his gaze upward from that enticing glimpse of skin. A frown drew the delicate line of her eyebrows together and settled into a somber line across her mouth. Her hair flowed like a black river down her shoulders. The sun glinted off the dark strands.

For a split second, he didn’t even know where he was.

He blinked hard, watched her fold the piece of paper and shove it into a black tote bag as she turned and walked in the opposite direction.

He argued with himself, lost, waited a full twenty seconds, then followed her.

The mouth-watering scent of grilling hamburgers drew Kiera toward the coffee shop on the corner. The exterior of the restaurant, shiny chrome, sleek lines and wraparound windows reminded her of the ‘57 Chevy that Mr. Mackelroy, her high school principal, used to drive. Even the color was the same, she thought. Sorbet-blue.

When she stepped inside, life-size cardboard cut-outs of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe greeted her with a sign that said Welcome To Pappa Pete’s. Kiera closed the door behind her, barely heard the jangling of the bells over the drumming of a Beach Boys song playing on an overhead speaker and the lively conversations from the lunch crowd. Locals, Kiera thought, noting the mix of families, town workers and ranch hands.

A tall, thick-boned, platinum blonde carrying four plates of burgers on one arm and two plates of French fries on the other bustled by Kiera. “Set yerself down anywhere you like, honey. Something to drink?”

Kiera smiled. “Lemonade, please.”

“Hey, Madge, what about me?” A slumped-back cowboy sitting at a counter stool held up his coffee cup. “I’m still waiting for a refill.”

“You’re still waitin’ for brains, too,” Madge shot back. “Everyone knows you were in the basement when they got handed out.”

“Yeah, well, everyone knows you were at the front door when tongues got handed out,” the cowboy quipped, which brought a round of laughter from the patrons.

“Least I got something in my skull that works.” Madge plunked the fries down on a table. “If your thinker was a mattress, an ant’s feet would stick off the sides.”

“That’s not all I heard was ant size,” someone in the front hollered, setting off a fresh round of laughter and a volley of replies. Red-faced, the cowboy got up, snatched a coffeepot from behind the counter and served himself.

While the wisecracks continued to fly, Kiera sat down at a Formica-topped table next to a window in the back. A teenage boy who hadn’t quite grown into his long legs and arms set a glass of pink lemonade in front of her. She smiled and thanked the busboy, who turned beet-red, then turned and stumbled over his own big feet. One of the ranchers teased the boy, which set in motion a new volley of quips.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was in her own hometown, sitting in the Bronco Cafe, adding her own two cents to the banter and good-natured fun. Even the smell was the same. Burgers, grease and pressed wood paneling. A good smell, she thought. Familiar. Comfortable. Since graduating college, then working her fanny off at restaurants across the country, she could probably count on one hand the times she’d even been back to the Bronco in the past six years.

Living in a small town could be difficult, she knew. The gossip, the politics, certainly the lack of privacy, all of it was a major pain in the butt. The closest city with a mall had been three hours away, the only theater showed movies two months old and the few dates she had been on had felt more like going out with a best friend or a brother.

But the camaraderie, knowing that there were always people who would pull together and help if you needed them, people who really gave a damn, was worth not only the isolation she’d often felt at Stone Ridge Ranch, but the aggravation of everyone knowing her family’s business.

And now the question was, did everyone know?

She certainly hadn’t.

With a sigh, she pulled the piece of paper out of her bag and spread it on the table in front of her, stared at the obituary, felt every word etch into her brain like acid.

William Blackhawk … local rancher, businessman and community leader … died in a small plane crash … survived by his son, Dillon Blackhawk … services to be held Thursday at Wolf River Community Church …

That was two years ago.

Two years.

She closed her eyes against the fresh wave of pain coursing through her. If she’d known then what she knew now, what would she have done?

She honestly didn’t know.

“Mind if I join you?”

Jolted out of her thoughts by the question, the terse “yes” on the edge of her tongue nearly slipped out. Her pulse jumped when she looked up.

Sam.

She prayed her hands weren’t visibly shaking as she folded the piece of paper and slipped it back into her bag. Despite the fact that she would have preferred to be alone at the moment, she couldn’t very well tell her boss to take a hike.

And since he had already slid into the booth across from her, he really hadn’t given her much of a choice, anyway.

When she glanced around the room, several curious eyes quickly looked away. Terrific. No one in the diner knew who she was, but everyone in the place surely knew who Sam Prescott was. Before the day was over, Kiera had no doubt that rumors of the Four Winds general manager having an afternoon rendezvous with an unknown woman would be burning up the phone lines.

Sam followed her gaze. “You expecting someone?”

“No.” She looked back at him, took in the street clothes he wore. She’d thought him handsome in a suit. Confident. Absolutely unwavering and completely sure of himself. But it had nothing to do with clothes, she realized, taking in the stretch of black T-shirt across his broad shoulders and muscled arms. Apparently, the rumors she’d heard about him working out in the gym every morning were true. “I was just running errands and stopped in for something to eat.”

“You picked the right place.” He leaned in close and whispered, “Best hamburger in town, though if you tell anyone I said so, I’ll deny it.”

The smile on his mouth disarmed her, had her whispering back, “I think I can manage to keep a secret.”

“Yeah.” He studied her for a moment. “I think you can.”

She stilled at his comment, arched an eyebrow and settled back in her chair. “You sure you aren’t here for fish, Mr. Prescott?”

Smiling, he settled back in his chair, as well.

An unseen cook in the kitchen dinged three times on a bell to signal an order was up.

Round one, Kiera thought absently.

“So how’s it going?” Sam asked.

“I assume you’re referring to my job.”

“Of course.”

She picked up her lemonade, sipped. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Okay.” He folded his hands on the table and straightened his shoulders. “Your ratio of tables to gross and time are in the ninetieth percentile and an initial review of customer comments is exceptional.”

In spite of the deep, official tone of his voice, Kiera saw the glint of a rogue in Sam’s eyes. “Sounds like I should ask for a raise.”

“I’m afraid that request would be denied. You’ve had two complaints filed against you.”

“What!” Lemonade sloshed over the rim of her glass and ran down the front of her tank top; a sliver of ice slid under the cotton neckline and into her bra. Frowning, she grabbed a napkin.

He signaled for the busboy. “Tyler says you’re difficult to work with.”

Tyler’s an ass, she nearly said, but managed to bite her tongue. She’d worked with jerks like him before. He was a good waiter, but he kissed up to the manager and chef, patronized the rest of the staff and gossiped worse than a tabloid columnist.

She had nothing to gain by defending herself or acknowledging the waiter’s complaint had even the tiniest bit of merit. Nor did she have anything to gain by retaliating. Sooner or later, Tyler would have to face retribution.

Too bad she wouldn’t be around to see it.

“Hey, Mr. Prescott.” The busboy appeared beside the table. “You want coffee or—”

Sam watched the dazed expression fall over the teenager’s face when his eyes dropped to the front of Kiera’s damp tank top. The boy’s jaw went slack.

“Eddie,” Sam prompted.

No response.

Sam sighed. It wasn’t that he blamed the kid for staring. Hell, it was all he could do not to stare himself. Kiera was too busy dabbing at her chest to notice that she’d attracted the attention of most of the men in the restaurant.

“Eddie,” Sam repeated.

“Huh?” The busboy blinked and looked at Sam.

“The towel?”

“Oh, sure, Mr. Prescott.” Eddie grabbed the towel from the waistband of his apron and reached out as if to wipe the front of Kiera’s chest.

Sam moved quicker than the boy and grabbed the towel away. Realizing what he’d almost done, Eddie blushed deeply.

“I think we can manage now, thanks.” Sam handed the towel to Kiera. “How ‘bout you just bring me that cup of coffee?”

“Sure, Mr. Prescott.” Eddie glanced at Kiera and swallowed hard. “You, ah, need anything, miss?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Kiera managed a smile. “I just spilled some lemonade, that’s all.”

“I—I’ll get you some more,” he stammered. “You need some water, too? ‘Cause I could go get that, case that might stain or something, or maybe you want some club soda—”

“Edward Morrison!” Madge stormed up behind the boy. “Stop drooling over that girl and go get Sam here some coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eddie cast one last, puppy-dog look at Kiera.

“Sometime before Christmas?” Madge barked, then shook her head when the boy shuffled off. “What do you think, Sam? You’re the big business expert here. Should I fire him?”

“Absolutely.”

Kiera’s mouth dropped open.

“I’ll give him the boot after he brings your coffee.” Madge grabbed the pencil she’d stuck over her ear. “The boy’s a pain-in-the-butt, anyway. So what’ll you have today? The usual?”

“We both will,” Sam replied. “Extra cheese.”

“Wait—”

“You got it.” Madge scribbled on her order pad, then stuck her pencil behind her ear and snatched up the menu on the table.

Kiera called after the waitress again, but Madge was too busy hollering the order to the cook to hear.

“How could you do such a thing?” Kiera said through clenched teeth. “He’s just a kid, a sweet kid, who was just trying to be helpful.”

The “sweet” kid reappeared with a mug in one hand and pot of coffee in the other. If he’d been looking at the mug instead of Kiera when he poured, Eddie might have even managed to get some of the coffee in the cup. He jumped when he realized he’d missed, reached for his towel, only to remember he’d given it to Kiera.

“Sorry, Mr. Prescott,” Eddie apologized. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ve got it.” Kiera was already wiping the spill up. “It was just a drop.”

“I’ll get another towel,” Eddie said and hurried—well, for Eddie it was hurried—off. Sam stared at his empty coffee cup, the mess on the table, then looked back up at Kiera. He gave her an I-told-you-so look.

“Don’t you dare get that boy fired.” She put her hands on the table and leaned forward. Outrage sparked in her blue eyes and flushed her cheeks pink. “You call the owner back here right now and tell her you were just kidding or so help me I’ll—”

Kiera stopped suddenly, pressed her mouth into a thin line.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’ll what?”

He could almost hear Kiera doing battle in her brain.

Her need to defend a slow, clumsy busboy warring with her need to tell her boss off.

“You’ll what?” he asked again, lowering his voice. He was dying to know.

“Please.” Her fury dissipated like smoke in a breeze. “Please, don’t.”

He might have strung her along another minute or two, but the desperate look in her eyes, the soft, pleading tone in her voice, took all the fun out of it. “Kiera, Eddie is Madge’s son. She fires him at least once a day. Sometimes twice.”

“Madge’s son?” Kiera glanced at the busboy, who’d already forgotten about bringing a towel and was busy posturing for a cute teenage girl who’d just walked in the front door.

Sam nodded. “The youngest of six boys.”

Kiera’s eyes widened. “She has six boys?”

“Yep.” He watched Madge come up behind her son and grab his earlobe, then drag him into the kitchen, lecturing him the whole way. “And she can say whatever she likes about any one of them, but if she hears someone else say anything close to criticism … well, let’s just say you wouldn’t want to be within ten yards. When her temper’s up, the woman moves a lot quicker than you’d think.”

“I believe you,” Kiera said, then met his gaze. “I … I’m sorry. I guess I got a little carried away.”

It struck him how incredibly beautiful she’d looked a moment ago—her face animated with anger, her chin lifted with indignation—and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what all that intensity of emotion and energy would be like in bed.

His bed.

The image of Kiera naked, underneath him, her body arching upward into his—

Madge slid a mug of steaming coffee in front of Sam and frowned. “What is it about teenage boys and hormones that makes them dumb as a post?”

And then she was off again, shaking her head as she walked back to the kitchen, obviously not looking for an answer.

Teenage boys have nothing on us big boys, Sam thought, thankful to have his mind diverted from his fantasy of Kiera. When he glanced at her, he could see she was smiling while she sipped on her lemonade.

He couldn’t figure her out. The day she’d dropped the tray of drinks, she wouldn’t say one word to defend herself, but today, when she thought that a busboy was going to get the axe, she’d wanted to reach across the table and rip out his liver.

The woman absolutely fascinated him.

“So are you going to tell me?” she asked.

“Tell you?”

“You said there were two complaints.”

“Oh, right.” In spite of her cool tone, he could see the tension in the rigid line of her shoulders. “Chef Phillipe said you questioned his authority.”

“Did he?” Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Did you?”

She shrugged. “I simply suggested he might have put too much thyme in his chicken kiev.”

Sam wasn’t certain he’d heard her right. In the two months the replacement chef had been with Adagio’s, no one on staff in the restaurant had ever questioned him. They wouldn’t dare. When it came to his kitchen, the man was a tyrant. “You told Chef Phillipe that he put too much thyme in his chicken?”

“I’m sure it was a mistake,” Kiera said.

“You bet it was a mistake.”

She frowned. “I meant the chef’s mistake.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “How do you know he used too much thyme?”

She hesitated, took a long sip of her lemonade. “I could smell it.”

“You smelled it?” He was amazed that the chef hadn’t stuffed Kiera in the pantry and put a double padlock on the door.

“I have an extraordinary sense of smell and taste.”

She definitely had an extraordinary smell, Sam thought. From the first moment she’d stepped into the elevator, he’d been captivated by her scent. And her taste … his gaze dropped to her mouth. Right now she’d taste like pink lemonade, and dammit if he didn’t want to lick that tart sweetness off those enticing lips. He tried his best not to think about the path the spilled lemonade had taken under her tank top. Tried not to wonder what it would feel like to taste that lemonade on her skin, her breasts …

He tossed back a gulp of coffee, though what he really needed was a tall glass of iced water—poured directly below his belt.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, carefully setting her glass on the table. “I shouldn’t have said anything to Chef Phillipe. I was out of place. I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

Her contrite tone bothered him much more than anything else she’d said or done. He’d caught a glimpse of the fire simmering just under her surface, an intensity that she clearly kept tamped down.

He wanted to know why, dammit. Wanted to know what it was she was so obviously running away from. Why she needed to keep herself so controlled and distant.

It might not be today, he mused.

But he intended to find out.

Four

“Mrs. Carver is just finishing up a phone call, Miss Daniels. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Kiera managed a smile at the middle-aged brunette receptionist, then sat stiffly on the tan leather sofa. Afraid that her knees might start knocking, she gripped her thighs and held them tightly.

She was about to meet Clair Carver.

Clair Blackhawk.

A knot the size of a trucker’s fist twisted in her stomach.

She’d been setting up her lunch station not even ten minutes ago when the restaurant manager, Christine, gave her the message to report to Clair’s office. Kiera’s first thought was that there’d been more complaints filed against her. Tyler had lightened up a little, but Chef Phillipe had been storming about the kitchen since she’d called him on his faux pas. She’d done her best to keep her opinions to herself, be polite and stay out of the chef’s way, but if he wasn’t barking orders at her, he was muttering under his breath about mindless, insipid waitresses.

Obviously, the man held a grudge.

Still, Kiera seriously doubted that Clair would handle a problem between a chef and a waitress. Normally, owners didn’t get involved in the day-to-day operations of a larger hotel. They had staff for that.

Which led to her second, and definitely more frightening, thought.

Clair knows who I am.

The fist in her stomach twisted tighter.

But how could she?

Sam?

As careful as she’d been to cover her tracks, if he’d been curious enough, if he’d dug deep enough and made the right phone calls, it was possible he might have learned who she was. Maybe even why she was here. But it was doubtful. And he certainly hadn’t seemed curious. Or even interested, for that matter. In fact, for the past four days, since they’d had lunch together at Pappa Pete’s, he’d barely even looked at her. She wasn’t certain if she was relieved or disappointed.

Both, she decided.

There was no question she was attracted to the man. Butterflies-in-the-stomach attracted. Can’t-stop-thinking-about-him attracted.

Fantasy attracted.

When she least expected it, they’d sneak up on her. Those insidious little erotic daydreams. Bare, hot skin against bare, hot skin. Arms and legs intertwined. Busy hands, rushing lips. Sometimes her fantasy involved a bed, sometimes an elevator. In his office—on his desk—was her personal favorite. Sizzling, no-holds-barred sex. Wild. Frantic. Spontaneous. He was as mad for her as she was for him, reaching, gasping …

“Miss Daniels?”

She jumped at the receptionist’s voice, blinked quickly. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?” A frown wrinkled the woman’s brow. “You look a little flushed.”

Darn it! Kiera touched a hand to her cheek, felt the warmth there grow warmer still. “Do I?”

The receptionist nodded. “I heard there might be something going around.”

Knowing the effect Sam had on women, Kiera didn’t doubt there was a lot of what she had going around. “I’m fine, thank you. Really.”

“Miss Daniels, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

Kiera froze at the sound of the feminine voice behind her. It was one thing to imagine meeting Clair, quite another to actually do it.

Breath held, heart pounding, Kiera slowly turned.

Thick, dark brown hair skimmed the shoulders of her lime-colored jacket, framed her high cheekbones and wide mouth. Her skin had the barest kiss of bronze, suggesting her obvious Native American heritage wasn’t full-blooded. And her eyes—Kiera stared at Clair’s smiling gaze—they were blue. Deep blue.

“Thank you for coming.” Clair moved into the room. “I’m Clair Carver.”

Kiera watched the woman close the distance between them and felt a moment of panic. Trey was right. I never should have come here. No good could possibly come of it. She rose too quickly, awkwardly accepted the hand Clair offered.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carver.”

“Mrs. Carver,” Clair repeated dreamily, her lips curving wider. “Even after six weeks of marriage, I haven’t quite gotten used to the sound of it. But please, call me Clair.”

Kiera managed a weak smile and nodded. “Kiera.”

“Mary—” Clair glanced at the slender gold watch on her wrist “—why don’t you take your lunch now? I can handle things by myself here for a little while.”

“Mr. Carver told me not to—”

“Never mind what Jacob told you.” Softly scolding, Clair tilted her head. “I’m feeling fine now and you both need to stop worrying about me.”

Shaking her head in defeat, the receptionist slid her glasses off and picked up her purse. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

“You’ll be back in one hour, not one minute before, or I’ll tell Albert in Shipping that you have a crush on him.”

“I most certainly do not!” Mary puffed up like an agitated hen, then lowered her brow with worry. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

“One hour,” Clair said firmly, then smiled at Kiera. “After you.”

The spacious inner office, a mix of contemporary and Western decor, was warm and welcoming. Native American–themed watercolors and bronze statues decorated the walls and shelves. A smooth granite fountain bubbled softly in one corner, and two ficus trees flanked the floor-to-ceiling glass window that overlooked the pool and courtyard.

“Please, sit.” Clair waved a hand toward one of the tan leather armchairs in front of a glass-topped cherry-wood desk. “Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee or water? I have some tea, if you like chamomile.”

Kiera took the chair closest to the door. “No, thank you.”

“I’m sorry I pulled you away from your shift.” Clair sat at her desk. “I know how busy the restaurant gets at lunch.”

If she’s going to lecture or fire me, Kiera thought, she certainly is being polite about it. “Not for another half hour.”

“Normally, I would have come down and introduced myself to you right away, but I’ve been a little under the weather for the past few days.”

She did look a little tired, Kiera thought, and her cheeks were slightly pale. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“I seem to be over the worst of it now.” Leaning back in her chair, Clair narrowed her eyes. “Have we met before?”

Kiera tensed, but managed to keep her tone calm. “Have you ever been to Rainville?”

“Rainville? I don’t think so.” Clair shook her head thoughtfully. “You look so … familiar, though I’m not sure why.”

“I probably just look like someone else.”

“Maybe.” There was still doubt in Clair’s voice, but she shrugged it off. “Anyway, I don’t want to keep you, so I should get to the point. I received a phone call regarding you this morning.”

Oh, God, she does know, Kiera thought. But with her throat closing up on her, she couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried.

“Apparently,” Clair said, “you’ve impressed my sister-in-law.”

“Your sister-in-law?”

“One of them.” Clair smiled. “Grace is married to Rand. She comes here for lunch quite often. You’ve waited on her a couple of times this past week. She couldn’t stop talking about how terrific you are. I decided I wanted to meet you myself.”

That’s why Clair had called her here? Because her sister-in-law had said something nice about her? Kiera felt a bubble of hysterical laughter threaten to rise, but she quickly swallowed it back down. “I—I appreciate that. But really, I’m just doing my job.”

“According to Grace, you were doing much more than your—”

Clair stopped suddenly, raised a hand to her temple and closed her eyes.

“Mrs. Carver?” Kiera leaned forward. “Are you all right?”

“I—I thought I was,” she said breathlessly. “But maybe not.”

Kiera stood. “I’ll get your receptionist.”

“No!” Clair opened her eyes and held up her hand. “No, please.”

“I really should—”

“Just give me a minute.” Clair laid her head back. “It’s nothing, just a little wave of nausea. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Her own nervousness forgotten, Kiera spotted a pitcher of water sitting on a console, hurried over and filled a glass, then quickly moved to Clair’s side. “In fact, you’re quickly approaching the color of your jacket, which I love, by the way. Vera Wang?”

Clair smiled weakly and nodded. “I did a little shopping on my honeymoon.”

“Just sip.” Kiera held out the glass, studied Clair’s face for a moment, then, without thinking, asked, “How far along are you?”

“Far along?” Clair stared blankly at her. “What do you mean?”

Darn it! Why did she have to always speak before she thought? One more thing Trey was right about.

“Nothing. Here, just sip on this.”

“You thought I was pregnant?”

Afraid to answer, Kiera shifted uneasily.

“I’m not pregnant.” Clair laughed and shook her head. “I just had a little bug last week and I can’t seem to shake it. My nephews had it, too.”

Mentally kicking herself, Kiera forced a smile and started to back away. “It probably is just a bug. There’s always something going around.” Like foot-in-mouth-disease. “I appreciate you inviting me up here, but I should probably get back to work now.”

“Wait.” Clair reached out and grabbed Kiera’s arm. “Why—what made you think that?”

“I was way out of line,” Kiera said, wishing she could be anywhere but here at this moment. “Of course you’d know if you were pregnant. Just forget I said anything.”

Clair’s hand tightened on Kiera’s arm. “I’m not upset or offended. Really, I’m not. Please, just tell me what made you think that?”

Since it was too late to take the words back or escape, Kiera simply sighed and resigned herself to her fate.

“Well,” Kiera said hesitantly, “I’ve been around a lot of pregnant women. The last restaurant I worked in, three of the servers there were expecting at the same time. They all had that same pale-green tint in their face as you do, the same unexpected wave of nausea that would come and go. I guess I just got pretty good at recognizing ‘the look.’”

“And I—” Clair bit her lip “—I have that look?”

Kiera slowly nodded.

“Oh, my God.” Clair sank back into her chair. Wide-eyed, she stared blankly out the window. “It’s possible. There was that one time …”

Clair’s gaze flashed back to Kiera. “Please don’t say anything about this to anyone. I want to be sure, and if I am I have to tell Jacob first.”

Kiera nodded, couldn’t help but note the irony of the situation. “Of course.”

“Oh, no—” the green tint in Clair’s face deepened “—here it comes again.” She slapped her fingers to her mouth and jumped up. “I’ll be right back, don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”

Clair didn’t wait for an answer, just hurried to a door at the back of her office and ran through it.

Kiera rolled her head back and groaned softly. The last thing she’d wanted to do was call attention to herself, but, between doing her job well and having a loose tongue, she’d practically screamed to be noticed.

With a heavy sigh, she started to turn and sit back down, but a grouping of silver framed photographs on Clair’s shelves caught her attention.

Family photos.

Almost afraid to look, but knowing she had to, Kiera moved closer. There were several pictures, but one of them practically leaped off the shelf at her. Her pulse quickened as she picked up the photo and stared at it. Clair sat on the top rail of a corral fence; two men stood on either side. One of the men Kiera recognized—Rand Blackhawk. They were all smiling, not a posed smile, but one of those shots where someone with a camera sneaks up and captures the essence of the moment on film.

Kiera’s fingers tightened on the frame. All three shared the same golden, bronzed skin, the same high cheekbones. The same thick, dark hair.

So familiar. So incredibly familiar.

Beyond William Blackhawk’s obituary, Kiera hadn’t been able to find out anything about the Blackhawk family. It wasn’t as if it was a subject that came up with the few people she’d had contact with in this town. If she started asking questions, there was no doubt in her mind she’d draw unwanted attention. Of course, she’d already done that in spades.

“Hi.”

Kiera whirled at the sound of Sam’s deep voice close behind her. The photo slipped from her hands as she turned, and she could do nothing to stop its descent. She watched the frame bounce off the plush carpeting, then fall open, spilling the glass, the back cover and the photo onto the floor.

Horrified, Kiera dropped to her knees.

“Sorry.” Sam knelt beside her, reached for the frame as she reached for the photo. “I guess you didn’t hear me knock. I thought Clair was in here.”

“She is—she was—she’ll be back shortly.” Carefully, she lifted the overturned photo, stared at the names handwritten on the back: Rand, Lizzie, Seth, at the Double B.

“Lizzie?”

She hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but the name slipped out.

“Clair’s birth name is Elizabeth Blackhawk.” Sam slid the glass back into the frame. “Her parents died when she was little and she was adopted by a family in South Carolina.”

Her parents died when she was little … Kiera let the words sink in. “Clair was adopted?”

“It’s a little complicated.” Sam took the picture from her, dropped the picture and backing into the frame and held it up. “There we go. No damage done.”

No damage done? If only that were true. She couldn’t seem to stop the sudden, uncontrollable shaking. She had another piece of the puzzle now, but the picture still made no sense.

“Hey.” Frowning, Sam set the frame back on the shelf and took hold of her arms. “It’s all right.”

It wasn’t all right, she thought. Nothing was right. It had nothing to do with a dropped frame, but she couldn’t tell him that.

And why did she suddenly want to?

Because she was weary of the charade. Of the lies. Of feeling so damn alone.

Through the fabric of her blouse, she felt the warmth of his large hands, felt his strength. This was crazy. More like insane. Kneeling on the floor in Clair’s office, Sam’s fingers wrapped around her arms. So close … so damn close …

Lifting her gaze to his, she met the intensity of his eyes.

His hands tightened on her arms, his mouth flattened into a hard, thin line. She couldn’t breathe, was afraid if she did she’d lose this moment she so badly needed.

Time slowed; her heart raced. She heard everything around her: the quiet ripple of water from the fountain; the faint tick of a desk clock; the distant laughter of children by the pool downstairs. The sounds surrounded her, enclosed her in a world of her own. A world where nothing else existed but her and this man she’d been fantasizing about for days.

Of course, none of her fantasies had been on the floor in Clair’s office, she thought dimly. But even that didn’t seem to hinder the response she was having to Sam’s touch.

This was so wrong, so completely inappropriate, and even that didn’t seem to stop her from wanting this. From wanting him.

Sam’s hands tightened even more firmly on her arms; a muscle jumped at the corner of one eye. He made a low, angry sound, then dropped his mouth on hers.

The moment his lips covered hers, right or wrong or inappropriate was no longer an issue. Nothing mattered, nothing at all, other than the feel of his mouth on hers.

She tasted his frustration, his anger. His need. He crushed his lips over hers, demanding, insistent. Sensations ripped through her, overwhelming, intense. Her hands clutched his suit lapels, fisted. She leaned into him, into the sheer desire gripping her. Her fantasies had been nothing compared to this. Not even close. How could they have been?

Sam jerked his head back and loosened his grip on her. “Kiera.”

Dazed, and definitely confused, she slowly opened her eyes. His face appeared to be cut in steel, his narrowed gaze fierce. He rose, pulling her with him, then dropped his hands from her arms.

She stared at him, struggled to gain the control that he’d so easily attained. Knowing that she’d practically begged him to kiss her, she felt like a fool.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said, but her heart was still pounding hard, her breath still frayed. “I—”

“Sorry I took so long.” Clair stepped back into the office, stopped short. “Oh, Sam, you’re early.”

“I didn’t realize you were with someone.” Calmly, he bent and retrieved the frame still lying on the carpet. “I’ll come back.”

“That’s not necessary.” Kiera felt the heat of her blush on her cheeks, watched Clair glance curiously between her and Sam. “I was just leaving.”

“Actually, Kiera …” Clair said, her tone reserved “ … if you don’t mind, I need another minute of your time.”

Dammit! Kiera bit the inside of her lip. As if it wasn’t bad enough she’d made a fool out of herself with Sam, she was about to get a reprimand on employee-employer relationships. “All right.”

“Thank you.” Clair glanced at Sam. “We won’t be long.”

He hesitated, then reluctantly turned and left the room.

Kiera squared her shoulders and faced Clair.

“You said you lived in a small town, didn’t you?” Clair asked.

Not exactly what Kiera had expected Clair to say. “Yes.”

Clair moved to the window and stared down at the pool. “Working at the Four Winds, being here day in and day out, it’s just like a small town. We all get to know each other very well. Maybe a little too well.”

Here it comes … Kiera held her breath.

“It’s not easy when everyone knows your business,” Clair said. “Sometimes even before you know it.”

How well Kiera understood—and agreed with—that. But she simply nodded.

“I realize this is an imposition.” Biting her lip, Clair turned. A mixture of fear and hope lit her eyes. “But I need to ask a favor of you.”

Five

Sam sat in his car and stared at the Shangri-La’s brilliant pink neon sign. Like the beat of a song, the last two letters flickered steadily, blinking in and out … La … La … La … grating on his nerves. He tapped impatiently on his steering wheel.

Where the hell was she?

It was seven-fifteen, for God’s sake. He knew her lunch shift had ended almost two hours ago. On the hotel security monitor, he’d watched her walk to her white sedan in the employee garage and drive away. Even with a traffic jam—which was virtually nonexistent in Wolf River—it wouldn’t have taken her more than five minutes to drive here.

Dammit.

Heat lingered from the blistering day and radiated off the asphalt parking lot, cutting a sharper edge on his foul mood. You’ve gotten soft, Prescott, he told himself irritably. When he’d been in the Army, he’d run reconnaissance in a South American jungle, where mosquitoes were big enough to throw a saddle on and the humidity was so thick you could drink it. He’d lain patiently in bug-infested swamps for hours, even dodged a few bullets.

If he could, he’d take those swamps and bullets over sitting here in this damn car, in this damn parking lot, any day.

He swiped at the sweat on his brow, thankful he’d at least changed into a T-shirt and jeans before he’d driven over here. Even after eight years in the hotel business, he’d never completely got used to the daily suit-and-tie routine. But, like the Army, he knew it was the uniform for the job so he dealt with it.

He glanced at his wristwatch again, was annoyed that only two minutes had passed since the last time he’d looked.

La … La … La …

He tapped harder, gritted his teeth, then looked up when he heard the crunch of gravel under tires. A white sedan had pulled into the motel driveway. About damn time. He reached for his keys, swore when he saw the driver of the car. Male, balding, thick glasses. Big nose.

Wrong white sedan.

With a heavy sigh, he settled back again, seriously considered leaving, going back to the motel and having a good stiff drink at the bar. Forget that today had ever happened.

Right. Nothing short of death or complete amnesia could make him forget he’d kissed Kiera.

It infuriated him he’d lost control like that. Stepped over—hell, jumped over—all boundaries. He’d been so damn careful to stay away from her the past few days. Had made a point not to speak to her, or even look in her direction, for that matter. And then in the blink of an eye, he’d blown his hard-won restraint to smithereens.

What the hell was he supposed to do when she’d looked up at him with those sexy blue eyes? When she’d softly parted those enticing lips? When she’d swayed toward him. Walk away?

Hell, yes.

That’s exactly what he should have done.

Frowning, he raked his fingers over his scalp. In spite of what some people thought, he was human.

And stupid, he thought darkly. Not only because he’d kissed her, but because—of all places—he’d kissed her in Clair’s office.

Clair hadn’t said word to suggest she’d seen, or suspected anything had happened between Kiera and him. But during their meeting with the Four Winds architect, when they’d been studying the blueprints for the new tower, Sam had caught Clair—more than once—staring blankly across the table. As if her mind were somewhere far away.

Sam knew his lack of protocol could potentially put Clair and the hotel’s reputation in an awkward situation. Sexual harassment claims and lawsuits were hardly good for business. Because he’d never stepped over that boundary before, it had never been an issue for him.

Until Kiera.

He wished he knew what it was about the woman that intrigued him to the point of distraction. She was pretty—beautiful, even. And sexy, for damn sure. He wished the attraction were as simple as that. If it were, it would pass quickly enough. But something, some little, annoying itch between his shoulder blades, told him it was more than that. Much more.

He sighed, sank down farther in his seat. Maybe it was the mystery surrounding her, he thought. Maybe when he’d seen that black eye, some primal need to protect had been awakened. Or maybe he’d simply been without female companionship longer than he was accustomed to. Of all the reasons, he preferred that one. It was the easiest to rectify.

He straightened suddenly, spotted her across the parking lot, getting out of her car, her arms loaded with brown grocery bags. She’d driven right past him and he hadn’t even seen her!

So much for his reconnaissance expertise.

By the time he came up behind her, she had her key in her hand and was juggling the bags in her arms while she reached to unlock her door.

“I’ll get it.”

With a gasp, she jerked her head up and stared wide-eyed at him. “Sam!”

He took the bags from her, nodded at the door when she just stood there, staring at him. “You going to open it?”

“What? Oh, yes.” It took her a moment to fit the key into the lock. When she opened the door, she turned and blocked the doorway, reached for the bags. “This really isn’t a good time, maybe you can—”

“I’m coming in, Kiera.”

She hesitated, then stepped to the side.

The room was spacious, with a small kitchenette, chrome dining table, box-shaped tweed sofa and a rust-colored armchair. Over the sofa, a large, framed print of a sunny, palm tree–lined beach attempted—unsuccessfully—to brighten up the drab room. An open door to the right of the sofa led to the bedroom.

He jerked his gaze away. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was the bedroom.

He set the groceries on the Formica kitchen counter, caught the scent of fresh herbs wafting from one of the bags, noticed two wine bottles in another. “Are you expecting company?”

She stood by the still-open door, white-knuckling the doorknob. “Why do you ask?”

“Why are you answering a question with a question?”

At the sound of a car pulling into a parking space close by, Kiera quickly glanced outside, then shut the door. “Just because I’m cooking doesn’t mean I’m expecting anyone.”

Again, she hadn’t answered his question. “You have two bottles of wine.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you the wine police?”

When he frowned at her, she sighed, then moved into the kitchen and lifted a bottle of cheap Bordeaux out of the bag.

“One’s for drinking, one’s for cooking.” She plucked a corkscrew out of a drawer. “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here.”

“All right.” He watched her effortlessly open the bottle. The dark, tangy scent of the red wine drifted across the counter. “I want to know if you’d like to file a complaint.”

“Yes, I would.” She pulled a frying pan out of a cupboard under the stovetop. “This frying pan is too small.”

“Dammit, Kiera.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Assuming you’re referring to our little breach of conduct this afternoon, of course I don’t want to file a complaint.” She set the pan on the stove and met his gaze. “Sam, we’re both adults. What happened … just happened, that’s all.”

“That’s all you have to say?” he said tightly. “‘It just happened?’”

“What do you want me to say?” With a shrug, she fumbled in one of the bags, pulled out fresh herbs, butter and an onion.

What did he want her to say? he wondered. Her answer should have relieved, not annoyed him. If he had half a brain, he’d be done with this, with her, and get the hell out now.

Apparently, he wasn’t that smart.

“I kissed you, Kiera,” he said, stating the obvious. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Because you’re my boss?”

“Of course because I’m your boss.” His annoyance increased when she didn’t answer him but grabbed a knife instead and sliced off a chunk of butter, then dropped it into the pan.

“And what if you weren’t my boss?” she said casually, then reached for the basil.

His pulse jumped at her comment. He couldn’t tell if she was playing one of those coy, female games, or if she was seriously asking him a question. He watched her chop the basil, smelled the pungent scent of the spice filling the room. Dammit! Why can’t I read her?

“If I wasn’t your boss,” he said slowly, evenly, “I’d have done a hell of a lot more than kiss you.”

In spite of her resolve to be nonchalant, Kiera couldn’t stop the winged stutter in her heart. She shouldn’t have asked him that, knew her question was playing with fire. But somehow the words had just slipped out, and there was no taking them back now.

And if—for once—she was going to be truthful, she didn’t want to take them back.

Her stomach jumped when he moved around the counter toward her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare. If she did, he’d certainly see everything she was thinking. Everything she was feeling. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet, she thought. It was too soon.

“Are you thinking about quitting?” He moved closer. “Or are you suggesting something else?”

Something else? She glanced up sharply as she realized what he meant, felt her cheeks warm. She supposed her question did sound like some kind of a proposition to have a secret affair or be a kept woman. She lifted her chin. “Of course I’m not suggesting anything else.”

“What if I did?”

She stilled at his words, not certain if she should be insulted or excited. “What if you did what?”

“For starters—” he reached down and took the knife from her hand, laid it on the cutting board, then reached for her “—this.”

His mouth covered hers. A hot, hungry kiss that stole her breath, sent her pulse racing and her mind spinning. And there it was again. Absolute pleasure, intense need. It streaked through her like liquid lightning, setting her skin on fire. She met the moist heat of his tongue with her own, slid her hands up the rock-solid wall of his chest. A moan rose from deep in her throat, hummed through her entire body. She was powerless to stop it, so she gave herself up to the feeling, let it melt through and consume her.

Wonderful, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck.

So wonderfully wonderful.

He dragged her closer, deepened the kiss, maneuvered her between him and the Formica counter. She reveled in the feel of his hard, powerful body pressed tightly against hers. No one had ever kissed her like this before. Had ever made her feel such raw, wild need. It frightened and thrilled her at the same time. The kiss this afternoon had simply been an appetizer, she realized, a precursor to the main course.

She clutched at his back, rose on her toes to get closer.

Shifting his weight, he slid his hands down her spine and cupped her bottom. She heard a deep, low growl in his throat, then gasped when he suddenly lifted her up onto the counter and stepped between her legs. The paper bag behind her spilled over, and through the blood pounding in her head, she vaguely heard the oranges she’d bought roll onto the floor and bounce. She didn’t care. With Sam’s kisses spinning her world out of control, how could she?

His mouth left hers and she whimpered, drew in a sharp breath as his lips blazed kisses over her jaw to her ear. She rolled her head back, bit her lip when his teeth nipped her earlobe, then moved to her neck. Fire raced over her skin, pulsated at the juncture of her thighs. His lips and teeth teased and explored, but his mouth wasn’t the only part of him that was busy. His hands worked her shirt from her waistband, then quickly slid underneath.

She quivered, lost herself to the mind-numbing sensations of his skin on hers. His palms were rough and when they cupped her breasts, she arched her back. He mumbled something, lowered his head to nuzzle. Gasping, she braced her arms on the counter behind her, and in some dim recess of her mind felt the small, plastic-wrapped box under her fingers.

And remembered what she’d bought.

When she stiffened, he raised his head.

“What?” he asked, his voice husky and deep.

“Nothing.” She closed her hand around the box, tried to push it back into the paper bag, but the bag moved away and fell on the floor.

Oh, hell.

With a frown, he straightened and glanced behind her back.

She watched his eyes narrow, then his mouth press into a hard line when he saw what was in the box.

A pregnancy test.

His gaze shot back to hers. “You’re pregnant?”

If the situation—and the look in Sam’s eyes—hadn’t been so intense, she might have laughed at the absurdity of his question. She certainly didn’t want him to think the test was for her, but she couldn’t very well tell him that Clair had asked her to buy it, either. No matter what Sam thought of her, Kiera wouldn’t break that trust.

When she didn’t reply, he stepped back and dragged a hand through his rumpled hair. “Dammit, Kiera, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

She slid off the counter, picked the bag up from the floor, then dropped the box inside. “I didn’t ask you for help, Sam.”

His eyes dark with anger, he stared at her for what felt like a lifetime.

“Fine.”

He ground the single word out through gritted teeth, then turned and headed for the door. He yanked it open, stopped, spun around and leveled his gaze at her.

“Just tell me this,” he said tightly. “And dammit, tell me the truth. Are you married?”

That she could honestly answer. “No.”

A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw. She watched him turn and slam out the door. Slowly, she released the breath she’d been holding, then leaned against the counter and closed her eyes.

She heard a car engine rev, then the squeal of tires.

Men!

With an irritated groan, she pushed away from the counter and bent to pick up the fruit that had rolled on the floor. Why should he be mad at me? she thought, picking up an orange and tossing it back onto the counter. And why were the men in her life who mattered to her most so damn demanding?

She scooped up another orange and glared at it. “I refuse to be bullied.”

Why the hell did she have to fall for a guy who had the same ornery, the same intolerable, the same insufferable temperament as Trey?

She spun around at the sudden knock on the door. So he’d come back to interrogate her further, she thought and marched toward the door, ready to argue if that’s what he wanted. She threw open the door.

But it wasn’t Sam standing there. It was Clair.

“I—I’m sorry,” Clair said hesitantly, obviously startled at the unexpected force of the door opening. “I must have come at a bad time.”

“No, no. Of course not.” Kiera felt the heat of a blush scurry up her neck onto her face. “I’m sorry. I thought you were—never mind. Please, come in.”

Kiera closed the door when Clair stepped inside, then moved to the counter and picked up the box sitting there. “I hope I bought the right one. There were several to choose from and I really hadn’t a clue.”

“I wouldn’t have known, either.” Clair stared at the pregnancy kit with a mixture of wonder and amazement on her face. Tears suddenly filled her eyes. “Oh, I hope you’re right. I really, really hope you’re right.”

“Then I really, really hope I’m right, too,” Kiera said, then stiffened when Clair moved forward and hugged her. Just a brief hug, a simple, I’m-just-so-happy-I-want-to-share-it hug.

But to Kiera it was so much more.

It was a hug that had the power to topple defenses. To break through walls. To answer questions.

If there was anyone she dared trust, anyone who might be able to answer those questions, Kiera knew it was Clair.

But she couldn’t. Not only because it was terrible timing, but because now that she had established this connection she was terrified of losing it, afraid that the joy shining in Clair’s eyes would turn to doubt. Maybe even to hatred.

When the time is right, she thought, praying it would be soon.

“I’m sorry.” With a sniff, Clair stepped back and wiped at the tears in her eyes. “I’ve just been so emotional these past couple of weeks.”

“That’s another sure sign.” Kiera blinked back her own threatening tears, then shifted uneasily, not sure what to do now. “Can I—ah, would you like something to drink? Some water or iced tea?”

“Iced tea would be wonderful,” Clair said distantly, still staring at the box in her hands. “I think I might need a couple of minutes to calm down before I drive home.”

“Sugar?” Kiera asked, pulling a pitcher out of the fridge.

“No, thanks.” Clair moved to the counter, glanced at the groceries and the chopped basil. “You cook?”

“I like to,” Kiera said, filling a glass from the cupboard. “Do you?”

“Never learned, and now I’m too busy.” Clair nodded at the pan with butter in it. “What are you making?”

“Chicken marsala.” Kiera handed the tea to Clair, then threw caution to the wind. “You’re welcome to stay and eat if you’re hungry.”

“Just the tea, but thanks for the offer. Maybe a rain check?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t let me keep you, though,” Clair said, sipping her tea. “I would enjoy watching you for a few minutes. It fascinates me how people can take a bunch of different ingredients and turn them into something exotic and delicious. Unless you’d rather not have someone hanging over you—”

“I don’t mind.” Kiera moved back to the stove and flipped on the burner. If there was one place she felt most comfortable, it was in the kitchen. And besides, if she was cooking it would keep her mind off being nervous around Clair—off all those questions she so desperately wanted to ask.

“So where did you learn?” Clair settled on a counter bar stool. “Your mother?”

Kiera shook her head. “Cookie Roggenfelder.”

Clair raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I was raised on a ranch in East Texas.” Kiera opened a package of chicken breasts she’d had the butcher pound thin for her. “When I was eight, I spent most of my time following after the cook.”

“Named Cookie,” Clair added, grinning.

Kiera nodded. “I’d beg him every day to let me help and every day he’d say no. I guess I finally wore him down, because on my ninth birthday he gave me an apron and told me if I still wanted to help, I had to start at the bottom. The bottom being peeling potatoes, shucking corn, chopping onions. It was nearly six months before he let me actually cook anything. I made corn fritters.”

“How did you do?” Clair asked.

“They were hard as granite and burned, to boot.” While she opened a bag of flour, Kiera smiled at the memory. The kitchen had smelled like smoke for three days. “Cookie insisted I bake them every day until I got it right. Took me three weeks straight, but now I can honestly say I make the best corn fritter you’ve ever tasted.”

“I’ve never had one.” Clair swirled the ice in her tea. “But you’re definitely making me want one.”

“I’ll make them for you sometime,” Kiera said, then dusted the chicken with flour. “You’ll be spoiled for life.”

Clair studied Kiera’s face for a moment, then took another drink. “Does that mean you’ll be staying in Wolf River?”

Kiera’s heart jumped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“Like I said before, small towns are brutal on a person’s private life.” Clair gave an apologetic shrug. “There’s been some talk.”

“Oh?” Somehow, Kiera managed to keep her hand steady. Butter sizzled when she dropped the chicken into the heated frying pan. “What kind of talk?”

“What you’d expect,” Clair said. “Where you come from, why you’re here. Why you’re living in a motel, by yourself. If you’re married.”

“I’m not married.” But she’d answered a little too quickly, Kiera realized, especially for someone who was trying her damnedest to be calm and collected.

“I’m sorry if I’m prying.” Clair’s voice was truly contrite. “But I do have an interest in you beyond idle curiosity. I’d like to know if the best waitress my hotel has ever hired plans on sticking around for a while. And besides, I like you. This may sound weird, and it’s probably just my hormones going crazy, but I feel as if we have a connection, somehow. I realize we just met, but I’d hate to lose you, as a Four Winds employee, and as a friend.”

“I—” Kiera had to choke back the lump of emotion in her throat “—thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me that chicken you’re cooking will be done soon,” Clair said with a grin. “I wasn’t hungry a minute ago and now I’m suddenly starving.”

Kiera and Clair looked at each other. Together they said, “Another sign of pregnancy.”

They laughed, then Clair folded her arms and leaned forward on the counter. “I promise I won’t pry anymore, but I’d love to hear more about Cookie and the ranch you grew up on. It sounds wonderful.”

It had been wonderful, Kiera thought. Until two weeks ago, when she’d found out everything had been a lie. For the moment, though, she would pretend she didn’t know the truth. Meeting Clair had helped ease the pain somewhat, but there was still so much to learn. So many questions to be answered.

And besides, after her incredible lapse of good judgment with Sam, she needed a distraction. Cooking and talking with Clair would certainly be a welcome one.

“My favorite Cookie story—” Kiera said while she turned the chicken “—has to be the day one of the new ranch hands inadvertently commented that his mama made the best ribs in the entire state of Texas….”

Six

It seemed as if everywhere he turned, Sam saw an expectant mother. In the lobby. On the elevator. At the pool. An hour ago he’d seen two of them, walking together into the hotel spa. Then there was Christine, Adagio’s manager, three of the women in Housekeeping and two of the desk clerks. Was it some kind of cosmic joke being played on him, or had he just suddenly become excruciatingly aware of their presence?

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he leaned back in his desk chair and stared at the report on his monitor. He’d been staring at the same page, at the same figures, for the past half hour. The way his day was going, he might finish this simple accounting statement around one or two in the morning.

But why should today go any better than last night?

It frustrated—and irritated—the hell out of him he couldn’t get Kiera out of his mind. Or the burning question: was she pregnant?

It had taken a will of iron today not to seek her out and force the issue. If she’d thought she was pregnant, it might explain why she’d been so secretive since she got here, especially if she was running away from the father of her child. She’d told him she wasn’t married, so the father would most likely be a boyfriend. He remembered the black eye she’d had when she’d first arrived, and his hands tightened on the arms of his chair.

Five minutes, Sam thought, narrowing his eyes. That’s all the time he’d need with the guy. Hell, that would be taking it slowly. He could mess the jerk up big-time in under two without breaking a sweat.

He shook his head and sighed. Something just didn’t jive here. Not that he knew anything at all about pregnant women. He didn’t know a damn thing.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a feeling that what he was seeing, what she’d let him see, was all wrong.

Or was that just what he wanted to think?

He swore, then rose and walked to the window in his office, stared down at the crowded pool. It was late afternoon, a popular time for guests to swim and stretch out on the lounge chairs. There had to be at least thirty people down there. Kids splashing, old men in shorts with white legs and socks sitting under umbrellas. Gorgeous women sunbathing in bikinis. And where did his eyes end up?

On a pregnant woman.

Dammit!

He turned and started to pace. Kiera was just as attracted to him as he was to her, there was no question about that. She’d been just as wild for him as he’d been for her. God, he could still taste her, still feel her body pressed against his.

He dragged both hands through his hair and linked them behind his head. What the hell was she hiding from him? he wondered. Or, more likely, who? Why wouldn’t she tell him anything? And why wouldn’t she let him help?

She was driving him crazy.

I don’t want this complication, he told himself. I like my life just the way it is.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Why couldn’t he stop worrying if she was all right, if she needed anything?

If the test was positive …

He continued to pace. In spite of his lack of knowledge regarding “female stuff,” he just couldn’t believe she was pregnant. Kiera hadn’t missed a beat since she’d been hired at Adagios. She worked as hard, if not harder, than any other server on staff. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to throw up a lot, turn green and sleep all the time?

Shoot, Clair was acting more like she was pregnant than Kiera, he thought. Just yesterday she’d fallen asleep in the middle of a presentation by that publicist for the Cattlemen’s Association, and she’d had that bug she hadn’t been able to shake—

He stopped, furrowed his brow.

Clair?

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Clair had been acting strangely the past two days. He’d assumed because she’d suspected something had happened between him and Kiera.

But what if he’d had it all wrong, and she’d been distracted for another reason? Lord knew nothing had been as it seemed since Kiera had shown up. Why should this be any different?

Why indeed?

He squared his shoulders and set his back teeth. Enough already. He wanted answers.

And he wanted them now.

“Imbecile!” A loud clash of pots and pans followed Chef Phillipe’s ringing insult. “This is repulsive. Mon dieu, I would not feed this slop to the pigs, let alone people.”

A plate of grilled salmon in her hand, Kiera listened to Chef Phillipe berate Robert, Adagio’s sous-chef. Phillipe was on his usual daily rampage and poor Robert was his most recent victim.

“This is what I think of your so-called food.” Phillipe picked up the pan and turned it over, spilling the sauce onto the floor. For good measure, he then tossed the pan on the floor, as well. “You are a disgrace to chefs everywhere.”

Red-faced, Robert glanced from the mess to Phillipe. “But I did what you—”

“Silence!” Phillipe bellowed. “Your brain is like a petite pea. Who taught you to cook? The man who cleans out your plumbing pipes?”

Kiera winced. While she was grateful that Phillipe’s anger hadn’t been turned on her for once, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the young man. He was fresh out of culinary school and from what she’d seen, quite talented, though still unsure of himself. Kiera figured any confidence that Robert had would quickly be beaten out of him by Phillipe.

Stay out of it, she told herself. Just turn around and walk away.

“Must I do everything myself?” Phillipe towered menacingly over Robert, who was visibly shaking. “You are incompetent.”

She clamped her teeth together and turned away. Haven’t you got enough problems of your own? This is your last order of the day. Just keep walking …

“You will never be a chef,” Phillipe continued. “You are not even fit to serve the food that I prepare.”

Unable to help herself, Kiera glanced over her shoulder, saw Robert’s eyes welling up.

Oh, hell.

She sucked in a breath, let a heartbeat pass, then dropped the plate in her hand. Well, more like threw the plate, she supposed. It landed with a loud, satisfying shatter.

Phillipe spun around, his eyes bulging with fury.

“Sorry,” she said innocently. “It slipped.”

Launching into his native language, Phillipe rounded on her, his fists clenched. Kiera spoke, and understood, enough French to know that his insults were as vile as they were insulting. The man was an ass, and she knew she should probably back away—or at least be afraid—but anger overrode her good sense.

And the expression on poor Robert’s face—a mix of horror and relief—was enough to make her stand her ground.

If there was one thing Trey had taught her, Kiera thought, it was how to drop a man—any size—to the floor. When Phillipe strode toward her, she waited for the man to even lift a finger. Almost hoped that he would. With all the frustration that had been building in her since she’d left Stone Ridge Ranch, she was certain her knee would pack quite a wallop.

When Phillipe moved into her space, she tightened her leg—

“What the hell is going on here?”

Kiera froze at the sound of Sam’s voice behind her. Dammit! Would this man forever be sneaking up on her?

Still, she didn’t turn, didn’t take her eyes off Phillipe, who looked as if he was about to pop a blood vessel in that thick neck of his.

“What is wrong?” His chest heaving, Phillipe glared at Sam. “I will tell you what is wrong. I am surrounded by complete idiots.”

From the corner of her eye, Kiera watched Sam’s jaw tighten. He glanced at Robert and the mess at his feet, then the plate she’d dropped. When he lifted his gaze back to her, she saw the controlled anger there. Her spine stiffened. Believe whatever you want, she thought. He’d already tried and convicted her yesterday when he’d seen the pregnancy test. What possible difference could it make to add one more crime to her long list of offenses?

“He is a buffoon.” Phillipe pointed a sausage-thick finger at Robert, then narrowed his beady eyes at Kiera. “And she is a clumsy, insolent—”

“That’s enough.”

The chef puffed up his chest. “You cannot expect me to work with such dim-witted, abruti—”

“I said, that’s enough.”

Stunned at the steel-edged tone in Sam’s voice, Phillipe clamped his mouth shut and gave an indignant tug at the hem of his shirt. “I will return in fifteen minutes. I expect them both to be gone.”

Phillipe turned on his heels and stomped out of the kitchen. Sam turned his gaze to the trembling sous-chef. “Robert, go over to catering and help Andrew with the anniversary party in the ballroom.”

“I’m not fired?” Robert asked incredulously.

“You’re not fired.” A muscle jumped in Sam’s clenched jaw. “Just don’t let Phillipe see you until I straighten this out.”

“Yes, sir.” Robert hesitated, then cast an anxious glance at Kiera. She smiled reassuringly at him. He smiled back weakly and hurried out of the kitchen.

When Sam turned his dark gaze on her, Kiera pressed her lips firmly together. She refused to make excuses or apologize. “I dropped a plate.”

“Did you?” He looked down at the broken china and food, then back at her. “Come with me.”

Her heart sank. Damn you! she wanted to scream. How could he have kissed her like he had—twice!—and suddenly treat her with such cold disregard? Did he even care what had happened here?

Did he care about her?

Apparently not.

“What about my customer’s order?” Kiera glanced at the salmon she’d intentionally dropped on the floor, then thought about the sweet, white-haired woman who’d ordered it. “I can’t just leave.”

“I’ll have a menu and apology sent over and comp the meal.”

“It took her twenty minutes to decide on the salmon.” Kiera knew she was goading him, she was beyond caring. “I doubt that will make her happy.”

“Fine.” He could have ground glass between his clenched jaw. “I’ll comp a meal for two and if she’s a guest here, I’ll comp her room, too. Will that make her happy?”

“I’m sure it will.” Delighted that something good was going to come of this debacle, Kiera gave a satisfied nod. “You sure you don’t want me to finish up my shift, because it’s almost over and—”

“No, Kiera, I don’t want you to finish up your shift. One of the other servers can cover your station. Now come with me.”

He turned and slammed through the kitchen’s double doors. On the other side, the entire lunch staff scattered like a herd of frightened deer.

Kiera yanked her apron off and threw it on a counter. He wanted to talk to her? Fine.

She’d talk all right.

Pushing through the doors, she grabbed her purse out of the employee closet. After she told Sam Prescott exactly what she thought of him, it was pretty much a done deal she’d get canned. The last thing she wanted was to have to come back here and deal with the you-poor-thing-you-didn’t-deserve-it condolences. Strangely enough, even Tyler was looking at her with sympathy.

She caught up with Sam after he’d paused long enough to give instructions to Christine, then followed him through the restaurant.

He didn’t say one word to her.

In the elevator, she stared straight ahead, refused to even glance at Sam, determined to hold her tongue until they were in the privacy of his office. She’d been holding in too much for too long. She was ready—past ready—to let it out. No doubt she’d regret it later, but she’d simply deal with that when the time came.

Tension crackled in the tiny space, and the overhead music sounded like a muted roar. When the doors slid quietly open, Sam strode purposefully into the hallway without giving her so much as a glance. Part of his intimidation method, she figured, stalking after him. She kept her gaze lasered to the back of his head, every step heightening her already strained emotions.

He stopped outside an unmarked office, slid a card-key into the door and opened it, then stepped aside. Head high, she marched in. When she heard the door close behind her, she dropped her purse onto an armchair and whirled on him.

“Chef Phillipe is a bully,” she said furiously. “He insults every member of the staff and refuses to acknowledge any mistake on his part, though let me tell you, he makes plenty.”

Arms folded, Sam simply stared at her.

A tiny little voice told her to put a sock in it, but she squashed the voice like a bug. She was on a roll and had no intention of slowing down.

“The man hasn’t a creative bone in his body,” she ranted on. “Everyone knows he’s hanging on the skill and reputation of your last chef. Everyone but you, obviously, or you wouldn’t put up with his arrogant nonsense.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so.” She slammed her hands onto her hips and moved closer. “Robert is a wonderful sous-chef and he has tremendous potential. He just needs a little guidance, which he’ll never get from Phillipe. You know why?”

“I have the feeling you’re going to tell me,” Sam said evenly.

“Yes, I am going to tell you.” Why not? she thought. She’d already cooked her goose, why not serve it on a platter while she was at it? “Because any sign of talent threatens him so he beats it down. Because he knows he lacks the je ne sais quoi that a truly great chef is born with. And because, sooner or later, he knows that he’ll be found out, and when he is he’ll be flipping burgers and slinging hash in a coffee shop somewhere.”

Lord, but she was riled.

Sam watched Kiera throw her arms out in exasperation. Her cheeks were flushed and sparks flew from her eyes like tiny blue bolts of lightning. He was certain he’d never met anyone like this woman before. She absolutely fascinated him.

She absolutely dazzled him.

“I don’t know why I’m trying to explain this to you.

You wouldn’t understand working in a kitchen, what it means, what it takes.” She spun on her heels and flounced away. “And why should you believe anything I say, anyway? You’re too busy making assumptions and passing judgments.”

“Kiera—”

“You’re management, I’m just a waitress. What the hell do I know?”

“Kiera—”

“I’m done talking. So what are you waiting for? Fire me already.” She whirled around and faced him. “Never mind. I’ll make your job easy. I quit.”

“Kiera,” he said patiently. “I believe you.”

That stopped her. “What?”

“I said, I believe you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

Still unsure, she tilted her head. “Which part?”

Sam folded his arms and sighed. “Chef Phillipe is a bully riding on the previous chef’s coattails,” he repeated her words. “He hasn’t a creative bone in his body and Robert is a good sous-chef. I already knew all that.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I did.”

She frowned. “So then why did you let me go on like that?”

Grinning, he leaned back against the door. “I was enjoying the show.”

Her frown darkened, then she suddenly went still and scanned around the room, confused. “This isn’t your office.”

He was wondering how long it would take her to notice. “No, this is not my office.”

She took in the living room area of the large suite and the kitchen. “This is your … ah, where you …”

“Live,” he finished for her.

She glanced back at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I wanted privacy.” He saw her breath catch when he pushed away from the door.

She shifted awkwardly. “I hardly think dragging me out of the kitchen in front of the entire staff is private.”

“Would you have come up here with me if I’d told you where we were going?”

“I—no.”

The beat she’d waited to answer was just long enough to make his pulse jump. She wouldn’t have said no, and they both knew it.

Yet still, he could see the inner war waging in her eyes: stand her ground or bolt. She was already running away from something or someone in her life. He had no intention of letting her run away from him.

Not anymore.

But she didn’t bolt, just stood still, kept her gaze level as he closed the distance between them until he was less than an arm’s reach away.

“You’re not pregnant.”

She jerked her head up. “What?”

“You’re not pregnant. You bought that test for someone else.”

“And why would I do that?”

She was on guard now. He’d come to recognize the look in her eyes when he approached a subject she clearly did not want to talk about. “Because Clair asked you to.”

“She told you that?”

He shook his head. “She didn’t tell me anything. It’s more of an uneducated guess. You just confirmed it.”

Her eyes narrowed sharply. “You tricked me.”

“I didn’t trick you,” he stated. “I’m simply trying to understand why Clair would ask someone she’s just met to buy a pregnancy test for her.”

“I really don’t see where that’s any concern of yours.”

“Fine.” He shrugged and started to turn. “I’ll just go ask her myself.”

“No!”

Sam turned back, watched her chew on the inside of her lip while she struggled with the proverbial rock and hard place situation.

“She had all the signs,” Kiera said finally. “I just sort of suggested she might be pregnant. She hadn’t considered the possibility until I asked her how far along she was.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “And she asked you to buy a pregnancy test for her?”

“If she’d bought it herself, how long do you think it would take for the entire town to find out?”

“Probably not even long enough for the stick to turn blue.”

“Exactly.”

“So did it?”

She started to say something, then quickly pressed her lips together.

He grinned. “Now that was trying to trick you.”

“Whether she is or she isn’t, and who she wants to tell when, is Clair’s decision,” Kiera said primly. “And I’d appreciate you not mentioning this conversation to her.”

“Geez, I don’t know.” He shook his head doubtfully. “This is pretty big news. It just might innocently slip out, you know, when I’m distracted or caught up in work.”

“Sam, please,” she said anxiously and reached out. “Don’t joke about this. Clair trusted me to keep this quiet.”

He glanced down at the hand she’d laid on his arm, wondered how the hell such a simple, innocent touch could make his blood rush. “I think I can manage to refrain from spreading gossip and rumors.”

Relief washed over her face, then she quickly pulled her hand from his arm and stepped back. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you would be anything but discreet. Obviously, you’ve already proven that you are.”

He knew she was talking about herself now, not Clair. “I’ve also proven I jump to conclusions.”

Linking her hands together, she glanced down at the floor. “If I had been, I mean, if I were pregnant, would you have, would it …”

When her voice trailed off, he moved closer, lowered his voice. “Would it have mattered?”

She lifted her head. “Yes.”

“You don’t know?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “The only thing I know is that I’m attracted to you, and I think you’re attracted to me.”

Attracted? He let the word roll around his brain for a moment. It seemed like such a mild description for what he felt toward her. Other words came to his mind … need, desperate, insane.

He lifted his hand and cupped her chin in his palm, felt her tremble at his touch. “I have three rules I live by,” he said softly, watched her eyes slowly close when he ran his thumb over her soft cheek. “Three rules I promised myself I’d always keep.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she met his gaze.

“Rule number one.” He traced her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t date employees.”

“Rule number two.” He cut her off when she opened her mouth. “Hotel policies apply to the entire staff.”

“Sam—”

“Rule number three.” He placed his index finger on her lips. “Don’t get emotionally involved with an employee.”

When she parted her lips, heat slammed into his gut. “I’ve known you less than two weeks,” he said, “and I’ve already broken every damn one.”

“You know,” she whispered, “since I’m no longer an employee, those rules don’t really apply anymore, do they?”

“No, I suppose they don’t,” he said, then grabbed hold of her shoulders and dragged her mouth to his.

Seven

Crazy.

Unbelievably, undeniably, wondrously crazy.

His mouth on hers, his arms crushing her against him, drove every rational thought from her mind. She didn’t want to think, and how could she, with her heart thundering in her head the way it was?

She was too damn tired to fight her emotions any longer. She wanted, needed, as she never had before. When his lips moved to her ear, she rolled her head back on a soft moan.

Pressing closer to him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, felt giddy with the excitement rushing through her. But somewhere, far away, on the edges of her mind, she heard a tiny voice. Are you insane? You’re in the hotel. The entire kitchen staff watched you leave with Sam!

“Sam,” she managed a weak protest. “This is—”

“I know.” He nipped at her earlobe.

She shivered violently. “We shouldn’t—”

“No,” he agreed, and blazed kisses down her neck.

There, right there, she thought when his mouth nuzzled the base of her throat. “Someone might—”

“They might.”

She sucked in a breath when his teeth sank into her skin. “Will you stop being so damn agreeable?”

“Okay,” he murmured.

His mouth caught hers again, kissed her long and hard. A hot, wild meeting of tongue and teeth and lips. Her pulse raced; heat swept through her veins like a firestorm, turning her insides to liquid. Certain her bones were melting, she clung to him, afraid she might slide to the floor.

But the carpet was soft, she thought dimly. Soft and cushioned.

And so close …

So decadent …

She arched up into him, felt the full length of his solid body against hers, the hard press of his erection. Her breasts tingled with anticipation, her skin tightened, and the intensity of the sensations might have been painful if she hadn’t been so completely and utterly aroused.

Her fingers hurried up his neck, curled into his thick, smooth hair. The texture shivered from her fingertips all the way down to her toes. She breathed in the scent of his skin, a heady mix of pure male and hot passion, then rushed her hands down again, slid under the lapels of his suit jacket and slid it off his broad shoulders.

Through the rolling haze of desire, she felt him backing her across the room. Toward the sofa? she wondered. The bedroom? It didn’t matter, just as long as they got there soon. As long as he never stopped kissing her.

She fumbled with the knot of his tie, cursed her inability to make her fingers work faster. Finally, with a whoosh of silk, the tie slid from her hand and dropped soundlessly to the floor. She worked at the top button of his shirt, felt his low growl against her fingertips when she opened buttons and slid her hands inside. The feel of his muscled chest under her palms, the heat of his skin, sent ripples of white-hot need coursing through her.

So it was the bedroom he was directing her toward, she realized when she bumped into the doorjamb. She opened her eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of smoke-colored walls, a mahogany armoire and late afternoon sunlight streaming through the open, dark blue drapes. She couldn’t see the bed from this angle, but she knew it was there, and the thought of making love with Sam, of having him inside her, made her shudder fiercely.

His kisses swept like liquid fire across her jaw, over her chin, down her neck. Certain she couldn’t take any more, she raked her fingernails down his chest, moved her hands toward the buckle of his belt.

“Sam …” She heard the desperation in her voice, his ragged breathing, her heart slamming against her ribs. The sounds swirled in her head, melded together. She kicked her flats off, then rose on the tips of her toes and wantonly moved her hips against him.

On a groan, he tugged her blouse from her slacks and slid his hands underneath, rushed his fingers over her rib cage.

“So damn soft,” he murmured.

As if in slow motion, she felt herself falling backward onto the mattress, the descent steep and long and exciting. His hands covered her breasts, and she sank into a river of erotic sensations, let herself be swept away in the swirling waters.

“I’ve been crazy wanting this,” he said huskily. “Wanting you.”

Crazy. There it was again. The word that seemed to say it all. She looked at Sam, saw the fierce desire glinting in his narrowed eyes as he stared down at her. Crazy or not, how could something that felt this right be wrong?

When he lowered his head to her bare stomach, she simply didn’t care anymore.

It surprised Sam how fragile Kiera felt under him. She was tall for a woman, but her bone structure was delicate, her curves soft and smooth, her breasts firm and round. Her fingers moved restlessly over his back when he touched his lips to the hollow of her belly. When he swept his tongue over her warm, silky skin, she squirmed under him.

The sweet taste of her nearly sent him over the edge, but he held back, wanting, needing to draw that sweetness out. He nipped at the edge of her rib cage, heard her sharp intake of breath. She arched upward, and he slid his hands underneath her, unclasped her bra and shoved the lacy garment up.

When he took one hardened nipple in his mouth, she gasped and raked her fingers over his scalp. He suckled one breast, then the other, teased the peak of each nipple with his tongue and his teeth. The need he felt for her rocked him to the core. Slow it down, he told himself. Get yourself back in control, dammit.

Then she moved her hips against him and whispered his name.

Oh, to hell with it.

Flipping open the single button on her slacks, he blazed kisses along the underside of her breast while he tugged the zipper down, then slid his hand inside to cup her. Soft lace pressed against his palm. When he tightened his grip, she groaned.

Every breath burned his lungs, sweat beaded on his forehead. If he wasn’t inside her soon, he thought he might go mad.

He slid between lace and skin and slipped a finger into the wet heat between her thighs. She bucked upward, and when he stroked her, he felt the bite of her nails across his shoulders.

“Take … off … your … clothes,” she gasped and hurried her hands to his belt buckle.

He brushed her hands away, knew he didn’t dare let her touch him yet. “You first.”

In one fluid sweep of his hands, he had her slacks and underwear off and tossed them aside. She rose up, managed to undo the knot on her own tie and yank it off, then reached for him. But he moved too quickly, tugged her blouse downward, pinning her arms and dragging her closer while he dropped his mouth down on hers.

She couldn’t move, could barely breathe, and she thought she might die if he didn’t hurry. Heat coursed through her, coiled between her legs. She wanted desperately to touch him, but he’d trapped her arms, frustrating her. Exciting her. Thrilling her as no man ever had before.

“I can’t stand it,” she said raggedly, dropping her head back when his mouth moved to her neck. He sucked lightly, then used his teeth. Flames raced over her skin. “Sam, please.”

Hopelessly and wonderfully lost in the sensations battering her, she couldn’t think, could only feel as he moved over her with his mouth and teeth and tongue. She trembled with need, wantonly arched upward, frantic for him to be inside her.

When he released her arms, she fell backward and lay naked under him. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. She drew in a breath when he shoved his pants and black boxers down. He was hard and fully erect.

And large.

Her eyes widened, and she felt a moment’s apprehension. He slid his hands up her legs, her thighs, his gaze dark and fierce and primal. He spread her legs and she gripped the bedclothes as he moved over her.

He entered her, moving deeper with each thrust, then deeper still, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She released the breath she’d been holding and wrapped her arms and legs around him, felt the rippling sinew under her limbs.

And then he began to move.

Slowly at first, his rhythm building gradually. Exquisitely. Moaning, she clung to him, every thrust of his hips coiling the pleasure inside her tighter, then tighter still. Blood pounded in her temples, raced through her veins, until she burst apart.

She cried out, bit her lip as the shudders tore through her like shards of colored glass. When he groaned and thrust deeper, harder, she held him tight, felt his muscles bunch under her hands. He moaned, deep in his throat, then his body convulsed with his release.

He collapsed on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. Closing her eyes, she slid her arms around his neck and smiled.

It took a few moments for Sam to regain any sort of order to his brain. With his breathing still ragged, he rolled to his back, bringing Kiera with him. She lay over him like a rag doll, her head on his shoulder, her warm, soft breath fanning his chest. A fine sheen of sweat covered their bodies.

Reality slowly came back. They were in his bedroom, on his bed, their clothes tossed on the floor. He could still hear his blood pounding in his temples, though not quite as loudly as a few minutes ago.

He stilled when he saw the impressions on her arms left by his hands.

“Dammit,” he said through clenched teeth. “Did I hurt you?”

“Hurt me?” she mumbled without moving.

“I was a little rough.” He felt like an idiot, losing control like that with her. “I should have been more careful.”

“Did I act like I wanted careful?” She slid her hand up his chest.

Gently, he traced a fingertip over the marks on her arms. “You may have a bruise or two.”

She raised her head and rested her chin on her hand, gave him a sultry smile. “You may have a few yourself, mister. Maybe I should have been more careful with you.”

He grinned at her. “Bring it on, darlin’.”

“I love a challenge.” She slid her hand down his chest, then his belly. Her smile turned wicked. “You may live to regret those words.”

He hadn’t a chance to answer, couldn’t have come up with anything witty even if she had given him a chance. But the second her hand closed over him, his brain locked up and his body took over. When she brushed her lips across his stomach, he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

“I see we’re off to a good start,” she murmured, touching her tongue to his skin.

He couldn’t have agreed with her more.

When he woke, the room was dark, the bed beside him empty. His brain was thick as mud, his throat dry and coarse. He rose on one elbow and winced, realized he must have pulled a muscle in his bad shoulder.

But at least he was alive.

Barely.

Frowning, he sat, scrubbed a hand over his face, then shook the cobwebs from his brain and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He glanced at the bedside clock: 8:57. He swore, irritated that he’d lost over an hour sleeping.

And given Kiera an opportunity to escape without an argument.

Any other woman, any other time, he wouldn’t have been annoyed. Hell, it had always been easier if he’d been alone when he woke up. Usually, after he made love to a woman he didn’t have a great deal to say, and he sure didn’t want to deal with the emotional expectations some women built up in their minds.

But this wasn’t any other time, and this sure as hell wasn’t any other woman. Without question, Kiera was one of a kind. Sexy, funny, confident, and yet strangely innocent at the same time. He’d never met anyone like her in his life. He rotated his shoulder, preferring the sharp pain of a tweaked muscle to the strange, dull ache in his chest.

Tossing the bedcovers off, he sat on the edge of the mattress, spotted his slacks at the foot of the bed, had barely yanked them on when he stilled. The amazing smell of warm chocolate wafted in from the other room. His first thought was one of relief that she hadn’t left, but then he frowned, couldn’t imagine that under the circumstances she had ordered room service.

Dragging a hand through his hair, he moved to the bedroom door, felt his heart slam against his ribs when he caught sight of her.

She stood in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt. She hummed softly, her arms elbow-deep in dish soap bubbles. He leaned against the doorjamb, took in the endless length of sleek legs, the curve of her bottom, her shiny black hair tumbling down, resting on her shoulders. How could he want her again so soon? he wondered. They’d fallen into bed nearly an hour ago, and all he could think about was dragging her back.

But he wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. At some masculine level, he felt a profound sense of satisfaction simply watching her. He glanced at the oven, couldn’t imagine what she was baking in there, especially considering how little food he kept stocked in his cupboards. But if there was a kitchen in heaven, he thought he’d just stepped into it, complete with his own gorgeous angel.

He pushed away from the doorjamb and moved toward her. “Smells good.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, smiled. “Wait till you taste it.”

He came up behind her, brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck. “I can’t wait.”

“I’m busy here, buster.” But she leaned back against him with a sigh.

“I’m busy, too.” He nipped her neck with his teeth, felt the shiver move through her. “Don’t mind me, you just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m washing the bowls and utensils I used.” She’d tried to sound impatient, but her tone was more seductive than clipped.

“Used for what?” he asked, but he was much more interested in that little spot behind her ear that made her breath catch.

“I felt like baking.” She wasn’t even pretending to wash dishes anymore. Eyes closed, she’d tilted her head back and laid it on his shoulder.

“What do you feel like now?” He nibbled on her earlobe, then slid his hands under the hem of her shirt, traced the curve of her hips with his palms.

The steady, high-pitched beep, beep, beep of a timer rudely interrupted.

Damn.

Straightening, Kiera shook her arms free of bubbles, grabbed a towel sitting on the counter and moved to the oven. He watched her open the door and pull out a tray holding two coffee mugs.

His irritation at being interrupted shifted to amazement. A steaming dome of chocolate bubbled around the rim of the coffee mugs.

“I hope you like soufflé,” she said, setting the tray on the stove top.

Soufflé? He furrowed his brow. She’d made soufflé?

“You don’t have much in your cupboards or refrigerator.” She bit her lip. “But I found a few eggs, some sugar packets and pats of butter. I had the chocolate bar in my purse.”

He stared at the coffee cups in disbelief, still trying to absorb the fact that she’d actually made soufflé.

“It’s better hot.” She picked up a spoon from the counter and handed it to him. He scooped out a bite of the dessert and tried it, felt an explosion of chocolate pleasure on his tongue.

Good Lord. Too stunned to speak, he simply stared at her.

“I realize I should have left,” she rushed on, twisting the towel in her hands. “But it’s still a little early and I was worried someone might see me.”

“You baked this,” he finally managed. “In my kitchen.”

She shifted uneasily. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” He stepped closer to her, tugged the towel from her hands and tossed it on the counter. “Ahalf-naked, sexy woman makes me the best damn chocolate soufflé I’ve had in my entire life and you think I would mind?”

He pulled her into his arms, caught her small gasp with his mouth and kissed her. Not with the desperate hunger clawing unexpectedly in his gut, but softly, so softly he surprised himself. Her lips parted, warm and willing, her eyes fluttered closed.

“This is how much I mind,” he murmured against her mouth, felt her smile. “Miss Daniels, you are the damnedest woman.”

She stilled, then laid her palms on his chest and eased back, kept her gaze lowered. “Sam—” she paused “—Daniels isn’t exactly my last name.”

He could have told her he already knew she’d lied about that. He’d looked at her file the first day she’d been hired, and he’d also ran a search on her name. He’d found nothing that came close to matching any information she’d given on her application or even anything she’d told him. Except that Rainville, Texas, was famous for its bee festival.

He could have—should have—had her fired. Still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t. But he’d simply trusted his gut and looked the other way.

Standing in his kitchen, holding her, he could feel her internal struggle with revealing even this small piece of truth. As badly as he wanted to, he knew if he pushed her she might disappear as quickly as she’d shown up.

And if he knew anything at all, he knew he wanted her to stay.

“I’m sorry I lied,” she said quietly. “But I needed this job.”

He felt the cool slide of cotton when he ran his palms up her arms. “You’re rehired.”

“I can’t stay, Sam.” With a sigh, she dropped her hands to her sides. “Chef Phillipe—”

“I’ll handle Phillipe.”

Shaking her head, she stepped away. “It’s better this way.”

“Better?” He narrowed his eyes. “Better for whom?”

“For everyone,” she insisted. “The restaurant, the staff, the hotel. For you.”

He reached out and snagged her arms, pulled her close again. “Don’t tell me what’s better for me. What the hell were we doing here today?”

Blue fire sparked in her eyes. “What are you saying, that you think I slept with you so I could keep my job?”

“Of course not.” Hell, he didn’t know what he was saying. His hands tightened on her arms, but he could feel her slipping away. “Dammit, Kiera, if you run away every time there’s a problem—”

“Let go of me.” The fire in her eyes turned to ice. “Now.”

Swearing, he let go of her, watched her chin lift as she stepped back.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.” He hadn’t intended to sound sarcastic, but that damn stubborn streak of hers had put a crack in his hard-won patience.

Narrowing her eyes, she turned and walked toward the bedroom.

“Dammit, Kiera,” he yelled after her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving.” She shot him a cool glance over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the suite elevator down so no one will see me.”

“Did I say I was worried?” he snapped, clenching his jaw when she disappeared into the bedroom.

He started after her, swore, then stopped, raked a hand through his hair. Swore again.

No woman had ever made him feel helpless like this before. Made him feel out of control or cut off at the knees. He didn’t like it.

Not one damn bit.

He wouldn’t chase after her. If she wanted to leave, he told himself, then fine. She could leave. If she wanted to be so damn secretive, then that was fine, too.

He couldn’t keep her here against her will—well, actually, he probably could—but he didn’t want her that way. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her honesty. She wasn’t willing to give him either one.

So when she came back out of the bedroom, her head high and shoulders squared, he let her leave, made no attempt to stop her.

Long after she was gone, the taste of her, a sweet mix of chocolate and woman, lingered in his mouth. He drowned it with a bottle of scotch and cursed the day she’d walked into his hotel.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.