“I’m here to collect my woman….”

Lily blinked.

Fletcher regarded her with exaggerated patience. “What have I told you about chasing other guys?” he demanded, as unamused by her antics as she was by his.

“Nothing,” Lily said, enunciating the word as if to a dunce. And truly, Fletcher was acting like one.

Fletcher gave Carson a man-to-man glance. “What can I say?” he apologized. “She likes the chase—” Fletcher reached out and tugged Lily off the sofa “—and I like giving her one.” Behaving as if he had some right to be going all possessive on her, Fletcher swept her off her feet.

And, still holding her cradled in his arms, he slowly and ardently lowered his head to hers.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” Lily said.

But of course, Fletcher did.

CATHY GILLEN THACKER

married her high school sweetheart and hasn’t had a dull moment since. Why, you ask? Well, there were three kids, various pets, any number of automobiles, several moves across the country, his and her careers and sundry other experiences (some of which were exciting and some of which weren’t). But mostly, there was love and friendship and laughter, and lots of experiences she wouldn’t trade for the world.

The Secret Seduction

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

Honestly, Lily Madsen thought as she watched the disheveled “cowboy” climb down from the truck, that man in the snug-fitting jeans, chambray shirt and boots was enough to take your breath away. Or he would have been, she amended, if he hadn’t been Fletcher Hart. The most reckless and restless of Helen Hart’s five sons, the thirty-year-old Fletcher had a reputation for loving and leaving women and never committing to much of anything—save his thriving Holly Springs, North Carolina, vet practice—for long.

“Why are you being so all-fired difficult?” Lily glared at him and continued the conversation the two of them had started before Fletcher had cut it short and headed off on an emergency call to a nearby farm. “All I am asking for is a simple introduction to Carson McRue. I’ll take it the rest of the way.”

“I’m sure you will.” Fletcher slanted her a deeply cynical look, followed it with a way too knowing half smile, then strode toward the back door of the clinic, all confident indomitable male. “The answer is still no, Lily.”

Simmering with a mixture of resentment, anger and another emotion she couldn’t quite identify, Lily followed Fletcher into the building, aware that unlike the building, which smelled quite antiseptic, he smelled as if he had been rolling around in the back of a barn. And perhaps he had been, she thought, noting the sweat stains on his shirt, the mud clinging to his backside, knees, shoulders and chest.

Oblivious to her scrutiny of him, he strode purposefully into a glass-walled room. On the other side of the partition was an assortment of cats and dogs in metal cages. All appeared to be recovering from operations or illness and were sleeping or resting drowsily. On their side of the glass wall, there was another large crate with a dog inside who did not appear to have had surgery.

Lily watched as Fletcher hunkered down beside the crate and peered in. To her frustration, he seemed a lot more interested in his canine patient, than what she had to say to him. “Just what is your objection to my meeting the man anyway?” she demanded with all the authority she could muster, given the five years’ difference in their ages.

Fletcher paused to give a comforting pat to the ailing yellow lab, who looked up at him with big sad eyes, before straightening once again. “Besides the fact that he’s an egotistical TV star who doesn’t care about anyone but himself, you mean?” Fletcher challenged.

Lily huffed her exasperation and folded her arms in front of her, trying all the while not to notice how soft and touchable Fletcher’s shaggy honey-brown hair was, how sexy his golden-brown eyes. You would think the way Fletcher acted that he was the star of a hit TV show, instead of a local vet who was—as always—in need of a haircut. Just because he had a masculine chiseled face, with the don’t-mess-with-me Hart jaw, expressive, kissable lips, a strong nose and well-defined cheekbones, did not mean that she had to swoon at his feet. And the same went for his powerful, six-foot-one frame, with those broad shoulders, impossibly solid chest, lean waist and long, muscular legs.

“You don’t know that for sure,” she retorted defensively, privately hoping it wasn’t true. “Just because Carson McRue is rich and famous—”

Fletcher headed up the stairs that led to his apartment on the second floor, unbuttoning his filthy shirt as he went. Lily was right behind him. “Let’s just cut the bull, shall we?”

“I don’t—”

He stopped at the top of the stairs and stripped off his shirt, leaving Lily with a bird’s-eye view of lots of satiny smooth male skin, a T-shaped mat of golden-brown hair, six-pack abs and a belly button so sexy it was to die for. With effort, she dragged her glance away from his hip-hugging jeans and American Veterinary Medical Association belt buckle, before she could really give in to temptation and slide her glance lower to see what was behind that tightly shut zipper.

Oblivious to the licentious direction of her thoughts, Fletcher continued mocking her with thinly veiled contempt. “I know about the bet you made with all your friends. Okay, Lily? Everyone in town does.”

While Fletcher watched, embarrassed color crept to her cheeks. Lily gulped her dismay. She never should have indulged in such bold talk at her birthday party last week. But then she never should have let her friends talk her into having two margaritas with her enchiladas, either. Everyone knew she couldn’t hold her liquor. The closest she had ever gotten to drinking was the smidgen of crème de menthe her grandmother had let them have in their milk every Christmas Eve.

Alcohol had been one of many things her beloved grandmother Rose had not approved. And knowing how badly her own parents had disappointed Grandmother Rose, Lily had grown up never wanting to similarly let her down.

Forcing herself to meet Fletcher’s boldly assessing gaze head-on, Lily demanded archly, “Who told you—?” And more to the point, how much exactly did he know about what she had sworn she would do to win her wager?

“—That you’ve promised when Carson McRue’s private jet leaves Carolina, you’re going to be on it?” Fletcher picked up where Lily left off. “Well, let’s see. There’s my sister, Janey. My brother Joe’s wife, Emma. Hannah Reid, over at Classic Car Auto Repair. My cousin Susan Hart. And everyone else who heard you swear that you could get a hot date with the dim bulb in just one week.”

Fletcher Hart knew everything, all right. Except of course what had prompted Lily to make such an unlikely, hedonistic boast in the first place. She pushed her rebuttal through gritted teeth. “Carson McRue is not a dim bulb. Or an egotistical star.”

That cynical smile again. “And how would you know this?” Fletcher challenged as he unlocked the door and strode into his apartment, past the messy living room, kitchen and bedroom, to the bathroom at the rear.

Lily had the choice of following, or cooling her heels. She knew what he would have preferred, and—feeling stubbornly contrary—did the exact opposite. Pulse racing, she leaned against the hallway wall with her back to the open bathroom door and continued their conversation as nonchalantly as if every single day she did things this intimate with men she barely knew. “I know because I’ve watched his TV show every week for the last five years.” The action-adventure show about an easygoing Hollywood private eye had been the one bright spot in many a stressful week. Lily had watched the highly entertaining program in hospital rooms and waiting rooms, as well as at home. And it had never failed to make her forget her problems, at least temporarily. Right now she needed to forget her problems. Besides, if she won her bet with the girls, they all owed her a day at the spa. If she lost and they won, well, Lily didn’t want to think about what she would have to do then. Especially since Fletcher didn’t seem to know about the price she would have to pay, either. Otherwise she was sure he would have already rudely brought it up.

Fletcher kicked off one boot, then the other. “Carson McRue plays a character, Lily. What you see on TV is all an act, albeit a highly polished one.”

“I know that,” Lily retorted drolly as she heard a zip and a whoosh of fabric…and was that the shower starting? Telling herself she was not going to see Fletcher naked, no matter how brazenly he was behaving, she closed her eyes and rubbed at the tense spot just above her nose.

“But no one who isn’t that nice could actually pretend to be that caring and compassionate.” At least Lily hoped that was the case. Otherwise, her goose was cooked. She would never be able to live down this drunken boast. Never be able to get up the nerve to do what she had to do to make good on her lost wager…

“Don’t count on it,” Fletcher argued right back. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter.” The shower curtain opened and closed. Water pelted in an entirely different rhythm and the aroma of soap and shampoo and…man…wafted out on the steamy air as Fletcher scrubbed himself clean. “I’m still not introducing you to him.” He spoke above the din of running water.

At Fletcher’s stubbornness, it was all Lily could do not to stomp her foot. “But he and the rest of the show’s cast and crew will be here tomorrow,” she protested hotly as he shut the water off, pulled open the shower curtain with a telltale whoosh and ripped a towel off the rack with equal carelessness. “And you’re the only one in town who has met him.”

Six heavy male footsteps later, Fletcher was standing in the hall. Knowing she would be a coward if she didn’t look, Lily opened her eyes. Fletcher was standing there, regarding her curiously and unabashedly. He had a towel slung low around his waist. He was using another on his hair. And, she noticed disconcertingly, he looked every bit as deliciously sexy wet as he did dry.

“I found the guy a horse to ride while he’s here. That’s it. And all that required was a phone call and video-conference,” Fletcher told Lily in disdain.

That was far more contact than anyone else in town had had, Lily thought enviously. Why didn’t anything that exciting ever happen to her? And if it didn’t, how was she ever going to leave her Ice Princess of Holly Springs reputation far behind?

“You’re also going to be working at the set, as the animal-rights consultant.” She diligently made her case for him to help her.

Fletcher shrugged his broad shoulders, and Lily’s pulse picked up as she saw the loosely knotted towel around his waist slip a little bit.

Fletcher frowned, unimpressed. “It’s a glorified title. I only took the position because of the hefty paycheck attached to it. It doesn’t mean I really have any say in what goes on there. Unless of course they try to do some stunt that would actually harm any of the animals on the set. And right now, the only animal I know about is the horse Carson McRue will be riding when he takes off after the bad guys.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Lily did not care if Fletcher ended up being bored out of his mind. “The point is, the film crew is only going to be here for one week and you’ve got entrée. And I do have a bet going…”

Fletcher met her eyes, this time in all seriousness. “One that is bound to guarantee you getting hurt.”

Lily’s spine stiffened. She wished like heck that he would behave more modestly or put some clothes on. Not that she could actually see anything she shouldn’t be seeing…or wouldn’t see if he were, say, swimming.

“You don’t know that,” she retorted defensively in an attempt to get her mind off of what was under that towel. Was that as gloriously male and wonderfully attractive as the rest of him? And how would she—the woman of literally no worldly experience—know anyway, even if she were to see? She’d never encountered a naked man! Except on the big screen and in the movies she’d seen. And it was always a rear view, never ever the front.

“Don’t I?” Fletcher let go of the towel he had looped around his neck. He flattened a hand on the wall next to her and leaned in close, deliberately invading her space. “Let’s recap for a moment here, shall we?” he said softly. “Small-town girl—that would be you—who has never been out of Holly Springs, except for that one half semester she went to college in Winston-Salem before returning to finish up her studies at nearby N.C. State, tries to hook up with a Hollywood hunk who has a reputation for breaking hearts all over the world.”

Lily did not need reminding how stifling her life to date had been. “First of all, Fletcher,” she retorted, lifting her chin, “it was never my decision to live my whole life in North Carolina or live at home while I finished my business degree. But I had no choice. My grandmother was ill—and someone had to be there to drive her to medical appointments and see her through the surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy treatments.” Lily gulped around the sudden tightness in her throat. “So I did it, and furthermore—” her voice quavered even more as she thought about the heartbreak of that awful time “—I was glad to do it.”

Fletcher’s eyes softened and he touched a gentle hand to her quivering chin. “I know that,” he told her compassionately. “I’m sorry you lost her. You know how much I cared about Grandmother Rose. And the pets she had over the years.”

Lily did know. An animal lover from birth, Fletcher knew everyone in town, and their pets. His future as a veterinarian had seemed as predetermined as Lily’s, who had been tapped to continue the florist business that had been in the Madsen family for generations. The difference being Fletcher had gone into his career by choice. Lily had been forced into hers by duty. And at twenty-five, after years of sacrifice, she was getting pretty darned tired of doing what everyone else felt she should.

“Which is why, Lily, I and everyone else in this town who care about you do not want to see you make a fool out of yourself over an arrogant thespian.”

“Don’t you think that should be my choice?” Lily tapped him on the chest before she could think—then withdrew her index finger from that warm, hard chest and leaned back as far as she could into the wall.

Fletcher’s eyes grew dark, as he stayed right where he was. “Not if you’re going to make the wrong decision, no,” he said flatly. “I don’t.”

“WHAT IN THE TARNATION did you do to that little filly?” Fletcher’s brother Dylan asked, tongue in cheek, an hour later. A TV sportscaster by profession, Dylan couldn’t seem to stop observing and commenting on everything around him, even when he wasn’t working. But then, Fletcher noted, that was all Dylan had always been—a “watcher” rather than a “doer.” Whereas Fletcher could have cared less what anyone else—save the delectable Lily Madsen—was up to as long as it didn’t directly impact him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fletcher said, happy that his sister Janey was getting married to a man who deserved her, but wishing Janey and Thad Lantz had selected any other night for their wedding week kickoff pig pickin’ in his mother’s backyard.

Fletcher’s oldest brother Mac, looking as much a lawman out of uniform as in, edged closer, a plate of pork barbecue in his hand. “Lily Madsen hasn’t stopped glaring at you since the two of you walked in together.”

Fletcher forked up some of his own shredded pork and tangy barbecue sauce, irked because they were treating his coming in with the stubborn minx as if it were some sort of date, and it darn well wasn’t. “I didn’t ask her to the party,” Fletcher said, exasperated. “So don’t go making anything out of us coming in together.” That was just the way it had happened, thanks to Lily’s refusal to give up on her pitch right until the minute they walked in here side by side.

“Yeah, we know.” The twenty-eight-year-old Dylan winked.

Cal continued with a salacious grin. “At least she was on time.”

Fletcher shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Cal might have been the first of them to get married, but his wife Ashley’s current OB/GYN fellowship in Honolulu had him living the everyday life of a single man again. And though Cal kept insisting it wasn’t a marital separation, it looked to everyone else in the family as if it were. Particularly since it had been going on for two years now.

Not that Cal had ever looked at another woman. Ashley was—and always would be—the love of Cal’s life. For all the good it did him, Fletcher noted cynically.

“I couldn’t help being late.” Fletcher finally answered the charge against him. “A sick cow needed my attention.”

“No problem. Lily Madsen was only too happy to volunteer to go and find you and drag you over here.” Cal continued teasing, even as the beeper on his belt went off, signaling a message regarding one of his orthopedic patients.

Fletcher guzzled his icy cold beer as Cal stepped away to use his cell to phone the hospital. “Can I help it if I’m not much for parties these days?” Fletcher asked.

“Who are you kidding?” Joe razzed, looking fit as a fiddle, even in the Carolina Storm hockey team’s off-season as he chowed down on liberal amounts of coleslaw, beans and shredded pork. “You’ve never been much for parties. Always too busy tending to some sick or wounded animal.”

Fletcher wasn’t going to apologize for his devotion to his work. He plucked a golden brown hush puppy off his plate. “That’s my job.”

Thad Lantz, Janey’s fiancé, joined the group. “Not twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week,” Thad said with the same frank authority he used as coach of the Carolina Storm hockey team. “You’ve got a partner. She takes calls from time to time. Or so I’ve heard.”

“And your point is?” Fletcher asked Thad.

“It’s best to play as hard as you work.”

And all he needed, Fletcher thought sardonically, was a playmate who didn’t want hearts and flowers and marriage—or anything else he was ill equipped to give.

Even as he thought it a single woman came to mind. Beautiful, blond and all of twenty-five…

“I think we’re getting off subject here,” Dylan said, guiding the conversation back to where it began. He looked at Fletcher curiously. “We want to know what you did or said to Lily Madsen to get her so ticked off at you.”

Fletcher turned and looked at Lily. She was deep in conversation with his mother and sister, and the other bridesmaids. And she looked absolutely gorgeous. Like the cherubic angel he remembered her being as a kid, and yet…all grown up. Definitely grown up. Her five-foot-five frame was slender but curvy in all the right places, her legs stunning enough to make even the most jaded guy stop and take a second and third look. Her baby-blond curls had been cut to chin-length, but these days she wore them in a tousled, unconsciously sexy, finger-combed style that drove him wild. Her soft pink bow-shaped lips had a sensual slant and the rest of her features—the straight slender nose, high cheekbones, wide-set Carolina blue eyes—were elegance defined.

She was incredibly feminine, and it didn’t matter whether she was wearing the khaki pants and pastel T-shirts he sometimes spotted her in, or the kind of floaty, flirty tea-length floral sundress and high-heeled sandals she had on now. She always exuded a sort of purity and innocence that was amazing for someone her age, especially in this day and age. Which was why, Fletcher thought as Lily turned and sent a brief, dagger-filled look his way, he had to stay away from her. Which probably wouldn’t be hard, given all the reasons he had just given her to absolutely loathe and detest him.

Reluctantly, he broke off their staring match and turned back to Thad and his brothers. Aware they were still waiting for an explanation, he said, “She wants me to fix her up with Carson McRue when he hits town tomorrow to start filming Hollywood P.I.”

“And you refused?” Mac guessed dryly.

Hell, yes, he had refused, Fletcher thought as he took another swig of his beer. “Lily is much too innocent to be hooked up with a narcissist like McRue,” Fletcher said in the most disaffected tone he could manage.

“Let me guess. You gave her a hard time about wanting to go out with him at all,” Cal said.

“No,” Fletcher replied, beginning to feel exasperated again as Lily shot him another withering look over her shoulder, which was followed by a whole slew of withering looks from his mother and the other bridesmaids. “I simply told her the way it was,” Fletcher continued matter-of-factly, defending his actions. “And I wouldn’t have done that if she had just taken my hint and not asked for my assistance in garnering an introduction.”

The male members of the wedding party turned to look at the female participants. Especially Lily, who still looked awfully ticked off, like her temper was sky-high. “What’d you say to her?” Dylan asked curiously.

That was just it. Fletcher could hardly recall—he had been so focused on Lily and that sexy lilac perfume she was wearing.

Fletcher swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat as he pushed away memories of just how kissable her pink and pouty lips had been, how silken her peaches and cream skin. “I just wasn’t very helpful.”

Joe smirked. “Not being helpful usually doesn’t earn you razor-sharp looks like that.” Since getting hooked up with his wife, Emma, earlier in the summer, the pro athlete in the family suddenly considered himself an expert on all things female. “So what’d you do?” Joe prodded.

I got into a shower in front of her, in hopes of scaring her away. Unfortunately, Fletcher admitted remorsefully to himself, it hadn’t worked. And now, all Fletcher could remember was Lily’s eyes roving over him as her face flushed and her breathing grew shallow. And he wondered what it would be like to see her in—and just out—of the shower.

“Have we been missing something here?” Mac leaned in closer. His work as sheriff had trained him to notice absolutely everything. “Have you two got something going on?”

“Nope.” Fletcher said honestly as Lily sent him yet another heated look. And just as suddenly, inspiration hit. Fletcher caught and held Lily’s eyes until she finally blushed and turned away with a haughty snap of her head. “But we just might,” he drawled.

Dylan scoffed. “Fat chance, considering she’s got her eyes on another prize.”

Fletcher had never taken well to disrespect. He wasn’t going to start now. He finished the last of the barbecue on his plate. “You think I can’t do it?”

“Win her attentions?” Mac sopped up the last of his barbecue sauce with a piece of sourdough bread. “You bet.”

Fletcher set his plate and bottle of beer aside. “You’re on.”

Cal blinked, sure he had missed something. “What?”

Fletcher stepped closer and dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “Hundred dollars says I can make Lily Madsen forget all about going out with Carson McRue.”

Joe shook his head, predicting, “She’ll never give up on a date with the hunk, if only because it’ll mean losing the bet she made at her twenty-fifth birthday party last week.”

It didn’t matter to Fletcher. Not in the least. Or it wouldn’t, when he was through waylaying Lily Madsen at every conceivable opportunity. “She’ll do it,” he boasted, to one and all, aiming his thumb at his chest. “In order to go out with me.”

“WHAT WERE YOU and your brothers and future brother-in-law talking about for so long over there?” Lily demanded at the end of the party as Fletcher prepared to drive her home. The palatial, three-story white brick Wedding Inn that Fletcher’s mother ran loomed across the manicured lawns.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Fletcher fibbed.

All four of his brothers and Thad had wanted in on the action. With five hundred dollars riding on his wager—and his secret deathbed promise to Lily’s grandmother spurring him on—Fletcher had powerful incentive to keep Lily from being hurt by Carson McRue.

She looked him up and down, color flooding her face. Feeling an answering heat well up deep inside him, he yearned to throw convention aside and simply take her in his arms and kiss her, if only to stop whatever it was she was going to say to him next. “I don’t believe you,” she said quietly.

Fletcher shrugged and folded his arms in front of his broad chest. “If you must know,” he continued lazily, standing with his shoulders back, legs braced apart, “they were razzing me about the dirty looks you gave me all during the pig-picking.”

Just as he had expected, the attitude he was exuding only served to infuriate her all the more. “Did you tell them what a cad you were?” she demanded with a haughty toss of her head, looking all Southern belle, born and bred.

Didn’t have to. They had guessed as much, and of course, he already knew. Which was another reason, Fletcher figured, it would be best if Lily continued to detest him, both before and after he won his bet, of course. He needed to convince her once and for all she needed to hold out for someone far better than either him or Carson McRue to come along and sweep her off her feet and give her the kind of life she deserved.

“Well, then,” Fletcher said, taking an astonished Lily into his arms and bringing her shockingly close as he prepared to give her something to really loathe him for, “I guess it’s high time I lived up to my ‘reputation.’ Don’t you?”

Chapter Two

Lily couldn’t believe it. Fletcher Hart was actually going to kiss her. Right here as the party was breaking up, in front of everyone getting into their cars. “I don’t—” she said, splaying her hands across his warm, hard chest. Before she could protest further, his lips were on hers, and in one sizzling instant, all reasonable thought left her brain and she was only aware of the sensations rippling through her. The smooth lips. Seductive pressure. The incredibly good taste of his lips and mouth and tongue as he erotically deepened and took full command of the kiss. She’d heard about embraces like this, read about them, even seen them when a few of her friends fell head over heels in love with the men of their dreams, but never had she experienced anything like the tumultuous whirlwind of emotion and pleasure.

And even though she knew, in some distant part of her brain, that Fletcher was only doing this to provoke her, the fun-and-pleasure-starved part of it never wanted it to end. Because fiery hot kisses like this, men who could kiss like this, so masterfully and evocatively, did not come along every day. As his arms wrapped all the tighter around her, and he brought her even closer to his hard, demanding length, Lily moaned, surprising herself with the sensuality of her response, and melted deeper into the embrace. And that was when she heard it—the low male laughter surrounding them.

The sound was like a bucket of ice water being dumped on her head. She broke off the impetuous kiss and looked around to see Fletcher’s brothers chuckling and shaking their heads with a mixture of amusement and chastisement.

“Getting a head start there?” Dylan remarked sarcastically.

“You better watch yourself,” Mac warned as he strolled to the SUV he drove whenever he wasn’t on duty as the Holly Springs sheriff.

Joe sauntered past, his wife Emma’s hand tucked in his. “You could find yourself married before you know it.”

Joe sure had, Lily remembered, thinking of the whirlwind romance earlier in the summer that now had Joe and Emma living as man and wife.

Despite the odds against a happily-ever-after in the situation Joe and Emma had initially found themselves in, Lily had to admit the two looked very happy now.

“Ah, leave him alone,” Cal said, waving off the interference of their other brothers. “It was only a kiss. Kisses don’t mean anything.” Cal turned his attention to her, looking every bit the compassionate doctor he was known to be. “Right, Lily?”

“In this case, definitely right,” Lily confirmed stormily, trying to look as casual as if she did things like this every day when everyone knew she did not.

“From where I was standing it looked like Lily was kissing him back. And that does mean something,” Thad said, as he leaned over to buss his bride-to-be’s cheek. “Right, Janey?”

“That’s where all my troubles started.” Janey sighed, looking as happy as any engaged woman should be as she laced her arm around Thad’s waist and leaned her cheek against his chest.

“It’s all disgusting to me,” her 12-year-old son, Christopher, said, as he tagged along behind his mother and Thad.

“Not to worry,” Lily said, glaring at Fletcher. “It’s not going to happen again.” She hurried to catch up with his older brother Mac. “Care to see me to my car?” she asked as she fell into his protective shadow.

“Be happy to, Lily.” Mac flashed her a reassuring smile before turning to send his third oldest brother a censuring look. “And not to worry, Lily. You’re safe with me.”

UNFORTUNATELY, FLETCHER noticed right away, Lily was not going to be safe with the TV actor who rolled into town the following morning in a custom-outfitted silver trailer.

“Who’s the beauty?” Carson McRue asked as he and Fletcher met to discuss a horse.

Fletcher followed Carson’s glance. It led straight to Lily, who was loitering on the other side of the wooden barricades erected to keep the cast and crew of Hollywood P.I. away from the spectators gathering to watch the action in the town square.

Damned if Lily didn’t look particularly gorgeous this morning, with her tousled blond hair and her sunglasses propped on top of her head. That pale pink sundress she was wearing not only hugged her slender curves to sexy advantage, it made her look like a peach blossom, ripe for the picking. Fletcher did his best to contain his mounting frustration. Protecting the headstrong and way-too-naive-for-her-own-good Lily from heartbreak was going to be no easy task. Especially with her constantly trying to win the bet she’d made with the girls. Fletcher’s only comfort was that the bet he had made was—unlike hers—strictly under wraps to those who had made it with him.

He turned back to Carson, irked by the man’s crassness in everything they discussed. His true personality seemed directly at odds with the great guy he played on TV. “She’s off-limits,” Fletcher stated casually.

Carson lifted a well-plucked brow. “Married?”

“Just off-limits,” Fletcher repeated, doing his best to appeal to the actor’s sensitive side. Assuming he had one. “Her grandmother, who was her only family, died last year. And she lost the cat she’d had since she was five years old, too. She had a very rough time.”

Carson eyed Lily rapaciously, his glance lingering on her hourglass of curves. He licked his lips. “She looks ready to kick up her heels to me.”

Punching out the competition would get him nowhere, Fletcher reminded himself firmly. At least right now. Later, if Carson continued in his current vein, all bets were off. “If you’re looking for…companionship,” Fletcher said meaningfully, “I can direct you to some likely places in Raleigh, Durham or Chapel Hill.” There were dozens of bars in all three college towns. Lots of willing young women who would give anything to spend an evening in the handsome celebrity’s company.

“No thanks. I like small-town girls.” Carson continued studying Lily as if she were an item he’d like to purchase. “There’s a sweetness and a purity about ’em. Besides, you never know…you could be giving one of them the thrill of a lifetime.”

“And then what?” Fletcher asked.

Carson looked at Fletcher as if he were an infant, and not a particularly bright one at that. “We both move on.” Carson spoke slowly and directly.

Only Fletcher knew Lily wouldn’t be able to move on. Were she to be seduced and abandoned by someone like Carson McRue, it would crush her vulnerable heart.

“About the horse,” Fletcher said impatiently, eager to have this business finished so he could go waylay Lily again and keep her from winning the wager.

Carson frowned his displeasure. “It’s the wrong color.”

It was Fletcher’s turn to scowl. “You asked for a roan stallion—”

“I wanted a lighter brown,” Carson interrupted, running a hand through his dark brown hair. “Something with a lot more copper in its coat. This one is too close to the color of my hair.”

Fletcher would have thought the actor was kidding if not for the earnestness on Carson’s face.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Fletcher allowed, with as much professionalism as he could muster, “but stunt horses are in short supply in this area of the country. And since you didn’t want to pay to have one shipped in from the West Coast—”

“Just find what we need,” Carson cut him off. “I’m expert enough to ride even an untrained horse. And while you’re at it—” he pointed to a shady area, half a block away “—do something about those two dogs over there.”

Fletcher turned and looked at the beagle mix and black Lab, sitting side by side in the shade, watching all the activity along with everyone else. “They don’t seem to be bothering anyone.”

“I’m allergic,” Carson announced tightly.

Good to know, Fletcher thought.

“I don’t want them barking and ruining a shot. We’re going to be filming here later.” Carson glared at Fletcher.

“Right.” He nodded as if this were part of his job description.

“So call whomever you have to call and get rid of them,” Carson continued.

“I’ll try their owners,” Fletcher said dryly.

Carson dismissed Fletcher and without a backward glance at any of the fans waving autograph books and calling his name, stepped inside his silver trailer.

Unbeknownst to him, Lily had somehow sweet-talked her way past the security guards standing watch over the barricades and was already heading toward them. She looked disappointed to have missed her chance to wangle an introduction out of Fletcher while Fletcher was talking to Carson. “Hoping to say hello?” he razzed her as she approached, wishing she didn’t look quite so much like a Southern beauty queen this morning.

“Something like that.” Lily looked past him, toward the door of Carson’s trailer.

Fletcher moved to bar her path to the door and stood, legs braced apart, arms crossed in front of him. “Carson McRue specifically requested he not be disturbed,” Fletcher informed Lily with a stern look.

Lily sighed, disappointed. “Maybe later,” she hoped out loud.

Not if Fletcher had anything to do with it. Figuring, however, that Lily would not believe him even if he told her what Carson had just said about her, Fletcher let the opportunity to set her straight about the actor’s true character pass. He gestured toward the two dogs chasing each other on the green. “Want to help me round those two up?” he asked her casually.

Lily’s full lower lip slid out into a delectable pout. “I’m not a dog person. You know that.”

Fletcher could imagine she didn’t want to get her pale pink sundress dirty, and he couldn’t really blame her. It looked expensive. Too expensive to be wasted on a guy like Carson McRue. “How do you know?” he challenged her playfully. “You’ve never owned a dog.”

“So what are you hinting here, Fletcher? That dogs are superior to cats?” She looked down her nose at him. Clearly, she didn’t think so.

“For a young single woman in need of protection—” from men like Carson McRue, Fletcher added silently “—yes. They are.”

Lily lifted a delicate brow. “Maybe from know-it-alls like you,” she acknowledged silkily.

Fletcher looked deep into her eyes, wishing he could haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless again. Just for the hell of it. But knowing that timing was everything, he forced himself to bide his time. He’d not only protect her when all was said and done, he’d win his bet, too. “Just come by the clinic later,” Fletcher told Lily lazily and smiled as her cheeks pinkened all the more. “I’ll introduce you to your new best friend,” he promised.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Fletcher merely kept smiling and didn’t elaborate. If there was one thing he knew about Lily, she loved a good mystery, just like her grandmother Rose.

IT WAS JUST CURIOSITY, Lily told herself. That and the fact she had an order for a sumptuous bouquet to be delivered to the Holly Springs Animal Clinic reception desk at 6:00 p.m. The flowers were for the “staff” but none of the staff was there. Only the founding veterinarian, Fletcher Hart, who was looking mighty fine in a sage-green work shirt that nicely outlined his shoulders and powerful chest, and faded boot-cut jeans that did the same thing for his legs.

Fletcher came around the reception desk and took the bouquet from her with a smile of thanks. “They’ve all gone home.”

Aware her pulse had picked up at the thought of spending time alone with Fletcher—again—Lily leaned against the counter and adapted the same lazy insouciance he demonstrated. She watched him make a big show of setting the flowers in a prominent place on the large U-shaped desktop that fronted the reception area. “You placed this order, not Mr. N. L. Spartacus.”

“Well, he wanted to, but for obvious reasons he couldn’t contact the shop himself so I arranged it for him.”

“And sent that teenager in with a sealed envelope of cash and instructions.”

“What can I say?” Fletcher lifted his hands in a mock gesture of helplessness. “The kid owed me a favor.”

“You are shameless,” Lily accused sternly. And sexy as could be, standing there, smelling of aftershave, his shaggy honey-brown hair all rumpled, and the hint of evening beard on his masculine face. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was getting ready to go on a weeknight date, instead of merely ending a workday.

His expressive lips tilted up in a playful half smile. “I prefer to think of myself as a facilitator,” he told her wryly.

“I’ll bet.” Lily sighed, wishing she didn’t recall quite so acutely just how much fun it had been to kiss him, even when the proud part of her said she should have been slugging him a good one. She tilted her head, wishing he didn’t have a good eight inches on her in height. The disparity in their bodies made him seem all the more overwhelming. And she did not want to be taken over by Fletcher Hart, D.V.M. Setting her jaw, she forced herself to focus on the reason for her being there. “Why did Mr. N. L. Spartacus want to send the staff flowers, anyway?”

Fletcher appeared just as distracted as she was as he let his gaze rove over her hair, face and lips, before returning with laser accuracy to her eyes. “The usual,” he said seriously. “N. L. Spartacus was grateful for the care he received here and wanted to show it.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Lily wasn’t sure whether she was buying any of this or not. She narrowed her eyes at Fletcher. “And then you set it up so I had no choice but to bring the arrangement over myself.” Thereby keeping her from pursuing her bet about Carson McRue. Not that she had been able to get anywhere near the actor that day, even when she wasn’t working. Production company security had the area well blocked off. And Carson McRue, it seemed, was not acknowledging anyone but show personnel. At least for now….

“Hey!” Fletcher palmed his chest, caveman-style. “How was I to know you’d show up in person?”

“Because it’s a well-known fact around town that all my part-time help goes home at 5:00 p.m. to cook dinner for their families. I always close.”

“Okay. I admit N. L. Spartacus and I had an ulterior motive, getting you over here. And I’ll show you what it is.”

She looked at him blankly. He took her by the hand and led her into the room adjacent to the reception area. At the end in a big wire cage was the yellow Labrador retriever she had seen the previous day. He was lying down when they entered, but thumped his tail in greeting and looked up at them with hopeful eyes. It would have been enough to break Lily’s heart, had she been a dog person. But she wasn’t, she reassured herself firmly. And furthermore, didn’t intend to be.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to his owner?” she demanded crisply. She desperately did not want this to be her problem and she was afraid if she stayed here any longer it might very well be.

Fletcher reported in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, “His owner died four weeks ago. Spartacus—we’ve dubbed him N.L. because he Needs Love—was with the old guy when it happened. His owner was in his nineties and Spartacus stayed with him from the time he had the heart attack until he was found by a neighbor, three days later.”

Lily caught her breath at the horror of the circumstances. “Oh, no.” The poor thing….

“Anyway,” Fletcher continued, his voice a little more gravelly, “Spartacus just went nuts when they tried to take the old guy away. He just wasn’t going to let it happen. So the animal control people were summoned. Spartacus got one whiff of the truck that was going to take him to the pound and knew it wasn’t for him, so he broke loose and ran off.”

Lily pressed a hand to her heart. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “Then what happened?” she asked, the tragedy of the situation almost overwhelming her.

Fletcher shook his head, a brooding look coming into his eyes. “No one really knows. Three days ago, Spartacus showed up again at the house where he used to live, vomiting and so weak he could barely stand. This time the neighbors called my clinic, asked me to treat him. So I got in my pickup and went out to get him.”

Lily looked back at Spartacus. “Needs Love” was certainly appropriate. She had never seen a dog with such a sad and lonely expression. If only he weren’t so big. And strong looking. If only he were a cat. Cats, she knew. And yet he had his own appeal in that handsome big-dog way. His thick short fur was a pale, almost white-gold, and there was a stripe of darker gold down the center of his back that matched the color of his ears. On impulse, Lily hunkered down and reached out to touch him through the wires on the cage. She could feel his ribs sticking out prominently as she stroked his belly. She wondered how he had survived on his own for four weeks. She looked up at Fletcher as Spartacus leaned over to nuzzle the back of her palm affectionately with his black nose. “What was wrong with him?” she asked, still trying like heck not to get emotionally involved here, as his whiskers tickled her skin.

Fletcher shrugged, his emotions as tightly under wraps as hers were on the surface. “My guess is the canine equivalent of severe food poisoning. I think he’d been eating out of garbage cans while he was on the lam and got something particularly nasty, which isn’t surprising in the summer heat. Bacteria grows like wildfire. Anyway, he’s on the mend now, and I’ve got to find a new home for him.” The playful grin was back on Fletcher’s face as their eyes meshed again. “I spoke to him about it this morning and he told me he kind of fancied the pretty blonde who had been in here hassling me yesterday, so I promised N.L. I’d propose pet adoption to you.”

Very funny. And designed to pull on my heartstrings. “He can’t talk,” Lily pointed out.

“Come on.” Fletcher assumed the boldly enthusiastic tone of an aggressive salesperson. “Look at those big brown eyes and tell me you don’t know what he’s thinking.”

That was the problem—Lily did. And it was breaking her heart to admit she was not the person for the job. A dog like Spartacus needed someone knowledgeable in canine care. Telling herself it was for the best, Lily turned away. “Have you talked to his previous neighbors?” she asked.

Frustration tightened the corners of Fletcher’s mouth. “They’re all in their golden years. None of them can handle a three-year-old Labrador retriever who is going to have plenty of energy as soon as he recovers all the way.”

Lily nodded in understanding, even as she forced herself to harden her heart. “I’m sorry about his owner,” she said sincerely.

“So is N.L.” Fletcher knelt down and opened the cage. The Lab struggled to his feet, and clamored out on wobbly legs. Spartacus’s tail wagged, then stopped as he caught the wary expression on Lily’s face.

“But I can’t help you with this, Fletcher,” Lily continued firmly as the Lab sat down in front of them and looked up. “But maybe you could take him,” Lily suggested as Spartacus continued to gaze at them woefully.

“Can’t,” Fletcher said, his attitude every bit as stubbornly resistant as her own. “I live in an apartment. This dog needs a house and a yard.”

Lily crossed her arms in front of her. Spartacus’s well-being aside, she resented the way Fletcher was trying to make this her problem. “Like the one I live in, I suppose,” she said dryly.

Fletcher’s golden-brown eyes gleamed. “It is big.”

“It’s huge.” And way too much for one person, Lily thought. But the property, which had been in her family for generations, had been entrusted to her, so she couldn’t sell it any more than she could get rid of Madsen’s Flower Shoppe. But none of that had anything whatsoever to do with what was going on here. “And I still don’t buy your excuse for not taking him since there are walking trails that lead to the park that start right across the square.” Fletcher could manage if he wanted.

“Only one problem with that,” Fletcher shot back while Spartacus sat patiently at their feet, his head moving back and forth like that of a person watching a tennis game. “When I’m not here at the clinic working, I’m out on ranches and farms, taking care of large animals.”

“So get Spartacus obedience trained to the highest level by your cousin Susan Hart—” who was famous for her work with search-and-rescue dogs “—and take him literally everywhere you go. You’re certainly in a business conducive to it.”

Fletcher rejected her suggestion with the same fervor he attached to her desire to date Carson McRue. “A good vet knows better than to get emotionally attached to his patients.”

“So, adopt Spartacus and get another vet to take care of him,” Lily said.

“N.L. is relying on me to get him well.” Fletcher reached down to pet his head, and was rewarded with a single but heartfelt thump of tail. Fletcher straightened and stepped forward slightly, further invading her space. “Besides, there is no room in my life for a dog,” he told her, looking deep into her eyes, his smile widening once again. “You, on the other hand, could use the company and protection a big handsome dog like Spartacus offers. He’s been through a lot, losing his owner and all. So he’s going to need a lot of TLC, especially for the first few weeks.”

Lily stepped back a pace, putting a necessary distance between them. “Thereby putting the kibosh on my pursuit of Carson McRue?” she volleyed right back.

Fletcher nodded solemnly. “You know what they say. For all worthwhile endeavors, sacrifices must be made.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “You’re shameless. You know that?”

Fletcher grinned but didn’t deny it as the phone rang in the other room. Abruptly sobering, he said, “Look, just stay with him for a few minutes, will you?” Fletcher rushed off to answer it.

Spartacus scooted closer. He looked up at Lily with those big sad eyes, silently beseeching her, and wreaking havoc on her tender heart.

“I really have to go,” Lily called after him. She was not going to do this. She was not….

Hadn’t she promised herself she wouldn’t let anyone or anything else tie her down, or distract her from having fun, fun, fun? She did not need to be sitting home babysitting a traumatized dog, no matter how lovable…. She needed to be out, fancy-free, kicking up her heels, recovering her lost youth….

“I mean it, Fletcher Hart!” Lily continued.

Fletcher stuck his head back in the room, the still ringing cordless clutched in his hand, his expression reproving. “Really, Lily. What’s two minutes petting Spartacus going to cost you?”

“I KNOW WHAT he’s doing,” Lily told Spartacus as the door shut behind Fletcher, and she heard him start talking on the phone. Unable to help herself, she bent down and gently petted the silky soft back of Spartacus’s blond head. “He’s trying to get me to bond with you so I’ll want to adopt you and take you home with me. That might be a good idea in theory because the old mausoleum I live in could use a little livening up. But the truth is that I’m not sure I still have any love left to give.”

Lily swallowed hard around the ache that rose in her throat. “Losing Grandmother Rose was so hard. I kept thinking I’d feel better.” But instead she had remained so numb inside. So depressed and alone and hopeless, all at once. Lily stroked him behind the ears, and heard him give a little moan in the back of his throat, not so very different from a cat’s purr. But unlike a cat, a species known for its aloofness, Spartacus seemed to want desperately to attach himself to her. And Lily understood that, too. She desperately missed having a family to call her own; the party at Helen Hart’s the night before had reminded her of that. “But then I guess you know a lot about that, too, don’t you?” Lily continued softly, still petting the extremely gentle-natured dog. “Having lost the only family in your own life.”

“Okay—” Fletcher burst back in, abruptly all business “—you can go now.”

The only problem, Lily thought, was that she didn’t want to go, since she and Spartacus were just starting to get acquainted.

“I mean it.” Fletcher shooed her toward the door. “Hasta la vista, baby. Vamoose. See you around.”

Lily straightened with as much dignity as she could manage, wishing she were a lot taller than five foot five inches. She propped both her hands on her hips and demanded indignantly, “Where did you learn your manners?”

“Didn’t,” Fletcher retorted briskly. “Can’t you tell?”

Lily blew out an exasperated breath, unsure whether she wanted to kiss him again or kick him in the shin. “Some things are glaringly apparent.” To her frustration, he looked pleased—instead of annoyed—by her insult, as if there was nothing he would rather do than work her into a temper and stand there trading insults with her. Spartacus, however, just looked upset to see her leaving. Her heart clenching, despite her efforts to stay emotionally uninvolved, Lily paused at the door. She swallowed hard around the ache in her throat. “Seriously, Fletcher, what is going to happen to N. L. Spartacus?”

The mirth left Fletcher’s expression. “I can keep him here another day or so.”

Lily’s heartbeat sped up another notch. “And then what?” she demanded.

He regarded her steadily. “Like you said, it’s really not your problem, Lily.”

Silence fell between them, more poignant than ever.

“I’m hoping to find a family for him,” Fletcher continued seriously.

“And if you don’t?”

He regarded her brusquely. “That’s not something you need to worry about.”

“Then why did you introduce me to him, bring me over here, have me pet him?” Lily demanded.

Abruptly, the artifice, the teasing fell away. Lily thought she got a glimpse of the real, unguarded man behind his customary mask of cynicism and what-the-hell playfulness. “Because I thought—” A shadow passed over Fletcher’s eyes. His expression tightened as he swept a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter what I thought,” he told her in a gruff voice, as Spartacus went back to sit on Fletcher’s foot. “I was wrong.”

AN HOUR AND A HALF later, Lily discussed the situation with the other bridesmaids as they congregated at a department store in Crabtree Mall in Raleigh, trying on shoes for Janey’s wedding. “He’s trying to get me to fall in love with N. L. Spartacus.”

Janey eyed her. “Seems to be working.”

“He thinks if I have a dog I can’t continue to try and win my bet with you-all.” Lily turned to Susan Hart, Janey’s cousin. “Which is why I was thinking…maybe you could take him?” Susan not only operated her own kennels on her farm outside Holly Springs, she headed up the North Carolina Labrador Retriever Rescue Association.

Susan, a voluptuous thirtysomething with champagne blond hair, shook her head wistfully. “I wish I could. But I’m at capacity and then some right now, with dogs that are coming into Labrador Retriever Rescue. You know how it is. Everyone wants their kid to have a puppy at Christmas. Six to nine months later they realize maybe this is too much work after all, and they just take the dog to the pound.”

Emma sucked in a breath. “That’s terrible.”

“I know,” Susan agreed. “But a lot of the dogs I get are able to be either adopted out to good homes, or trained to work with police and fire departments around the state. But it takes time to make a placement. Dogs that have been abandoned—like Spartacus—have issues, and require an awful lot of tender loving care, to feel secure again. That’s why Fletcher won’t take him—he doesn’t have the time to give Spartacus the TLC he needs.”

“Or so he says,” Lily grumbled, wishing Fletcher hadn’t made it seem to her like she was N. L. Spartacus’s only hope. He had to know—from the way she had let her own needs and desires go unmet when she was taking care of her grandmother—what a soft touch she was. And how very hard it was for her to say no to someone who asked for her help, even when it was for the best. She also wished Spartacus hadn’t looked at her with such sad, lonely eyes.

Misunderstanding the depth of her dilemma, Janey murmured, “You know, you don’t have to go through with the bet you made with us on your birthday, Lily. If you didn’t we would all understand.”

Lily saw the pity in their eyes. She’d had enough of that, too.

“You really didn’t know what you were saying that night,” Emma continued, gently giving Lily the out they all seemed to feel she needed.

What none of them understood was that the night of her birthday was the first time in years she had felt really and truly vibrantly alive. The only other time was when she’d been arguing with—or kissing—Fletcher, and that was just because he was so darn difficult and made her so hot under the collar.

Lily looked at the young women gathered around her as she tried on a pair of strappy black-and-white sandals. “So I wasn’t just foolish, I was stupid, too? Is that it?”

They all frowned in a way that let her know she was overreacting. “Reckless, maybe,” Hannah conceded, as she put the correct-size shoes back in the box for purchase. “That was quite a loser’s penalty you cooked up for yourself.”

“One none of us would ever expect you to follow through with,” Emma—who had made her own share of life’s mistakes—said seriously.

Lily sighed again. They thought she didn’t have it in her to be wild and crazy and fear-free. Because of the circumstances she had found herself in back in college, she’d never had the opportunity to embrace her youth the way other coeds did.

But Lily wasn’t responsible for anyone else now. It wasn’t too late. She could go back, recapture those years, that sense of heady freedom she had always yearned to experience.

“We could even substitute it with something else,” Susan Hart suggested brightly. “Like another bar or an event where you buy us all nachos and margaritas.”

And didn’t that sound dull, Lily thought, even as she absolutely dreaded what lay ahead if she didn’t win her bet. “I’m not going to welsh on my wager,” Lily said stubbornly, refusing to back down on the audacious claims she had made. As the looks of sympathy around her deepened, she continued with a devil-may-care-air she couldn’t begin to really feel. “Besides, it’s not as if I’m going to have to do what I swore I would do if I lost. Because I am going to get a date with Carson McRue before this week is up.” She just knew it.

Hannah Reid looked worried again. “Has he even spoken to you?”

“No,” Lily admitted reluctantly. “But he was eyeing me this morning. And I know that look.”

It was the same look that guys always gave her before they worked up the courage to ask her out on a date. It was only later, when they found out how dull, how prim-and-proper she really was at heart, that they lost interest in her. Just as Carson eventually would. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to do something daring and unexpected that would expand her horizons, herald a new much more interesting way of life. It was an effort to break completely with the heartache of five years that had been filled with illness and grief, as well as the boredom and depression of the last year. It was a way to recast her as sexy and exciting, instead of sweet and hopelessly angelic.

“What’s it to Fletcher anyway who you want to date?” Hannah asked curiously.

Lily shook her head, glad to talk about something other than reconfiguring the bet. Lord only knew. She had been trying to figure out that one herself.

“Could he be jealous?” Janey frowned.

Lily shook her head, protesting, “There’s nothing between Fletcher and me.”

Susan grinned as she slipped off one pair of sandals and tried on another. “The kiss last night says otherwise.”

The heat of embarrassment climbed from Lily’s cheeks. “Nothing besides that,” Lily amended hastily. “And that kiss didn’t mean anything.” Even if it felt like it had, at the time….

“Maybe he wishes the kiss did mean something,” Emma said sagely.

Lily stiffened her shoulders, trying hard not to remember how movie-star handsome Fletcher had looked standing shoulder to shoulder with Carson McRue in the town square that morning. As if Fletcher were the to-die-for sexy celebrity, and Carson McRue, merely average in comparison. It wasn’t as if she had to make a choice between the two of them, anyway. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She scowled at Emma and the others.

Just because Fletcher looked at her as if he wanted to bed her did not mean he ever would. “Fletcher is just being contrary.” Lily continued her argument that nothing was going on between them. “Proving all over again that he is no Sir Galahad. And that romance, or even the hope of it, is for fools.”

Silence fell between them. Fletcher had such a reputation as a mischief-loving cynic, no one could dispute that.

Lily looked at Janey. “Why is your brother like that, anyway?”

Janey’s lips took on a troubled curve. “I don’t know. At some point after our dad died, he just became really cynical and kind of only out for himself, his own ambitions and goals.” She paused, shaking her head in bewilderment and regret. “None of us have been able to get close to him emotionally. I mean, I know Fletcher loves us and would—when it came right down to it—do anything for us. But on a day-to-day basis? He’s definitely got his own agenda and not a one of us is privy to what that might be.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Lily picked up an assortment of fresh doughnuts, four cups of hot coffee and headed over to the barricades. Very little filming had been done the previous day and, judging by the amount of activity going on in front of one of the buildings being used as a backdrop, the cast and crew seemed anxious to make it up.

She had her cover story all prepared—that she was bringing this order by for Carson. But as it turned out, it wasn’t necessary to use hijinks for an introduction. The moment Carson McRue laid eyes on Lily, he headed her way, telling the guard standing watch over the barricades to let Lily on through. As she closed the distance between them, he flashed her the cocky grin he used on TV, gallantly took the breakfast she offered and led her toward his trailer.

“I was hoping I’d get the chance to meet you,” he told her warmly as someone rushed to open the door for them. “I noticed you yesterday.”

He led her inside the incredibly outfitted trailer. It had a living room, a well-equipped kitchen and a bedroom with a king-size bed.

“I wanted to meet you, too, but I couldn’t get close to you,” Lily said shyly. Although she was momentarily mesmerized by Carson’s drop-dead handsomeness, it surprised her that he was just five inches taller than she was and rather slight in build when compared to, say, the six-foot-one, two-hundred-pound, Fletcher Hart.

“I apologize.” Ignoring the breakfast she had brought, Carson went to the fridge and got out bottles of imported spring water. “Our producers are a little nuts about the possibility of anyone getting hurt, and with all the cords, power sources and booms—”

“I understand,” Lily said with a smile, sitting down on the butter-soft leather sofa. She moved over slightly when he sat down a little too close to her. “It’s very responsible of you.”

Okay, she was here. This was her dream come true. So why wasn’t she more excited? Why didn’t she feel the butterflies in her tummy that she felt when she was around Fletcher Hart?

Carson looked her over from head to toe, before returning to laser in on her eyes once again. “So what are you doing tonight?” he asked, drinking deeply.

Cut straight to the chase, why don’t you? Lily thought. But why are you complaining? This will help you win your bet. And you won’t have to… Aware Carson was waiting for her answer, while she was sitting there arguing with herself, Lily said, “I’ve got a fitting for a bridesmaid dress.”

“What about tomorrow night?” he asked, gulping down some more of that designer bottled water.

Lily knew what she would like to be doing—kissing Fletcher Hart again. But since that wasn’t about to happen… She shrugged. “I don’t have anything planned.”

“Perfect, then. It’s a date.” Carson pursed his lips together thoughtfully. “I’d take you out on the town,” he said after a moment, “but we’d be mobbed with my fans.”

Lily didn’t mind. As long as she accomplished what she had set out to do….

“Tell you what. Why don’t you come to my hotel tomorrow evening—the Regency, in Raleigh—and have dinner with me there? Say around nine-thirty?”

Lily was surprised to find she really didn’t want to go, at least not as much as she had initially thought she would if she were ever to get herself in this situation. But a bet was a bet and it would serve Fletcher Hart right if she were to win after all he had done to waylay her. “Sounds great,” Lily fibbed, still coming to terms with the fact she was about to have dinner with a TV star.

A rap sounded on the trailer door. Carson’s young and pretty female assistant stepped in. “Carson? There’s a Dr. Fletcher Hart—”

She didn’t have a chance to finish as Fletcher shouldered his way in. Fletcher looked at Lily and saw her sitting next to Carson on the leather sofa. He was not pleased.

“How are you doing in finding me a horse to use?” Carson demanded.

“No luck—yet. At least not in the hue you want. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to collect my woman,” Fletcher announced with all the audacity of a big-screen hero.

Lily blinked. And just as audaciously tossed a glance behind, to the left and right of her. Nope. No one else standing there.

Hands braced on his hips, Fletcher regarded Lily with exaggerated patience. “What have I told you about chasing other guys?” he demanded, as unamused by her antics as she was by his.

“Nothing,” Lily said, enunciating slowly, as if he were a dunce. And truly Fletcher was behaving like one.

Fletcher gave Carson a man-to-man glance. “What can I say? This is all a game to her. She likes the chase—” Fletcher reached out, grabbed Lily’s hand and tugged her off the sofa “—and I like giving her one.” Behaving as if he had some right to be going all possessive on her, Fletcher tucked one muscular arm behind her knees, the other behind her back.

“You can’t be serious,” Lily groaned, not sure when she had ever felt so shocked and embarrassed, as Carson McRue and his assistant exchanged astonished looks.

Heart racing, she pushed her hands against Fletcher’s chest—for all the good it did her. Fletcher swept her off her feet and cradled against his chest. The assistant held the door for him and Fletcher carried Lily down the steps. While everyone looked on with unbridled interest—including the townspeople gathered to watch the action, cast, and crew, directors and producers— Fletcher paused in the middle of the roped-off area. Still holding her cradled in his arms, he slowly, ardently lowered his head to hers.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” Lily warned.

Chapter Three

But of course Fletcher did, and when the kiss came, it was just as masterful, just as dangerously uninhibited and exciting as before. Lily moaned in a combination of fury and dismay, luxuriating in the feel of his lips on hers. For the first time in her life, she was with a man who wasn’t afraid to give her the unrestrained passion she craved, and she reveled in the hard, insistent demand of his mouth on hers, the erotic sweep of his tongue, the way he brought his hands up and tunneled his fingers through her hair.

Lily told herself to resist him. She couldn’t let him think he could do this to her again, kiss her just to put on a show, but there was just something about the way he held her and kissed her that totally destroyed her will. He was just so warm and strong and male, so demanding and yet so giving, too. Despite herself, Lily felt herself melt against him. She had never felt so much a woman nor been as aware of any man.

Her nipples were tightening almost painfully beneath her dress. Lower still, there was a definite pressure building, a weakness in her knees. The need, the desire, to take this somewhere quiet, somewhere private, spiraled through her body. But that was crazy, she reminded herself firmly. It wasn’t as if she and Fletcher were in love, or could ever be that attached to each other—not with him as deeply cynical and domineering as he was. And she wasn’t the kind of woman who would ever react this passionately out of pure physical need, never mind in front of a crowd of onlookers. But with Fletcher Hart holding her against him and kissing her as if she was already his, that was exactly what she was doing.

With effort, Lily pulled herself together and put on the brakes. And it was only then when she had come treacherously close to surrendering to him completely that Fletcher let the tempestuous kiss come to a halt.

Lily told herself she should be furious. But as he released her, heat suffused her and excitement—unlike anything she had ever felt—roared through her. Dimly, she became aware of two things. One, the larger-than-life romance she had been looking for had somehow found her when she least expected it. Not in Beverly Hills or on a private Learjet, but in her hometown of Holly Springs. And two, people were clapping! Hooting and hollering, encouraging Fletcher to take her in his arms and kiss her again. And darned if the son-of-a-gun didn’t look tempted.

“You are unbelievable,” Lily fumed.

“Yeah, I know.” Fletcher tipped the brim of his straw cowboy hat in her direction and grinned at her unrepentantly. “You can thank me later,” he promised.

“Thank you?” Lily echoed, all the more incensed.

He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. “For helping you win your bet.”

Lily blinked, and leaned back, fearful that if their bodies touched they would end up kissing again. “What?” Mirroring him, she pretended an insouciance she couldn’t begin to feel.

Fletcher acted as if he were imparting top secret information, of the men-only variety. “Men like competition, Lily. I figured if Mr. Magoo—”

“McRue,” Lily corrected, noting thankfully that if Carson had witnessed any of what had just gone on, he had since disappeared.

“Whatever,” Fletcher continued with a disinterested wave of his hand. “Just that if he saw you kissing me right out in the open like that it might spur him on to try and stake his claim.”

Lily glared at Fletcher, wishing she weren’t still tingling everywhere he’d touched her…and even more tellingly, everywhere he hadn’t. “Is that what you were doing?” she demanded in raging disbelief.

“Yup. Thought it would inspire him to start trying to woo you into accepting a date with him.”

Lily blew out an exasperated breath and raked her hands through her hair, trying to restore order to the curls Fletcher had mussed with his fingertips. “Carson McRue does not have to woo me.”

Fletcher looked incensed. “Well, he should,” he counseled her sternly. “Lily. For heaven’s sake! You can’t just give it away.”

She was going to slug him. She really was. She didn’t care who was looking on. Holding on to her temper by a thread, she pushed the words through her teeth. “I am not giving anything away.”

Fletcher nodded with mocking approval. “That’s good. Play hard to get,” he encouraged her baldly. “It works with me.”

“And just so you know,” Lily continued with a regal toss of her head, “Carson did not need your help getting motivated where I’m concerned. He’s already asked me for a date.”

For once, Fletcher didn’t have a ready comeback. In fact he was silent for so long Lily almost convinced herself he cared whom she went out with.

“When?” Fletcher asked finally in a low, too casual tone.

“Tomorrow evening.” Lily smiled at him smugly, glad to see that she at last had the upper hand.

Fletcher seemed to consider that. “Where?”

Lily felt her nerves tighten at the ornery look in his eyes. “None of your business.”

Fletcher nodded, looking grim and almost brooding again. “You’re right,” he said. “It isn’t.”

That couldn’t be disappointment she felt, could it? Lily wondered as silence fell between them once again.

“If you don’t care what I do,” she reasoned slowly, searching his face for some clue, “then why did you come over here and cut short my conversation with Carson like that?” Why had he carried her off and kissed her like there was no tomorrow. Lily was sure it hadn’t been just to create a scene.

Fletcher shrugged his broad shoulders, stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Because I thought you might like to say goodbye to N. L. Spartacus,” he said.

Once again, they were in completely unexpected territory. “Goodbye?” Lily echoed, nonplussed.

Fletcher lifted his left wrist and glanced at his watch. “The guy from the shelter’s going to be by anytime now to pick him up.” That said, Fletcher turned on his heel and began walking in the direction of the clinic.

“You’re kidding.” Lily rushed to catch up with Fletcher.

Fletcher said nothing and continued walking, all the way into his clinic. Since office hours weren’t set to begin yet, the only person there was his receptionist office manager. She flashed a wan smile, seeming to think the same Lily did about Fletcher’s actions.

“I can’t believe you are really doing this,” Lily said.

Fletcher looked all the more determined as he went through a stack of phone messages the receptionist handed him. “Spartacus needs a home and a family who’ll love him. The shelter is his best shot for getting adopted.”

“And if he doesn’t, then what?” Lily demanded, nearly in tears as she rushed into the room where Spartacus was being kept.

The big yellow lab was lying on his side in the cage, but when he saw them he lifted his head.

His expression turning almost tender it was so compassionate, Fletcher opened the door and motioned the dog out.

Spartacus lumbered slowly to his feet, stretched, then—as if sensing this to-do was all about him—sat abruptly back on his haunches and stared at them stoically, refusing to come out of the cage. And Lily couldn’t blame the poor sweet dog, given what Fletcher had in store for him.

“Look—” Fletcher gestured toward Spartacus like a particularly disinterested salesperson “—he’s a beautiful animal. Sad but gentle natured.”

That, Lily knew, might not save Spartacus from an unwarranted end. “He could get put to sleep!”

Fletcher turned his glance away and didn’t respond, reminding Lily that was all part of his job. “Do you want to say goodbye or not?” he demanded harshly, the distant brooding look back in his eyes.

Like clockwork, the shelter guy strode into the reception area, leash in hand. Lily’s heart slammed against her ribs and her breath caught in her throat. Numb no longer, she stepped between Spartacus and the two men, stated fiercely, “I am not going to let you do this!”

As if sensing he finally had a savior worth his attentions, Spartacus finally lumbered out of his cage and stood looking up at Lily with his big sad eyes, his tail down between his legs.

Fletcher frowned and folded his arms in front of his chest. He looked ready to square off, too. “You don’t have anything to say about it.”

“Yes, I do,” Lily shot right back, unable to believe how cruel Fletcher was being. Her heart going out to the poor, grieving animal, Lily knelt beside the far-too-skinny yellow lab and wrapped her arms around Spartacus’s neck. She regarded Fletcher stubbornly. “I’m taking him home with me.”

Fletcher’s brows drew together in accusatory fashion. Unwilling to admit she had offered up a solution, he said, “I thought you didn’t want a dog.”

“I don’t,” Lily insisted as Spartacus trembled in her arms, his short, dense coat surprisingly soft and silky beneath her hands. He’d had a bath recently, and he smelled of fragrant dog shampoo. “But a lot of people who come into Madsen’s Flower Shoppe do. I’ll put up a sign. Heck—” she rose gracefully, tilting her head back determinedly, prepared to go toe to toe with Fletcher once again “—I’ll take him to work with me and I’ll find him a good home with no help at all from you!”

LILY HAD PLENTY of time to regret her actions as she walked the still-somewhat-wobbly-legged N. L. Spartacus across the town square. Her reservations were echoed by her three very talented part-time florists. Mothers all, they juggled family, home and work responsibilities and were grateful for the flexible hours Lily allowed them. “What are you doing with a dog?” Maryellen asked.

“Finding him a home.” Briefly, Lily explained, as she got out the digital camera she used for taking photographs of floral arrangements and took a close-up of his handsome face. “The problem is I don’t know anything about taking care of a dog.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” the bespectacled Maryellen said as Lily hooked her camera into her computer and printed out the photo while her staff continued to gather round her.

Belinda held up hands made plump by her latest pregnancy. “I’ve only let the kids get hamsters.”

Sheila ran a hand across her perpetually sunburned cheeks. “My expertise is limited to our parakeets.”

“Does he even know how to ‘stay’?” Maryellen asked as she bent to tentatively pet Spartacus’s white-blond head.

Lily had no idea. “I guess I’ll find out,” she said, getting out what she needed to make up the poster that would find the orphaned pet a new home.

As it happened, she needn’t have worried. Spartacus never let her leave his sight. In fact, he was so hyper-vigilant about where she was and what she was doing, Lily was starting to get a little worried, as she taped a sign in the window of Madsen’s Flower Shoppe. It said Wanted—Loving Home For 3-Year-Old Yellow Lab. She had taped a digital photograph of Spartacus beneath it and wrote Ask Inside….

As Lily had hoped, it wasn’t long before she had drummed up some interest. A young mother with two elementary-school-age children walked in. They spotted Spartacus sitting tensely beside Lily and headed for him eagerly.

The woman bent down to inspect him. “Is this him?”

Lily smiled. “It sure is.”

“What’s her name?”

“It’s a he. And it’s Spartacus.” N. L. Spartacus…

The little boy pulled on his mommy’s arm. “How come he’s not wagging his tail?”

The woman frowned. “He doesn’t look very happy. We had in mind something a little more…exuberant.”

Lily nodded, understanding the woman’s feelings, even as her feelings of protectiveness toward the dog increased tenfold. “He’s had a rough time,” she stated quietly.

As if on cue, Spartacus moved closer to Lily.

“Well, I wish you luck in finding him a home,” the woman said, gathering her kids close and backing toward the door.

The same scenario was repeated throughout the morning. People came in. Spartacus pretty much ignored them all. Even going so far a few times as to turn his head completely away.

“I wonder how hard it is to teach a dog social skills,” Maryellen murmured as she put a finished arrangement awaiting pickup into the refrigerator, and then stepped to the front of the shop to check on the progress of the filming on the other side of the square.

“I thought it was kind of automatic for canines to wag their tails and look happy,” Belinda said, joining Maryellen at the picture window, her attention also fixated on the TV show scene unfolding before them.

“Me, too,” Sheila murmured as the four of them gathered to watch Carson McRue step before the cameras. Someone called “Action!” on a bullhorn and he began conversing with the actor in front of him. The exchange wasn’t long. The director nodded his approval. Seconds later, Carson disappeared into his trailer once again.

“Somehow I thought it would be more exciting,” Maryellen murmured.

No kidding, Lily thought. She had expected to be riveted when Carson McRue hit town. After all, the handsome, charismatic actor had been a favorite of hers for years. She had watched him turn from a teen heart-throb and player of bit parts into an occasional film actor and the star of his own TV show. But she found he couldn’t hold a candle to the other man currently figuring prominently in her life—Fletcher Hart.

And speak of the devil…

Lily turned away from the picture window, hoping he hadn’t seen her. “I’ll be in the back,” she said, beating a hasty retreat to her private office. She had end-of-August bills to be paid, biweekly paychecks to issue.

Spartacus was right beside her.

Seconds later, the bell over the front door rang, and Lily felt as well as heard Fletcher stride in, the atmosphere in her century-old shop changing that much.

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