Wintersoft’s CEO is on a husband hunt for his daughter. Trouble is Emily has uncovered his scheme. But can she marry off the eligible executives before Dad sets his crazy plan in motion?

“I may be a gentleman, but I am not sleeping on the floor,” Brett declared.

Sunny eyed the large, imposing bed, and a tremor of uncertainty scuttled up her spine. “Why is it that everything around you seems to be linked to royalty?”

Brett frowned. “What?”

“The bed. Is it a king or a queen?”

The corner of his mouth started to lift. God, she hated it when he did that. It was so sexy.

“Isn’t there a phrase for it?” she persisted.

“Something about being careful who you make your bed with, or who you’re crawling into bed with?”

“Me,” he stated firmly, his smile disappearing.

“You’re crawling into bed with me.” The statement was bald, decisive and unadorned. Then he tempered it. “For a king’s ransom. Free room and board.”

Sunny took a deep breath. “I agreed to help you…but I never imagined this.”

Dear Reader,

Egad! This month we’re up to our eyeballs in royal romances!

In Fill-In Fiancée (#1694) by DeAnna Talcott, a British lord pretends marriage to satisfy his parents. But will the hasty union last? Only time will tell, but matchmaker Emily Winters has her fingers crossed and so do we! This is the third title of Silhouette Romance’s exclusive six-book series, MARRYING THE BOSS’s DAUGHTER.

In The Princess & the Masked Man (#1695), the second book of Valerie Parv’s THE CARRAMER TRUST miniseries, a clever princess snares the affections of a mysterious single father. Look out for the final episode in this enchanting royal saga next month.

Be sure to make room on your reading list for at least one more royal. To Wed a Sheik (#1696) is the last title in Teresa Southwick’s exciting DESERT BRIDES series. A jaded desert prince is no match for a beautiful American nurse in this tender and exotic romance.

But if all these royal romances have put you in the mood for a good old-fashioned American love story, look no further than West Texas Bride (#1697) by bestselling author Madeline Baker. It’s the story of a city girl who turns a little bit country to win the heart of her brooding cowboy hero.

Enjoy!

Mavis C. Allen

Associate Senior Editor

Fill-In Fiancée
DeAnna Talcott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by DeAnna Talcott

Silhouette Romance

The Cowboy and the Christmas Tree #1125

The Bachelor and the Bassinet #1189

To Wed Again? #1206

The Triplet’s Wedding Wish #1370

Marrying for a Mom #1543

The Nanny & Her Scrooge #1568

Her Last Chance #1628

Cupid Jones Gets Married #1646

Fill-In Fiancée #1694

DEANNA TALCOTT

grew up in rural Nebraska, where her love of reading was fostered in a one-room school. It was there she first dreamed of writing the kinds of books that would touch people’s hearts. Her dream became a reality when The Bachelor and the Bassinet, a Silhouette Romance novel, won the National Readers’ Choice Award for Best Traditional Romance. Since then, DeAnna has also earned the WISRWA’s Readers’ Choice Award and the Booksellers’ Best Award for the Best Traditional Romance. All of her award-winning books have been Silhouette Romance titles!

DeAnna claims a retired husband, three children, two dogs and a matching pair of alley cats make her life in mid-Michigan particularly interesting. When not writing, or talking about writing, she scrounges flea markets to indulge #1 son’s quest for vintage toys, relaxes at #2 son’s Eastern Michigan football and baseball games, and insists, to her daughter, that two cats simply do not need to multiply!

FROM THE DESK OF EMILY WINTERS

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 Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Phillip, if it’s any consolation, you’ve always looked particularly good surrounded by a bevy of beautiful females,” Brett Hamilton told his brother. He cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder, and pushed back from his desk. He’d been so happy to hear from his brother, yet this bit of news surprised him. Another girl? Again? “At least you know the baby’s healthy,” he said. “It’s the luck of the draw whether it’s a boy or a girl.”

“It’s Mother and Father that are the problem. They dote on the girls, truly. But they want a grandson, Brett. An heir. They figure I haven’t been doing my job, and they’re looking to you now.”

Brett said nothing—he’d heard it often enough in the past few months. His entire family kept reminding him it was time to get married, to produce an heir, to strengthen family alliances. It was all a bunch of rubbish as far as he was concerned. Producing heirs to keep their titles and traditions was a thing of the past.

“By the way,” Phillip added, “they’ve struck up with Lady Harriet again, and Mother said she’s asking about you.”

“Phillip, must you ruin a perfectly good day, bringing that up again?”

“Well, it’s true. Anyway, you’re both getting to the place where you should think about settling down.”

“Perhaps. But not together.”

“Our families do complement each other,” Phillip reminded him.

“What you’re really suggesting, Phillip, is one of the greatest financial mergers England has seen in decades. Between their family business and ours we’d have a corner on the market.”

“And is there anything wrong with that?”

“A merger and a marriage are two different things.”

“And what about getting an heir in the process? Mother and Father would be ecstatic. I tell you, with the doctor promising us another girl, me and my swarm of females don’t offer the family lineage a lot of hope.”

“Four daughters and a wife do not create a swarm. Unless,” Brett chuckled, thinking of the chaos he’d witnessed last summer, “you are on an outing to the park. And as for the family lineage, I think we are in dire straits if the only concern is to produce a male heir. I’d like to think we’ve moved beyond that.”

“Huh.” His brother sighed audibly. “Not to hear Father. The first thing he asked when we told him the news was if it was a boy. And Mother? She went into a veritable depression for a week when she found out the doctor said we should start adding more pink to the wardrobe. Carolyn says this is absolutely the last baby…so, little brother, even though I have tried my best, truly, you are now responsible for the family title—or at least an heir for it.” He paused for emphasis. “What with their upcoming visit, I’d imagine Mother and Father will take the opportunity to remind you of your duties and obligations.”

Brett squeezed his eyes closed, grateful his brother couldn’t witness his exasperation. His parents had been nagging him for years to settle down and get married. “So you’re warning me?”

“No. I’m telling you what to expect.”

Brett said nothing, but the burden of it all hung like a dark cloud over his head. He’d been told since childhood to embrace his title, and he’d been well schooled in his responsibilities. It had been an unspoken understanding that he would marry and marry well. But for him, London had been a place of spectator events, charity balls and social finagling. He’d grown up as Lord Breton Hamilton, but inside he simply felt like “Brett.”

When the opportunity to move to America to work in Wintersoft’s Boston office as vice president of overseas sales came up, he’d jumped at it. In the past six months he’d led a useful, fulfilling life, and he loved the challenge—and the anonymity—of it. Perhaps the software company didn’t have the tradition of his father’s shipbuilding empire, but Brett was quite content to build his own dream, to create his own niche.

“Well?” Phillip prodded. “What about your love life? You’ve been suspiciously quiet about all of it since you moved to the other side of the ocean. It’s made Mother think that maybe you’ve had regrets, and with Lady Harriet, perhaps that absence has made the heart grow fonder. She even mentioned that Lady Harriet might consider joining them on their visit to Boston. She hinted to Mother that she’s never been there.”

The suggestion pulled Brett out of his reverie and caused him to sit erect in the leather desk chair. “What?” A second slipped away as he tried to assimilate what his brother was telling him. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, I’ll not be forced into a marriage, and for another, we’re simply not compatible. We established that two years ago.”

“You grow to like your mate, Brett.”

Mate? Damn, he loathed the functional term. The woman he’d spend the rest of his life with would meet his expectations on every level, including the emotional and the spiritual. The last thing he needed was Lady Harriet tagging along on his parents’ visit. “But I’ve grown to like my girlfriend,” he said coyly, thinking that if he said he already had a woman in his life, they’d drop the whole thing. “Here. In Boston.”

“Say again?” Brett heard two sharp raps, most likely against the receiver. “I do say, there must be something wrong with the connection. You? Have a girlfriend?”

“More than that,” Brett continued boldly. “We’re engaged.”

A moment of dead silence followed his declaration.

“I beg your pardon, man? And you’ve been keeping it quiet? What a cagey old bloke you are!”

“I’m not trying to be cagey.” But Brett’s enthusiasm for the broad picture he’d painted grew. If his brother believed the tale, maybe Brett could get off the hook with his parents, as well. He’d had quite enough of their hints—and their ultimatums. “And there’s more,” he claimed, baiting his brother with one last delectable tidbit that had soared through his imagination. “We’re living together.”

“What? And you’ve stayed mum about all this?”

“I wasn’t quite prepared to tell everyone. Not yet.”

“You realize you have just poked a hole in our parents’ carefully laid plans?”

“Mmm. Maybe. But you can see that if Lady Harriet chose to surprise me with a visit—well, it would be most…uncomfortable.”

“For who? Mother and Father? Or you?”

“You will let them on to this delicate—or indelicate—situation, won’t you?” Brett suggested shrewdly. That was always the fun of it, getting Phillip to do his bidding and soften up his parents. Phillip, four years older, had always delighted in his baby brother’s teasing ploys and had spent a lifetime covering for him.

This time, however, Brett would admit the truth to his brother after his parents were safely back home and Lady Harriet had moved on to happier hunting grounds. He hated to deceive Phillip, but there really was no help for it.

As he was ruminating his way around this particularly tricky scenario, Sunny Robbins rapped on the frame of his open door. Seeing he was on the phone, she politely held up a file folder of contracts he’d requested an hour ago. He motioned for her to come in.

Sunny, who had the most mesmerizing gait of any woman who walked through Wintersoft’s legal department, crossed the threshold and entered his domain. She was wearing that same short skirt again. The one he’d noticed her in in the employees’ lounge last week. Huh. Short enough to play with a man’s imagination, long enough to be respectable.

She had coltish legs, and they matched her demeanor—a little unconventional and very unencumbered. He’d always wondered about her, and had recently struck up several conversations with her that stopped just short of him asking her out. She was the paralegal who worked for Grant Lawson, general counsel for the company.

“I’ve got the copies,” she whispered, preparing to put them on his desk.

“Wait,” he mouthed, lifting a finger and listening to his brother’s tirade.

She slid them onto the corner of his desk and took a step back.

“I don’t believe it! Someone has snared my little brother? The man who always said it would take one resourceful temptress to steal his bachelorhood? That was the most inviting thing about you and the girls, you know. You were unattainable.”

At that precise moment, Sunny threaded her fingers through her tawny locks and raked the chin-length riot of blunt-cut, windswept hair back from her temple. Her smile, patient and unaffected as she waited for him to get off the phone, accelerated his heartbeat. Their gazes collided and in that brief pause he saw something in Sunny Robbins that he’d never before recognized—a vision that coincided with the remark Phillip had made about his “resourceful temptress.”

“Yes, well, I’m one step closer to giving it up,” Brett confirmed, determined to stick to the charade but equally uneasy about the direction his wild ploy was taking him.

“Who is this woman?” his brother pressed. “What does she do? Where is she?”

“Actually, she’s right here,” Brett declared recklessly. “Sunny,” he said, “blow my brother a kiss, will you, luv?”

Sunny blinked and a frown popped onto her brow. “Excuse me?”

“Blow him a kiss. From your lovely lips to my only brother, half a world away.”

“Why?” Sunny slanted him a dubious look.

Brett grew magnanimous, as he always did when he carried a plot too far. This one was going to get him in big trouble, he knew. He could just feel it. “Because he wants to meet you! Tell my brother I love my job, I love my life. Blow him a kiss and assure him all is well with the world. That all is well with you.” He handed Sunny the phone.

She stared at it as if he’d taken complete leave of his senses. When she finally, reluctantly, accepted it, she put it to her ear and listened, as if she expected to hear something absurd.

Then, to Brett’s delight, she made a sloppy smacking noise into the receiver.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said tentatively.

Brett’s smile grew, and his confidence multiplied. He couldn’t help it; he looked at the conference call button and popped it on.

“And I hear you’re living with my brother.”

“I’m what?” Sunny exclaimed, stiffening as she yanked the phone away from her ear.

Brett punched the button off, effectively silencing his brother, and quickly made a dive for the phone. “She didn’t want anyone to know. Not just yet,” he hastily explained to Phillip.

“Sunny? What kind of name is Sunny?” his brother pressed.

“Hers. Solely, uniquely hers.” Brett shook his head and flapped a hand at Sunny. He didn’t want her to run out the door without an explanation. “I’ll be done in a moment,” he mouthed. “Look, explain to Mother and Father about this, will you, Phillip?” he said, raising his voice. “I mean, they’re going to find out anyway, and it would probably be best coming from you.”

Phillip chuckled. “I expect I’ll need to tell them to book a hotel, too. Under the circumstances.”

“Do that,” Brett agreed.

They said their goodbyes, but Brett’s gaze was fixed on Sunny the entire time. She was rooted to the spot, and her eyes were huge. There was barely any color in her face save for a spot of red staining each cheek. Her chin was raised at a defiant angle, and her shoulders straightened, stretching the sheer fabric of her blouse and making the tiny buttons between her breasts shift.

Uh-oh. He may have gotten away with it with his brother, but he wasn’t going to get away with it with her.

Brett carefully placed the phone back on the hook and set his hand on the file folders. He tapped them impatiently. “Thank you for dropping these off, Sunny—”

“It’s my job,” she emphasized.

“And about this other little thing…I’m in a bit of a fix.” He waited for her reaction. There was none. “So…since you were in here, I thought you could help me out.”

“Your brother said—if I heard him correctly—that we were living together?”

Brett rose up out of his chair slowly, so as not to alarm Sunny. “Now, there’s the thing. We could, actually. If you wanted to.”

Sunny’s curvaceous lips parted and her jaw slowly dropped.

Before she could protest, he quickly came around the desk and added, “My parents are pushing me to wed a woman I simply don’t love, you see. A nice woman, a nice family, nice connections, nice everything. Too nice, too convenient and too unfeeling. I made up this story about my girlfriend in Boston—and then, when that worked, I embellished it. To the part where we’re living together.”

“Embellished?” she repeated.

“I had to. No other choice, really.” He threw up his hands. “My parents are coming for a visit. And they’re threatening to bring Lady Harriet.”

“Oh, my.” One of Sunny’s exquisitely arched eyebrows rose slightly, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly.

Brett sighed heavily and glanced at the open door. He moved toward it. “There are some things you don’t know about me, Sunny.” He quietly closed the door. “None of them bad,” he assured her quickly. “Actually, I’ve had a great life, and my parents are good people. But they’re not…average people.”

Sunny’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Say it, Mr. Hamilton.”

“There. Right there. That’s the thing. In England, my friends know me as—” he cleared his throat before continuing “—Lord Breton Hamilton, son of Lord Arthur and Lady Miriam Hamilton. I regret to say it, but my family is titled.” He uttered the last four words as if they were an extraordinary burden.

Sunny didn’t move a muscle, not one. There was not so much as a wiggle of her lips or a flicker of an eyelash. “So you’re rich,” she said finally.

He shrugged. “I won’t be, not if I’m disinherited, as they threaten.”

“But I don’t understand what that has to do with me blowing your brother kisses, or why we’re living together.”

The way she said it gave him a glimmer of hope. She hadn’t dashed cold water on all his outlandish plans. And those plans were just beginning to take shape—with her help.

“Sunny, sit down. Please.” He pulled up an overstuffed chair for her, then sat in the one opposite it. “I’ll try to explain it all, but it’s complicated. And the truth is I’d rather just be me. Brett Hamilton. I haven’t told anyone over here about my heritage because I don’t really want anyone to know.”

“You’re asking me to keep your secret.”

“If you would.”

Sunny offered up a half laugh, as if the situation was beyond ludicrous. “I’m not going to go running up and down the halls, claiming to know that Brett Hamilton is an English lord. Who would believe me?”

“Thank you.” He impulsively reached for her hand, but just as quickly reined himself in. It would not do to become familiar with Sunny, not under the circumstances. “Along with my title comes some responsibilities. My brother called because he’s just learned that the doctor predicts they are having their fourth girl. It doesn’t matter to my brother and his wife, but my parents really wanted an heir. A child to inherit and carry on the family name.”

“Ah, one of those archaic, gender-oriented issues.”

A jolt of pleasure rose in Brett. Maybe this woman shared his beliefs. “Exactly. They are pressuring me to marry—and they’ve pretty much selected my future wife. Lady Harriet. The woman has it all—the family, the title, the connections. It would be a match—but one without any spark. And I really want that in a relationship.”

Brett noticed Sunny’s eyes visibly soften. Apparently he’d said something that struck a nerve.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he continued. “I told my brother I had a girlfriend, and I then I made it worse by telling him that we lived together.” Sunny rolled her eyes, her eyelids fluttering in disbelief. “You came into the room, and I said your name without thinking. I didn’t mean to. You were just there, and it happened. Look, the stage is set. Unthinkingly on my part, but set just the same. Would you consider pretending to be my girlfriend, just while my parents visit?”

Sunny hesitated. “You want me to make nice with your parents for an evening or two.”

“Well…” He lifted a persuasive shoulder. “Maybe more than that. I told them we were engaged.”

She groaned. “Oh, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Brett,” he said quickly.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“I know, luv. It is. But the calendar won’t wait. They’re coming next week. Just pose as my girlfriend. We’ll say we’re engaged, and you can move in and we’ll make it look as if we’re living together.”

Sunny stared at him. Then she yanked her short skirt down to just above her knees and held it there with the heel of her hand. “Let me make this perfectly clear. I walked down the hall to drop off file folders, not move in with you.”

“Sunny, I’ve got a two-bedroom flat—I mean apartment. You’d have your own room. And while my parents are here, we’d have a grand time, I’d see to it. Granted, the idea is preposterous, but everything else would be aboveboard and innocent. I promise.”

Sunny looked at Brett and thought the man had lost his mind, but one phrase echoed in her head: two-bedroom apartment. Since her wandering, homeless parents had moved in with her, she was in a quandary. There wasn’t enough room for all of them and she didn’t have the heart to insist they find somewhere else to light. “Let me get this straight. You have a two-bedroom apartment?” she asked.

“I know it’s small,” Brett said apologetically. “The three bedroom wasn’t available.”

His response was so quick it had to be genuine. Brett had a reputation at Wintersoft of being easygoing and amicable. He typically looked like he didn’t have a care in the world—but now he looked worried, almost trapped. That bothered her, even as she guessed at the monthly rent on his apartment. “And this apartment of yours is located where?” Sunny asked. “Because if it’s all the way on the other side of Boston—”

“At that big complex Lloyd always recommends to all his new employees. The Liberty Tree Apartments.”

A ripple went through Sunny. If her mother were here, she’d say it was a sign, that it was preordained and that forces in the universe were aligning themselves for a “Sunny” moment. “That’s…where I live,” she mused.

Brett brightened. “Then you could commute,” he said hopefully. “Your apartment to mine. At your earliest convenience, of course.”

“You mean I could just move into your place, like a roommate?”

“Of course.”

“I wouldn’t ask, but I have family living with me now, and it’s…crowded.”

“Sunny, I have plenty of room. You’re welcome to it. Pose as my engaged roommate,” he wheedled. “I think we’d get on famously, or well enough for a couple of weeks, anyway. All you’d have to do is to dote on me and convince my parents we were meant to be together.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It won’t be,” he warned. “My parents are being quite stubborn about this. They may not like you at all, but you’d be doing me a huge favor.”

Sunny could feel herself giving in. They did have something to offer each other, even though she had serious doubts about gazing into Brett Hamilton’s eyes for the next few weeks. The man exuded sex appeal—and she had no intentions of falling victim to it. He also had a reputation as a playboy.

“Sunny? What can I do to make you believe me?” he said earnestly. “I don’t want to be dishonest with my parents, but I am quite weary of being reminded I have a duty, one that includes marriage. I don’t want my nuptials to be used as a bargaining tool in the boardroom, and I don’t want to produce heirs merely to carry on the family name. I’d like to genuinely fall in love with the woman I choose to marry.”

“That was quite a speech,” she said, considering.

“It’s how I feel.” He reached over and covered her hand with his. “Really.”

“Oh, Brett…” She unconsciously used his first name. “How can you put me in this position? I’m not sure this is right, and I may live to regret it, but—” she looked at the concern in his eyes, the drawn expression of his features “—okay, I’ll do it.”

He broke into a relieved smile, and Sunny knew immediately that while it might be the right decision to help him out, living with him was definitely going to wreak havoc with her senses.

“When do you want me to move in?” she asked cautiously.

“We really ought to get to know each other. Is tomorrow too soon?”

Chapter Two

Carmella Lopez, executive secretary to Lloyd Winters, CEO of Wintersoft, was cleaning off her desk when Brett Hamilton walked into her office, file in hand.

“Lloyd said he needed these. They’re suggestions for the contract changes for the overseas markets.”

Carmella took the file, thinking that Brett was one eligible bachelor who shouldn’t be overlooked. “Fine. I’ll see he gets them. He’s in a meeting now, and I expect it to run late. But you? Duty calls. I’m not letting you out of here until you sign these.” She pushed a stack of papers at him.

Brett grimaced and checked his watch. “Can they wait? I’m meeting someone and—”

Carmella drew back, surprised. “Brett? I’ve never known you to weasel out of anything that has to do with work.”

He grinned. “I know. But I’m getting a new roommate. And I’m meeting her after work.”

“Her?” A sudden, guilty flush crossed his face, making Carmella only more curious. “Okay, what gives?” she pressed. “Is there a lady in your life that we don’t know about?”

“No.” As if feigning indifference, he pulled the papers to his side of the desk.

“Brett, I know you. And you look guilty as sin,” Carmella accused. “Out with it.”

“It’s nothing,” he protested, his attention riveted to the required signature line. “Everything’s innocent. But because it’s someone who works here—”

“What?”

He sighed heavily. “What is the matter with me today? I’m making a habit of saying too much of the wrong thing. It’s good I’m not in the sales department.”

Carmella pinned him with her gaze. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

“Well, I don’t want anyone thinking office collusion, office romance or anything. You won’t mention it to anyone else, will you?” When she made a cross over her breast. He paused momentarily, then sucked in a deep breath. “It’s Sunny Robbins, from legal.”

“No!” Carmella sat back in amazement. She’d had no idea that Sunny and Brett even talked—and now they were moving in together? This would put a new twist on Emily’s plans to pair him off with Josie, in public relations.

Brett shrugged. “Sunny needed a place to stay and I needed someone to help me out when my parents visit next week. It made sense. And I—” he flipped to the last page for one more signature “— I don’t want to keep the lady waiting.”

“Tell me first. Exactly how is she helping you out with your parents?”

He moved on to the next paper, then signed with a flourish. “Sunny is going to move in with me and pose as my girlfriend,” he said. “Of course, there’s nothing to it. But my parents claim to have the ideal woman picked out for me—and I just want to show them I can pick my own friends. My own girlfriends.”

“My.” Carmella’s plump hand fluttered to her chest. “That’s the kind of plan that’ll get you into trouble.”

“I don’t think so. She’s just going to fill in for me.”

“Brett, you might be surprised. That girl is a sweetheart.”

He looked up at her and grinned, pen poised over the next document.

“Guess I’ll have to find out, won’t I?”

Shaking her head in mock dismay, Carmella wagged her finger at him. “I suggest you take this seriously.”

“Come along, luv. Sunny’s only moving in for a couple of weeks and just for fun.”

Emily, the only daughter of Lloyd Winters, and senior vice president of Global Sales, popped her head in the door. “Um, I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but…” she hesitated, frowning at Brett “…did I hear you say Sunny Robbins is moving in with you?”

“Not like that,” he exclaimed, capping the pen and handing it back to Carmella. “Sunny has family at her place, and I needed a little feminine touch in mine, so we worked out a deal.”

Emily’s head swiveled, and Carmella knew just what she was thinking.

“You and Sunny. Really?”

He nodded. “Mutual benefits, that sort of thing. In fact—” he rolled his wrist over and checked his watch again “— I’m meeting her now. Provided she doesn’t think I’ve stood her up. Look, Em, Sunny and I just don’t want to get this all mixed up with work. So you won’t say anything, will you?”

“Absolutely not! I only came in because Carmella buzzed me, not because I was keeping tabs on you.”

“The thing is, it’s all come about quite suddenly, and I’m in a fix—but I don’t want to give anyone here at the office the wrong impression.”

“She’s also posing as his girlfriend,” Carmella interjected.

“She’s what?”

Brett shifted uncomfortably. “Emily, you’ve been a great friend to me, so I guess I can tell you that my parents seem to think they have the perfect woman picked out for me. I’m determined to show them I can find my own. I don’t need their help.”

“Oh…” A dawning realization lit Emily’s features. “Well, I agree! You go, Brett. Go.” She shooed him out the door. “Don’t keep your new roommate waiting.”

Brett buttoned the center button on his suitcoat, then lifted a hand. “Thanks.”

“And Brett…?” Emily asked.

“Yes?”

“Have fun.”

The moment Brett walked out the door, Carmella and Emily exchanged glances. Significant glances.

“Okay. What gives?” Emily asked.

Carmella lifted both shoulders. “A minute after I buzzed you to let you know Todd Baxter was here, Brett walked in.”

“Wait,” Emily interrupted, her gaze straying to her father’s closed door. “Todd’s here? In there?”

Carmella nodded, whispering, “Apparently, with all this downsizing, he lost his job.”

“I heard about his job, but puh-leeze.” Emily shot a second wary look at the door to her father’s office. “I don’t get it,” she muttered. “Why does my dad always treat Todd like the son he never had?”

“Oh, honey. Don’t think like that. Todd’s just down on his luck right now. He wanted your dad’s advice, that’s all.”

Emily lifted a shoulder noncommittally and finally said, “Funny, isn’t it, that Brett’s trying to avoid the same situation I got roped into?”

Carmella pinned Emily with a sympathetic look. “Mmm, I know. Parents mean well. Apparently Brett’s parents have someone in mind for him—not unlike someone else we both know and love.”

Emily shook her head, and Carmella knew exactly what she was thinking.

Years ago, Lloyd Winters had hoped to marry Emily off to one of the executives at Wintersoft—and, remarkably, he’d managed it! To the former Wintersoft wonder boy now sitting behind door number one, Todd Baxter. But Emily had married Todd for all the wrong reasons, and the marriage immediately crumbled. They’d divorced less than a year after their wedding. When Todd left Wintersoft, Carmella knew it was because he’d finally realized his chance to take over the company as Lloyd’s son-in-law ranked right on par with the status of his marriage certificate: null and void.

But Lloyd apparently still wasn’t convinced that his daughter couldn’t be happy with one of the successful bachelor executives at his company. The big-hearted widower thought he had his only child’s best interests in mind, but Carmella knew that he wouldn’t stop trying to match her up with someone until she was married. In fact, she’d heard him talking about it.

So Carmella had helped a desperate Emily hatch a plot to systematically marry off every bachelor in Wintersoft. It would take Emily off the hook and put her right where she wanted to be: single, free and unattached.

Brett was the next man on their hit list. When they’d discovered he was an English lord, they knew that they’d have their work cut out for them. They figured it would take a sophisticated, worldly woman—and they’d agreed Josie was all that and more. But now, after all their efforts, he’d just waltzed in and announced he was moving in with the wrong girl!

“You know, I feel kind of sorry for Brett,” Emily said softly. “Been there, done that. But what about Josie? I was certain she’d be perfect for him.”

“I don’t know about Josie. But I think we should keep his secret.”

“Their secret,” Emily reminded her.

“Sunny, of all people,” Carmella mused, picking up the documents Brett had signed. “Sunny and Brett…It’s an odd combination. But then, they say opposites attract.” She momentarily pondered Brett’s signature. It was the same, but rushed, hurried. Not like him at all. “He says it’s nothing, but I get the strangest sense from him. As if he’s awfully eager to have Sunny as a roommate—and that makes me wonder. It really makes me wonder.”

Sunny picked the most secluded corner booth in the Key-stone Coffee Shop and waited for Brett to arrive. He wanted to talk to her privately after work, so they could hammer out the details of their new living arrangements.

She would never admit to him the real reason she was playing the part of the smitten fiancée. It wasn’t so much to help him as it was to help herself. She needed to get away—and Brett had unwittingly provided her the opportunity. Her parents were driving her crazy.

Not in the same way Brett’s were, of course.

No, since they’d moved in with her a month ago, they’d taken over—and Sunny felt helpless to stop it from happening.

Her parents had that way about them. They just did things. Aggravating things.

Now Sunny’s windowsills had been taken over with little peat pots of scraggly herbs that flavored dinners of tofu stir-fry. Her bathroom, once decorated in lush shades of green, had become a jungle of hand-washed clothes because her mother didn’t think laundry detergent was good for the environment. Worse, Sunny’s thick, fluffy towels were now air dried—and wound up as stiff as cardboard and as scratchy as sandpaper.

And that wasn’t the half of it.

She couldn’t bear to recount her father’s quirky habits and eccentric ideas.

Her parents claimed they were going to move out. As soon as they found something. But they were making noises about finding an acreage in Vermont. Of raising goats and tapping sugar maples. Of living off the land.

It was an idealistic dream—one they couldn’t afford. And until they realized it, they’d be shacked up at Sunny’s, making her perfectly reasonable life insane and chaotic.

That was the real motivation behind Sunny’s agreement to help Brett: peace of mind. A little normalcy.

Living with an English lord might not be normal, but it was guaranteed to be proper and quiet and staid.

She’d settle for that. Gratefully.

In spite of the cool fall weather, Brett had shed his suit coat and strode into the coffee shop rolling up the sleeves of his tailored white dress shirt. Tall and darkly tanned, he was good-looking, Sunny grudgingly admitted. The kind of man who turned heads in his wake.

Brett’s gait was confident, athletic. His long arms swung loosely at his sides, and his wide shoulders and lean belly did great things for his business attire. She could imagine him in dungarees and a cotton knit sweater, too, his sinewy arms working the ropes of a sailboat. Heck, if his family was some kind of royalty they probably had a yacht. Maybe he just stood at the helm of it, like a hood ornament—or whatever they called it on a boat—with his hands folded behind his back, looking regal and important.

It fit, all of it.

His hair, the color of sun-drenched sand, was full-bodied, and so textured it actually reminded Sunny of ripples on the beach. His eyes, aquamarine-blue, were darkly fringed and deep set—as if made for staring out across an endless ocean.

Yet it was his accent that had caught Sunny’s attention all those months ago. Charming and bold, it added a musical, almost lyrical, quality to his deep, rich voice. The way he smiled when he talked made his mouth move sensuously, as if it had a will of its own.

All the women at Wintersoft rolled their eyes and fanned themselves in mock palpitations every time he walked by—and usually he’d toss off a teasing comment or a taunt. He was every bit the playboy who knew how to make feminine hearts flutter. Yet whenever Sunny stood next to him in the elevator, he barely nodded at her, or offered up some innocuous comment about the weather.

Their few encounters had left her feeling as dull and ordinary as the elevator music.

How, she asked herself, was she going to manage living with him? The Greek god of the English aristocracy.

He’d already predicted that his parents wouldn’t like her.

Heaven help her, what had she gotten herself into?

“Sunny,” Brett acknowledged, slipping into the seat across from her. He leaned so close she got a whiff of his aftershave, a tangy scent of saltwater and surf, heat and sand. “Sorry I’m late, luv. Lloyd wanted those contracts, and Carmella had papers for me to sign.”

“You know,” Sunny said wryly, “Lloyd’s daughter is the one you should be dangling in front of your family like a girlfriend.”

“Emily?” He looked surprised. “But she’s the boss’s daughter. Of course, she is rich. I suppose my parents would like that.”

“Well, I’m not rich,” Sunny informed him. “And it doesn’t look like I’m going to be. So please expect your parents to be highly disappointed.”

He chuckled as if she had said something extraordinarily funny. “Money isn’t everything,” he said. “They’ll appreciate your sensible qualities and your nice personality.”

Sunny bit down hard on the inside of her lip. “That,” she said, “is what people say about women they are trying to pawn off on a blind date.” Her voice drifted into a falsetto as she repeated the age-old line: “‘You’ll like her, she has a real nice personality.”’

Brett’s irresistible grin widened. “And cheery sense of humor,” he added.

“I have a common sense of humor,” she stressed. “Think common. As in commoner.”

He waved it off, unaffected. “It doesn’t matter, Sunny. Really. In spite of our differences, I have to believe my parents will come around. At least enough to let me out of this trap they insist on calling marriage.”

Sunny stared at him, realizing he had no idea how great their differences were. “I would have thought,” she said slowly, “that since you know so many of the women at the office, you might have asked one of them instead.”

“I…” He looked confused and lifted a shoulder. “I don’t really know any of them well.”

“But I’ve often seen you talking to all sorts of women.” Flirting, she wanted to say.

“Office demeanor,” he dismissed. “You know how some people like to carry on.”

Sunny was debating whether he was serious or not when the waitress, named Hazel, according to the plastic name tag pinned to her plump chest, stopped at their table. “Coffee?” she asked, simultaneously pulling a pencil from behind her ear and a notepad out of her apron pocket, “or something special?”

“Cappuccino,” Sunny said.

“A pot of tea, please,” Brett ordered. “With sugar and lemon.”

The waitress slid him a disbelieving look. “You into that antioxidant stuff, sonny?”

Brett’s lips twitched. “No, luv. That old English stuff,” he answered, pumping up his accent and giving her a broad wink.

The waitress snorted. “Cute,” she grumbled, jamming the pad into her pocket. “Everybody’s got to be a comedian. And they all think I got the time for it.”

As Hazel hurried away, Brett and Sunny looked at each other.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I don’t think she believed me,” Brett confided, his voice lowered.

Sunny felt the beginnings of a smile curve her lips. “Apparently not.”

“She probably wouldn’t have believed me if I professed to be an English lord, either.”

“Probably not.”

“That is a bit difficult, here in America, you know.”

Given Brett’s self-deprecating demeanor, some of the tension that had Sunny in knots subsided. She’d arrived at the coffee shop convinced Brett would lay out a list of expectations for her. He’d give her the dos and don’ts, all the while making her conscious of the haves and have nots. Instead, he’d come into the coffee shop with an apology for being late and a smile. Maybe she’d never given him a chance in the first place.

Brett sat back and openly studied her. “I don’t know why we haven’t really talked before,” he said thoughtfully.

“I imagine because we’re supposed to be working.” She shrugged, knowing that wasn’t the reason at all. He’d probably dismissed her as an underling. “You’re busy. I’m busy.”

“Mmm. Well, no matter. But I did want to talk to you about this—” Brett quickly glanced around to make sure he couldn’t be overheard “—lord and lady thing. So it’s probably good this came up as it did with the waitress. I would appreciate it if you would keep it in the strictest confidence. No one at the office knows.”

“But why?” Sunny lifted both shoulders. “I’d think you’d want to have that little prefix in front of your name. It must come with its own set of perks.”

“And responsibilities,” he said dryly. “No, I’d much prefer to just be me.”

Sunny didn’t believe him. Not for a moment. Here was a man who had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’d probably grown up in a castle, or on an estate that had been handed down through the generations. He’d most likely gone to private schools and worn jodhpurs instead of jeans when he went riding. “That can’t be easy, Brett. Adjusting to life without your title?”

“What isn’t easy is being different. Or being treated differently.”

Brett, Sunny realized, apparently didn’t have any idea how difficult being “different” could be. “Come on. Admit it. There have got to be times you enjoy the privilege.” When Brett’s eyes narrowed, as if he wondered whether he should be offended, Sunny added, “I would.”

“But it all comes with a price,” he warned. “There are obligations. And sometimes I’d just as soon do without them.”

“But you’ve had the good life, and because of it I’ll bet you’ve acquired certain expectations, certain attitudes and behaviors. Like playing rugby instead of football. Or choosing escargot over onion rings.”

He smiled faintly, as if bored by her conjecture. “Now how do you know I like rugby?”

Sunny ignored his attempt to change the subject. “I don’t. But for the life of me, I can’t imagine why you’d want to give it up and walk away from such an existence.”

Hazel set Sunny’s cappuccino in front of her with a thunk, slopping it over the rim before she walked away. Brett pulled a napkin from the dispenser and automatically handed it to her.

Sunny reached for it, and when their fingers met, a spark of electricity went pinging up her wrist. The fine hairs on the back of her arm stood up.

Brett stared at her pensively, as if the touch that passed between them, and over a cheap paper napkin, had been enough to ignite and burn. An undercurrent of awareness sizzled.

Sunny’s fingers, still smoldering, fumbled to dab at the spill. “Thank you. I— I don’t want to get it on my skirt.” She paused while the waitress put down the teapot, cup and sliced lemons, then left again. “And Brett? I wasn’t trying to pry. Or even be critical. It’s just…” She pushed the soiled napkin aside. “My parents were on the move a lot, and I haven’t known very many people who have your kind of family history. Or that kind of security. It makes me wonder if you know what you’re giving up.”

Brett silently poured a cup of tea, then squeezed a bit of lemon into it. He wiped his fingertips, then crumpled the napkin, as she had done. “You’ll have a few weeks to get an inside look at my life, with and without my title.” Picking up a sugar packet, he ripped it open. He tapped a few grains into the tea, then stirred. “After my parents go home, you can give me your opinion. Should I barter myself away to a woman I don’t love, in order to secure a place in society and a hefty inheritance? Should I make love to a woman I don’t care about in order to secure an heir?”

Sunny shifted uncomfortably. The one thing her parents had taught her was unconditional love. Everyone needed it, deserved it.

Yet the life he alluded to seemed hollow, plastic, even devoid of emotion.

“Because,” Brett continued, putting the spoon aside and lifting his cup from the saucer, “after you’ve given a convincing performance for my parents, it can all be undone. I can grow weary of you and break our ‘engagement.’”

Uncertainty skittered up Sunny’s spine. But she refused to give in to the ominous suggestion—the same way she refused to fall victim to Brett’s piercing blue gaze. In some odd way she knew he was issuing her an ultimatum, and she felt she had to stand up to it.

“Fine. The day your parents go home and I move out of your apartment, I’ll tell you exactly what I think you’re giving up. And I won’t mince words.”

Brett lifted his cup in a mock toast. “I’m looking forward to it.” He took a sip, then gazed at her steadily over the rim.

Unable to tear her eyes away, Sunny took a long, scalding draft of her cappuccino.

“Take it easy, luv. You’re going to get burned,” Brett warned.

“I’ve already been burned. I mean I— I did that purposely, to clear my head,” she stated.

“And singe your tongue,” he said wryly.

They both, implicitly, understood the double meaning.

She set the cappuccino aside. “Brett? Are you sure you want to go through with this? With me? Because if you’ve had second thoughts, and want to change your mind or find somebody else—”

“No second thoughts.”

“If this blows up or backfires, or your parents figure it out, I don’t want to be held accountable.”

“Sunny, I think you’re being a jolly good sport about the whole thing. If it doesn’t play out like we planned, I won’t be any worse off than I am now.” He chuckled. “Of course, we’re going to have to think about how to manage this at the office. I’ll admit I mentioned it to Carmella and Emily. But Emily’s a good friend of mine, so she won’t say anything if we don’t want her to. Carmella won’t, either. I think we should keep up the status quo—a working relationship. That way there’d be no explanations.”

Sunny laced her fingers around the cup of cappuccino. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, right?”

“That’s it. Nodding acquaintances,” he confirmed.

“Hey, I’ll just look the other direction when I see you coming,” she volunteered, her insides twisting with what felt too much like rejection. Apparently she was good enough to be his fiancée, but not his friend. “If we meet in the hall, or share the same elevator or anything. I mean, we’ve never really talked before, so—”

“But there’s the rub, Sunny,” Brett admitted, his thumb stroking the rim of his teacup. “We really don’t know anything about each other, and we should. Especially if we’re going to convince my parents. Otherwise we’ll make mistakes. Tomorrow’s Friday,” he murmured thoughtfully. “You could move in tomorrow night and we’d have the whole weekend—and all of next week—to get to know each other. What do you say?”

“Tomorrow night? I thought you were joking about that.” Surprised, Sunny drew back. She hadn’t imagined he’d want her around until the last minute. The upside of his offer was that it included seven more nights away from her parents and the way their eccentricities were taking over her apartment. “If you have plans for the weekend, or dates next week, I’d be in the way. You’d have to explain me away.”

He offered up a toothy, irresistible smile. “Not a problem.”

“You won’t say I’m your American cousin, will you?”

“No, there won’t be any explaining. My calendar’s clear.”

Sunny debated. Even one less night of tofu and beans was appealing. “Um, if I moved in early, that would have to include dinner, too,” she bargained.

He lifted a shoulder as if the matter was inconsequential. “I know a great restaurant where we can celebrate our first night together. I can make reservations there, or we can hang out at my place and throw steaks on the grill.”

“So you do eat red meat.”

He gazed at her, clearly puzzled. “Is that an asset?”

“Definitely,” Sunny confirmed. “I’m not a vegetarian and I don’t intend to be. I’ll pack tonight. Because it looks like we have something in common, after all.”

Brett stood next to his car in the parking lot of the coffee shop. “What?” he asked. “You didn’t leave your car in the lot and walk over, did you?”

“Oh, no, I always take the bus to work.”

“Really?” He appeared surprised by the information. “Well, get in then. There’s no sense in you taking the bus home.”

Sunny took an involuntary step back and waved him off. “No, thanks. You probably have other things to do and—”

“Nothing but go back to the same apartment complex you’re going to.” Brett walked around the late model sports car and opened the door for her.

She hesitated. This was all happening too quickly. Tomorrow she was moving in with the office heartthrob. She’d just shared coffee—and tea—with him. And they’d actually touched—an unexpected contact that had left Sunny breathless, and quivery inside. The kind that put a great big question mark where her brains ought to be.

The thought of sitting beside him in the confines of that sporty little coupe, which was as blue as his eyes, made her go weak.

Sunny was not the kind of woman to rush into things. She methodically thought situations through, made logical decisions.

Yet here she was, swept away by a devil-may-care Englishman and his goofy scheme. She was moving into his life and jumping into the fancy leather passenger seat of his convertible as if she belonged there.

She reluctantly slid onto the seat, thinking luxury had never felt this good. The door closed after her with a quiet whoosh of air. She detected his clean, tangy scent, over and above the leather and the car polish.

“I didn’t expect you to drive me home,” Sunny said primly, as he put the car into Reverse.

“Don’t be silly.” He slipped a pair of reflective sunglasses on, then checked his rearview mirror.

From the corner of her eyes Sunny glimpsed the sunglasses, wondering if he was looking at her. She self-consciously adjusted the hem of her short skirt and tucked it under her thigh.

Brett’s mouth twitched, but he stared straight ahead at the road.

“You can, um, just drop me off at the pool house.” Sunny tried to sound casual, but the fact was she didn’t want to run into her parents. She’d wind up explaining them to Brett—and then he’d have the last laugh.

He didn’t answer, but expertly turned the car onto a main arterial. In less than five minutes they would be at the complex. “We may have to rethink our office game plan,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Because it looks like we’ll be carpooling.”

“Oh, no. I’ll still take the bus,” she protested.

“But what would my folks think if I drove to work and you took the bus?”

“That maybe you work late, or I work early, or…”

“I don’t think so. They’d know in a minute I’d never let my fiancée ride the bus when I could share five minutes alone with her.” He paused. “I’ve always thought being alone in a car with someone of the opposite sex is kind of…sexy. Don’t you think?”

Sunny swallowed. “Sexy?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “You know, luv. The idea of being alone, encapsulated in a moving car. Music and conversation. Sitting shoulder to shoulder.” He focused on the road, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Of course, you Americans have a phrase for it—’fast cars, fast women.”’

“I guarantee this is one woman who is not in the fast lane,” Sunny clarified. “In case you were wondering.”

An amused smile spread over his face. “I dare say that is probably for the best.”

A few moments slipped by before she realized he had intentionally hit a hot spot with her. One she’d have to address. “Speaking of parents,” she began hesitantly, “I’d just as soon keep mine out of this.”

“Oh?”

“Well, we might run into them, being in the same complex and all, and I’d just as soon not have that happen. I certainly don’t want them to know I’m posing as your girlfriend.”

“Fiancée,” he corrected.

“Whatever.” She waved her hand. “It’s enough for them to think I’m staying with a friend for a couple of weeks.”

“Okay. That’s fine with me. If that’s the way you want it.”

“I do.”

A moment later, Brett pulled off onto the side street adjacent to the apartments. Then, offering her a lopsided grin, he wheeled into the drive. Sunny clutched the armrest and pressed her shoulder blades into the bucket seat. She still slid into him.

“Don’t you just love the way a sports car takes the curves and hugs the road?” he asked drolly, letting the steering wheel spin back within his hands.

“Hugs?” she repeated, pulling herself upright. “I thought I was going to be in your lap.”

He passed the pool and clubhouse, and pulled up at the first intersection. She straightened her skirt again and unconsciously motioned for him to make a right, toward her apartment building.

“Of course, when we drive together you will need to hug me instead of the door,” he said.

“I wasn’t hugging the door,” she argued. But the truth was she had intended to leave as much space between them as possible. “And you can stop right here.”

Brett pulled into the first available parking space and threw the car into Park. He stripped his sunglasses off and tossed them on the dash. “Back to my parents again, okay? They’ll expect us to be lovey-dovey, you know. And they’ll like your proper edge, as it will make the story all the more believable. But…”

“Yes?”

“How about a kiss?” he suggested boldly, his gaze dropping possessively to her mouth. “For you may find that you can’t tolerate me. And that would be a pity, to put on a show for my mother and father, when you find me insufferable.”

“I— I never said you were insufferable.”

“Really?”

His gaze trailed over her curiously. He turned on the seat, leaning closer to her, then waited, giving her the opportunity to withdraw, to protest.

But she didn’t—and for the life of her she didn’t know why.

“Or we could say,” he whispered, his breath fanning her cheeks, “that we’ll share a kiss to seal the secret about who I really am.”

“I won’t tell,” she promised, feeling dizzy as he loomed closer.

“Mmm. Good…” His mouth first nuzzled hers. His lips, so soft and warm and tasting of tea and lemon, almost surprised her. The tip of his nose brushed against hers, and raspy stubble scraped her cheek. He smelled seductively fresh, like salt and sea air.

When Sunny involuntarily kissed him back—her mind in a muddle, her senses on overload—Brett deepened the kiss, sending earth-shattering sensations through her. Her respiration grew shallow and her heart started to pound. And behind her eyelids she saw a panorama of stars. Shooting stars. Spinning stars. Dazzling waves of stars.

Sunny’s hand went to his shoulder to steady herself, her fingers curving over the thick muscle there. His shoulders were so wide they seemed to envelop her, in a protective, supportive kind of way. Her fingertips inched upward, over the seam of his dress shirt. She discovered the warmth of his flesh above his starched collar and beneath his ear. The tip of her fingernail traced the neat edge of his haircut, the tiny hairs teasing the pad of her forefinger.

Brett flexed his shoulders, and groaned. He pulled reluctantly away, even as his mouth continued to taste hers.

Finally he broke the kiss and tipped his forehead against hers. “I do think we’ll get on,” he predicted softly. “My family should be suitably convinced that our affections are genuine. And if I didn’t know better, I’d be nearly convinced of it myself.”

Chapter Three

By the time she’d run up the two flights of steps to her apartment, Sunny was gasping—and it wasn’t due to the exercise. No, the reason her head was spinning and her lungs had turned six shades of breathless blue, was because of Brett Hamilton.

He had kissed her until she ached—and she’d kissed him right back. She’d never realized a man could taste so good.

She’d never imagined she could lose herself like that. Not her. Not Sunny Robbins. She’d steeled herself to take cold, analytical views of everything life presented. That’s why she worked so hard in her job as a paralegal. She could see both sides of a story, weigh issues and make rational decisions.

Never in her wildest dreams had she thought a man like Brett Hamilton could make her feel so light-headed and giddy.

The lyrics to a song popped into her head, and she shivered. “With just one kiss…”

Well, shiver me timbers, she thought insanely, some English bloke, with a title and a reputation, plants a kiss on me in the middle of the apartment parking lot, and I fall apart like a sinking ship.

She would put a stop to it. She swore she would. For a moment, standing there on the commercial carpet outside the door to her apartment, Sunny thought about who and what she was.

Because she liked a roof over her head, and benefits that included medical and dental, she held a nine-to-five job in the corporate world. She ate commercially prepared meals in throwaway boxes because it was efficient and convenient. She voted a straight Republican ticket, read the New York Times, paid her taxes when they were due, and balanced her checkbook every week. She’d never been hauled off to jail during a sit-in, a sit-down, a rally, protest or demonstration. She didn’t have a screaming room, and she didn’t paint abstract canvases of her inner self. She hadn’t dated anyone in two years and had only explored one sexual experience. Love-ins were way out of her league.

It went without saying her parents thought they had failed. On every count.

Then Brett Hamilton came along, proposed an absurd charade, kissed her and swept her off her feet.

She looked down at her toes. Okay. She was still standing. Barely.

Sunny pivoted on her heels and sank back against the wall, taking a cleansing breath. She would drive that maddening man out of her mind by sheer will and determination. She swore she would.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered. The scents of honey and vanilla surrounded her, making her take deep, gulping breaths, to get as much of the calming scent into her lungs as she could. Inside, she heard her father’s low hum as he chanted, “Ommm…”

Damn, she thought irritably. He was meditating again. Some days he was up at the crack of dawn, meditating and searching for the soul of his universe. Sometimes it was dusk—or before lunch, or after lunch, or after the eleven o’clock news. She really, really hoped he found himself soon.

For to imagine him there, planted in the center of the living room in the lotus position, was one more reminder of why she was moving in with Brett: to resume her own orderly life.

She sighed heavily and fumbled with her key. She jammed the key in the lock, then winced and pushed the door open. “Mom? You left the door unlocked again.”

Her father, in his striped shaman’s robe, cracked one disapproving eye. His chanting grew louder, as if he could drive out any distractions by sheer willpower. “Ommm…”

Her mother wandered out of the kitchen, wearing her favorite cotton skirt and peasant blouse, a concho belt tightly girding her plump middle. Dressed in wool socks, her feet noiselessly scuffed the floor. She brushed her long, graying hair back from her face, but didn’t look up from the recipe card in her hand. “Hi, dear,” she said absently. “If people want in, they’re going to get in. And if people want something bad enough to steal it, I say just give it to them. They must need it worse than we do.”

“Mother, this isn’t the commune,” Sunny reminded her edgily, “and these are my things. I don’t want to have to replace them.”

“I know. It’s just…” Her mother shrugged. “Old habits and old philosophies are hard to break.”

“Ommm…” her father chanted.

“I know, I know,” Sunny said, relenting. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but I worry about keeping everything nice, that’s all.” She threw her handbag on the table and moved to the kitchen, her nose twitching. The apartment did, she realized, smell better than the incense her father usually burned. “What smells so good? Are you baking?”

“It’s vanilla,” her mother said. “But it’s for candles.”

Sunny stopped stock-still in the doorway of her galley kitchen and stared. Her Cuisinart was in pieces. Cupboard doors hung open and the sink was heaped with utensils. Discarded candle forms littered the countertops. Cork-stoppered bottles of scent cluttered her lazy Susan. On the stove, every one of her stainless steel pans had wax simmering in it.

Wax dribbled down the front of the stove. Wax speckled the floor. Wax puddled and dried on the chrome fixtures. It glopped in fascinating spatter patterns over the cherry-wood cabinets. It had apparently been sopped up with her brand-new kitchen towels.

A ripple of frustration mushroomed to a tidal wave. Sunny’s head started pounding and her stomach churned. “Mother…?” Her one-word query was carefully contained, carefully executed.

“Beeswax, and all natural ingredients,” her mother replied, as if that answered every question. “I couldn’t find a candle in the house. And candles nurture the soul. They lend atmosphere. They save electricity.”

“You can buy candles! At the store.”

“Not like these,” her mother said proudly, displaying a slightly unbalanced six-inch pillar.

Sunny gaped, and the pent-up frustration winching her shoulders tight popped like a spent balloon. One more un-forgettable moment with her lovable, goofball parents. Sometimes it was just easier to give up than try to fight it. Her shoulders slumped. “No, definitely not like those,” she agreed dryly. “And that would be, what? A wax takeoff on the Leaning Tower of Pisa?”

Her mother lifted the saucer of Sunny’s good china a fraction of an inch higher and regarded the listing candle. “What do you know? Maybe I created a novelty.”

“Maybe.” Sunny reluctantly moved to the stove and tipped the smallest of the gourmet pans to check the contents. Sick-looking wax, half-congealed, purled to the other side. “Mom, do you have any idea what I paid for these pans?”

“Must have been a lot. They conduct a nice, even heat.”

Sunny nodded mutely. “This,” she said finally, “is an omelette pan. It used to cook eggs.”

Her mother’s face flickered with recognition. “Oh, honey, I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you? I got so wrapped up in what I was doing I completely lost track of time.”

“That’s okay,” Sunny said, holding up a hand as she turned to the freezer. “Don’t worry about it.” She yanked open the appliance door and came face-to-face with a dozen more candles.

“Putting candles in the freezer before they’re set creates a beautiful crackle pattern.”

“Uh-huh. But what happened to the food that was in here?”

“Oh, honey, I just threw away a few of the things in the front that were freezer burned…or that had refined sugar, or a lot of additives….”

Sunny reached around the most beautiful of the crackled candles and pulled out a box. “Well, we still have these,” she said happily, dumping the contents on the last clean plate. “I’ll just nuke ’em.”

From the corner of her eye, Sunny saw her mother take a step back and stare in horror at the forlorn-looking little chicken nuggets. “Oh, Sunny, no. That isn’t good for you. The fat content alone in processed foods—”

Her father joined them in the kitchen. “Sunshine,” he said reprovingly, “I don’t think ‘nuke ’em’ is an expression we should use loosely. Doing so strikes a vein of terror in all third world countries.”

Sunny momentarily put the heel of her hand to her forehead, where she knew the throbbing was about to start. “Daddy, whatever was I thinking? Some third world country probably has my kitchen bugged and now they know all about my plans to cook chicken nuggets.”

Her father cocked his head at her, the way he always did when he was disgruntled, and his single earring winked at her. A loose strand of hair had come free from his ponytail and he hooked it behind his ear. “You really need to take the world situation seriously, Sunshine,” he admonished.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But the only world situation I’m concerned with right at this minute is mine. I’m hungry and I’m tired, and I want to talk to you.”

“Your father picked up fresh mustard greens at the coop,” her mother wheedled, her eyes fixed on the plate inside the microwave.

“Oh, yummy.” Sunny automatically punched in the numbers on the appliance, and when it was humming she turned back to her parents. “Sylvia. Doug,” she began, unconsciously lapsing into the psychobabble she’d learned many years ago, when she’d shared their living space in the California beach community. “I have the opportunity to move on, at least for a little while. A friend has offered me a bed and a place to chill. I have some life choices I want to ponder, and—”

“You aren’t moving out on us, are you?” her mother exclaimed.

“Only for a little while. I just need my space.”

“Space is relative,” her father reflected. “The freedom of the spirit soars beyond the physical limitations.”

“Doug,” Sunny said to her father, her voice flat and no-nonsense, “I figured you could use the room. My apartment’s kind of small.”

“Honey, we’re not going to be here forever.” Her mother patted her arm consolingly. “We’re only between places right now.”

“Just until we find a place in Vermont.”

“Because if we’re in your way—”

“No, it’s okay. I understand,” Sunny assured them. She opened the refrigerator door to grab a soda and was immediately faced with dozens of votive candles cooling there. She closed the door and came away empty-handed. “I love you guys, I do. But the opportunity for a temporary roommate came up, and I just took it, that’s all. I’m sure you’ll still be here when I get back.”

“I’m not so certain,” her father warned. “The manager at the food co-op asked your mom about a job.”

“A job? Really?” Hope spiraled, and Sunny tingled with anticipation.

“I told him about my homemade soap,” she confided. “He wants to sell it.”

The bubble of expectation quickly burst. Sunny pulled her plate of limp-looking chicken nuggets from the microwave. “So,” she said. “Will you be needing the roaster or the stock pot for the soap?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” her mother scoffed. “You’ve got more than enough pans. I’m more concerned about getting the goat’s milk. It’s a hard ingredient to find, especially here in Boston.”