THE TEXAS TATTLER

All the news that’s barely fit to print!

Fortune Nemesis Escapes Prison!

Clint Lockhart, sentenced to life imprisonment for murder, cunningly escaped his shackles last evening while being transferred to a maximum security facility. Guards opened fire on the dangerous jailbird, but he disappeared into the tranquil Texas countryside. Eyewitnesses report that Lockhart may have been wounded by a bullet to the leg. A full-blown manhunt is under way.

A cellmate confessed that just before Lockhart’s transfer, the vindictive convict told him that “the Fortunes would go down in a blaze of fury.” Looks as if the first stop in the Lockhart Revenge Train will likely be the Double Crown Ranch. Family patriarch Ryan Fortune is said to have installed a security detail to put Fort Knox to shame—but what would we expect from a mogul whose family is more precious than solid gold?

Enough doom and gloom…here’s the latest on Red Rock’s most romantic family. The Tattler has the scoop on dreamboat bachelor Brody Fortune. When this Aussie tycoon “met” his new pregnant secretary, Jillian Tanner, there was an undeniably familiar, lusty glint in his steel-gray eyes. Could all that eye-popping be about her exceptional steno skills…?

Meet the Fortunes of Texas

Brody Fortune: The powerful executive’s new secretary was his long-lost love…and he was shocked! The girl he remembered was now a woman—and a single mother-to-be. Could the truth about the past heal their wounded hearts and make them a family of three?

Jillian Tanner: She thought she’d outgrown thoughts of happily-ever-after, yet when she found herself face-to-face with the only man she’d ever truly loved, she wondered if she could convince Brody that he could bestow his heart on her once more.

Matilda Fortune: This dutiful daughter longed to get away from the watchful eyes of her overprotective brothers. Would the blossoming beauty ever meet a man brave enough to hold his own with her brothers…and sexy enough to sweep her off her feet?

The Expectant Secretary
Leanna Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

LEANNA WILSON

A native Texan, Leanna Wilson was born and bred in Big D, but she’s a country girl at heart. She loves visiting her parents’ ranch in east Texas, whether she’s helping to herd cattle or simply sitting by the lake, and she enjoys vacationing in the Rocky Mountains, dreaming up new plots by the side of a rippling brook.

More at home dreaming up stories than writing lesson plans, Leanna gave up teaching to pursue writing. Once she began putting her stories onto paper, it didn’t take her long to publish her first Silhouette Romance novel, Strong, Silent Cowboy, which won the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award. “That was a summer I will never forget,” Leanna says. “I sold my first book, got married to my not-so-silent city-slicker husband and after a fabulous honeymoon in England and Scotland had to go to Hawaii, where I won the Golden Heart Award.”

Besides writing Silhouette Romance, Harlequin Temptation and Harlequin American Romance novels, Leanna keeps busy with her two children. She teaches a writing class and leads a book club at the senior center near her home. But mostly she enjoys spending time with her growing family.

To Matrice—a terrific editor!

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

One

“Jillian, you’re the luckiest woman in all of San Antonio!”

Lucky? Jillian Hart Tanner squelched her disbelieving laughter. As far as she was concerned, life had dealt her a pathetic hand. She certainly had the sorriest love life. In fact, she’d never felt lucky at anything, least of all on this day as she sat alone at a table in the third-floor lounge of the Fortunes TX, Ltd. high-rise. She snapped a saltine cracker in two and placed half of it in her mouth rather than respond to the data entry specialist’s envious statement.

“I’d say in the whole U. S. of A.” Alice from accounting poured another packet of sweetener into her coffee and stirred it in with a skinny red straw. “I got a glimpse of your new boss first thing this morning. My, my, my!”

Pretending not to care about the conversation spinning around her, Jillian tried to ignore the nervous fluttering of her heart. She tried to swallow, but the cracker stuck in her throat. Her stomach had been on the verge of mutiny all morning. She clasped her trembling hands under the table.

“You saw him, too?” Kathy from data entry adjusted her wire frames as if preparing for a better glimpse of the newest Australian import of the Fortune clan should he waltz through the door.

“Have mercy!” Alice fanned her face with her hand. “If he was my new boss, I’d be fired for chasing him around the desk, sure as the world. But, Lord, it’d be worth it.”

Kathy laughed. The sound grated on Jillian’s nerves and she gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t her new boss have been anyone other than Brody Fortune? Just the thought of the tall, rugged Aussie was enough to make Jillian’s pulse surge as if she’d been jolted with electricity.

“If you play your cards right, Jill,” Alice added, “you could end up the newest Mrs. Fortune.”

Jillian’s heart pinched tight. Yeah, right. She’d had her chance with the too eligible bachelor once. A long time ago. The odds of that happening then or now were as remote as winning the Texas forty-million-dollar lottery. Besides, she wasn’t interested in the dubious distinction of Mrs. Fortune anymore.

Glancing at the digital clock on the wall, she folded her brown paper sack, stuffed it inside her purse and pushed away from the table. “The last thing I need,” she said, “is a man.”

After all, her husband—her scallywag of a husband…her deceased husband—had put her in extreme financial straits. Resulting in this awkward predicament. One more thing to blame on James.

She squared her shoulders as she left the lounge and headed for the elevator. It didn’t matter who her new boss was. This was business. It was her job. One she desperately needed. She didn’t have the time, the need, or the luxury of an office romance.

Especially with Brody Fortune.

He’d broken her heart once. Eons ago. In a faraway land. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

Oh, Lord. Her heart fluttered, leaving her light-headed. She put a shaky hand to her forehead. What have I agreed to?

Had she really been given a choice? She’d been offered a promotion. How could she refuse? Especially when she needed the extra money the raise would afford. Straightening the hem of the suit jacket she’d borrowed from her sister, she reminded herself that any luck she had would be focused on getting this job. She had to make the most of it. She couldn’t afford to lose it and waste precious days, weeks or months looking for another. Even if her boss would be Brody.

The elevator doors opened on the seventeenth floor. Sucking in a thin breath, she clutched her purse in her hands and approached the receptionist’s desk. “I’m Mr. Fortune’s new assistant.” Jillian spoke with more confidence than she felt. “Is he ready to see me?”

A wave of uncertainty nearly knocked her over. Maybe she should have asked if she was ready to see him. Definitely not!

Pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear, the woman gave her a tolerant smile. “Which Mr. Fortune?”

“B—” Jillian cleared her throat. “Brody.” His name tasted tart on her tongue. How long had it been since she’d spoken it out loud? When she’d returned from Australia ten years ago, she’d never mentioned him—or her humiliation—to anyone, even her sister. “Brody Fortune.”

“Ah.” The receptionist gave a knowing nod. “He’s in the boardroom. I’ll buzz him.” Before Jillian could protest, the brunette pushed a button on her monitor.

“Yes,” a rough-hewn voice that brought back too many memories snapped over the speaker.

Jillian’s heart began to pound. Her fingers clasped her purse.

“Your assistant’s here. Shall I send her in?”

“Right. Go ahead.” That rugged Australian accent had once made her temperature skyrocket. But now it plummeted, left her cold.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Not after… Oh, God!

The receptionist gave her a brief nod. “Down the hall and to the right. It’s the fourth door on the left.”

Jillian’s knees wobbled as she walked down the hall. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. Had Brody requested her? No, he couldn’t have. How would he have known that she worked for his family’s company or that she’d moved to San Antonio from Amarillo? She wouldn’t have taken this job in the first place if she’d known Brody was in any way connected to the Fortunes of Texas. Or if she’d believed there was even the remotest possibility that he would come here.

As she touched the brass door handle, her fingers became numb, her limbs ice-cold. What could she expect, seeing him again? She wanted to bolt rather than open the door, but she knew she had no choice. She could face Brody again. She could. Without regrets. Without her temper getting the best of her. After all, he was the one who should be ashamed. Not her. Besides, it had been ten years since they’d dated. Ten long years. She’d lived through much worse than a broken heart.

And she could survive this.

Before she could turn the knob, the door jerked open, practically pulling her inside the boardroom. She caught glimpses of a plush honey-colored carpet and a table as large and gleaming as a brand-new Cadillac. And Brody.

Her heart froze in midbeat. The room had been decorated to give the Fortunes home-court advantage in their high-powered meetings. But it wasn’t the posh decor that threw Jillian off center. It was those too familiar chrome-gray eyes. He was the company’s secret weapon, the ace negotiator, a top-notch executive.

Immediately, she saw changes in him. The difference between boy and man was as stark as black versus white. Where once he’d had fiery eyes with a spark of mischief, they were now as cold and hard as nickel-plated steel.

His gaze met hers. A whirlwind of emotions churned in the silvery depths. Surprise, confusion, recognition mirrored the turbulence inside her. “What the hell…?”

Jillian’s heart jackhammered against her breastbone. Her lungs compressed. “Excuse me for intruding—”

“Come on in, Jillian.” Dawson Prescott, the top financial analyst for Fortune TX, Ltd., the man who’d hired and promoted her, waved her into the boardroom.

“What are you doing here?” Brody blurted.

“I’m your new assistant.” Her voice harbored a distinct waver. Vaguely aware of others watching, listening, she flicked her gaze toward the head of finance. Not wanting to advertise the fact that she and Brody shared a past, she filed away any potentially sharp retort. Her thoughts spun crazily. How should she handle this? Professionally. Facing Brody again, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Jillian Tanner.”

For a flash of a second Brody’s sculpted features revealed the young man she’d once known, exposed his astonishment. Then he shuttered his emotion with the blink of an eye.

Once again she had a hard time recognizing him. Not because his features had changed. His hair was the same midnight-black, sinfully dark, temptingly wavy. But his face had lost the softness of youth; his voice, the laughter; his eyes, the vulnerability. He was all hard angles and edges. His shoulders, accentuated by the gunmetal-gray of his suit with its knifed creases, were as broad as the Texas borders. He looked like a Stepford corporate exec, straight out of the pages of the Wall Street Journal, except for the slash of a red tie and the rebellious length of hair that curled over his starched white collar.

She almost breathed a sigh of relief. Almost. If he’d been the same young man she’d known so well in college she might have had a hard time resisting his charm. But now he reminded her too much of James. The cold memories of her marriage wrapped around her like a wet blanket. Looking into Brody’s emotionless eyes, she knew she could never forget how he’d treated her, either.

“You two know each other?” Dawson stepped forward.

Jillian dropped her hand to her side. Obviously, Brody wasn’t willing to pretend they’d never met. Anxiety made her temples throb. Dragging her gaze away from Brody, she heard blood roar in her ears. So much for keeping their past in the past. Taking the initiative, she said, “We attended Winslow College together.”

“I’ll be damned.” Dawson gave a chuckle. The attractive financial analyst ran his fingers through his light brown hair. “I hope you’re not old lovers or anything.”

As if ice cubes slid down her spine, she shivered.

“No,” Brody answered. His knowing look speared Jillian. “We weren’t.”

His hardened tone grated against her nerves. What did he have to be irritated about? Thank God, she’d wised up before he’d made another conquest. She and Brody had come close to becoming lovers. So close. Before she’d learned she wasn’t the only woman he was dating or taking to his bed. Remembering the pain and humiliation, Jillian felt her blood congeal. Her stomach lurched and she pressed her lips together.

“Just old friends?” Dawson quirked a skeptical brow, then shrugged. “Good, then I picked the right woman for the job. One of the reasons I chose Jillian was for her experience in Australia. But I had no idea you two would know each other.”

Dawson moved to the open doorway. “She’ll be an asset in this merger. She’s got a good head for numbers.” He stepped between them and out the door. “I’ve got a departmental meeting. I’ll let you get reacquainted.”

Jillian gave a nod of agreement but wished she could find her desk, sit and put her head between her knees before she keeled over. Her insides fluttered with uncertainty.

“Brody,” Dawson added, “give me a buzz if you have any questions. Jillian should be able to get you all the information you need. I want this merger to go as smoothly as possible.”

“Thanks, mate.” Brody waited for Dawson to turn the corner down the hallway before leveling his gaze on Jillian. Where once he’d been friendly and accepting, he was now distant, seemingly sizing one up as if to calculate their worth. She sensed he considered her a liability.

A long pause pulsed between them before he said, “How are you, Jillie?”

His rugged accent made her name sound exotic, sensual. She remembered his nickname for her, and her skin tingled. “Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m fine. And you?”

He leaned against the doorjamb and mirrored her stance. “I’m curious.”

She felt as if the air had been sucked right out of her body. She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “About?”

“You bailed out of Australia right fast.”

She released a pent-up breath. Her shoulders slumped with sudden fatigue. What was the point of rehashing their relationship? “Brody, it’s been a long time.”

“Then the next thing I know,” he continued, ignoring her statement, “I receive a letter telling me you’d married. Did you leave because you missed that bloke… What was his name?”

“James.” She made her tone neutral.

“Did you miss him so much?”

Leaving Australia had been the right thing to do. Brody had made her feel worthless…used. She’d been all alone, feeling as if she had no one to confide in, but when she’d called to share her woes with her mother, she’d learned of her mother’s sudden stroke. Her mistake had come after she’d returned home when she’d sought the comforting arms of her high school sweetheart. It wasn’t until after her marriage to James that she’d truly understood the meaning of lonely.

“I wrote the letter,” she said, anger tinting her words, “because I thought you would want to know.” She hoped to end this conversation as an uncomfortable heat enveloped her.

“Yeah, right.” His cynical tone nettled her. He took a step toward her. His casual stance changed. Suddenly his gaze was hot, intense. A nervous vibration rippled through her, making the back of her neck prickle. “But you didn’t think,” he said, his voice rough, “that I’d want to give you—” his mercurial gaze focused on her mouth “—a goodbye kiss?”

She gritted her teeth and squared her shoulders. When she’d realized she’d made a mistake marrying James, she’d wanted to reach out to Brody because she still loved him. Even after he’d broken her heart. Yet she’d also wanted to punish him. “If you don’t think you can work with me, Brody, fine.” She shoved away her regrets and buried them beneath other painful experiences. “I’ll let Dawson know you need a different assistant.” She turned to go, anger pumping through her veins. No job was worth this.

“Jillie.” He grabbed her arm, spun her back around to face him. “Wait. Just tell me why. Dammit! Why’d you bail?”

His hand curled around her wrist, his touch as warm and familiar as an old flannel shirt. Yet his grip wasn’t soft or cozy. It felt more like a harsh, ever-tightening vise. A quick flash of heat made her scalp tingle, her skin flush. Stiffening her resolve against him, remembering how he’d hurt her, how used she’d felt, she jerked her chin upward in challenge.

He leaned toward her, piercing her with his blunt gaze. He stood so close that the bold masculine scent of his cologne wrapped around her, captivating, cloying, confining. Blood drained out of her head and pooled in her feet. His face blurred. A whirring noise inside her head made her ears ring.

“Brody, I—” Her words slurred together. Her knees buckled. She reached for him and missed. Her hand swiped at the space between them, catching only air. A swirling vortex of colors spun her around and around. Until she felt herself falling…falling…

Stunned, Brody watched as Jillian began to crumple like a paper doll. Without measuring the consequences, he knelt to grab her before she hit the carpet. He cradled her limp body in his arms.

He looked around for help…for someone. No one was in the hallway. Turning, he sought a place to set her down. The conference table? The floor? A chair? Damn! Now what?

She lifted her hand to push him away—or clutch at him, he wasn’t sure which. As if in slow motion, her hand fell, heavy, lifeless, across her stomach. He noticed the soft rise and fall of her breasts. Okay, she was breathing. Still, she was definitely unconscious.

Panic seized him. You, fool! he cursed himself. You pushed her to this. You pushed too damn hard!

“Jillie?” Concern edged his voice as he gave her a light shake.

Pale and placid, her features frozen, she looked almost peaceful. Her shimmery blond hair splayed out across his shoulder. She stirred, a jerky movement, as if she were struggling to climb back to consciousness.

Not knowing what else to do, he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the conference table. Her slight frame felt as light as a biscuit his mother used to make. Her eyelids fluttered open. Once more he was struck by the vibrant blue-green color. The rich, vivid hues reminded him of the Coral Reef, beautiful to view, but sharp and dangerous.

Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone? Why can’t you get her out of your mind? And heart?

That’s one reason he’d agreed to come to Texas. He’d needed to see her again, needed to for his own survival. So he could go on with his life. Without her memory haunting him. Without his desire for her consuming him.

“Jillie,” he repeated. He’d used that nickname today, hoping to irritate her, hoping to hurt her as she’d hurt him so long ago. Memories assaulted him like a cyclone, sweeping in and destroying the protective walls he’d erected. His gut clenched.

“Jillie!” he demanded. “Wake up.” He had to put her down and get help.

Before he could move, she shifted restlessly, arching her back against his arm and blinking against the harsh light. “I—I’m okay.”

“I’ve got you.” His arms tightened around her shoulders and beneath her legs.

She pushed a lock of honey-blond hair behind her ear but it fell back to curl just below her earlobe, softening the squareness of her jaw. “I’m okay,” she repeated, her voice weak and unsure. “Put me down.”

“Not till I’m positive you’re all right.” He did as she requested and lowered her into a buttery-soft leather chair. “I’ll call for medical help.”

“N-no.” Panic stretched her voice into a squeak. “I’m fine. Really.” She clutched the sleeve of his jacket. “Please, Brody.” The plea in her voice and the insistence in those startling blue-green eyes made him doubt his better judgment.

But then, she’d undermined his sanity for years. When he’d learned his father’s half brother lived in Texas, when they’d decided to merge the family’s two companies and he was needed here, he’d come with an ulterior motive. To see Jillian again.

He’d called her several months ago, reached her at her home in Amarillo to tell her he was coming. But something had been wrong. She’d sounded so far away, so distant, so sad. Maybe it had been the thousands of miles or simply the ten years deeper and wider than the oceans separating them. He’d hoped just hearing her voice would prove to him once and for all that he was over her. But it had done the exact opposite.

He’d known then he’d had to find her. Even though she’d hung up on him, cutting him off before he’d had a chance to tell her he was coming to Texas. Now she was here. In San Antonio. In his arms.

“Something could be wrong,” he said to her, having the same anxiety as that day he’d briefly spoken to her over the phone, the same panic he’d experienced ten years ago when he’d gone to pick her up for a date and discovered she’d left for America. Something was wrong. Or maybe he was the one who needed help. “You should be seen by someone.”

She shook her head. “It’s my fault. I didn’t have time to eat this morning. It’s just low blood sugar. That’s all.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze flicking over her from head to toe, noting the softer curves where once she’d been skinny with the flat lines and planes of a girl. Now she was a woman. And his reaction was that of a man.

“We really should call somebody.” She unnerved him, as no lawsuit or high-profit business deal could.

“N-no, please. Really, I’ll be all right. I just need a minute.” She touched her hand to her forehead. Her hands were delicate and soft. He had a sudden memory of her smoothing her palms over his chest and sifting her fingers through his hair.

Heat rushed through him. He shook loose the memory and focused on her. Here and now. She looked so pale, so fragile. He had an overwhelming urge to protect her. Her soft, floral fragrance floated up to meet him. He knelt beside the chair, looping an arm behind her. Her lips were parted, vulnerable, tempting. He remembered their sweetness. He remembered too damn much.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice as rough as the raw emotions coursing through his veins.

“I’m sorry. I’m all right.”

Was she? Was he? Seeing her again, he knew he’d never fully recover. Anger snapped inside him. Why couldn’t he forget her? What was it about Jillian Hart…Tanner?

He tipped up her chin, lifting her gaze to his. Her skin was as smooth as a rose petal. He’d been with more beautiful women. Women he’d dated to try to erase Jillian from his mind. But no woman had come close to her. And he somehow wanted to make her pay for all the suffering and sleepless nights she’d caused him. Staring into those troubled eyes of hers, he felt himself falling…and he could almost forget she was married. To someone else.

“Are you really sorry?” His voice was intentionally cutting for she’d so easily sliced a piece out of his heart.

She didn’t answer. His gaze slipped to her hand, still folded around his lapel. She wore no wedding ring, no declaration of her married status. Questions plagued him. Questions he didn’t take the time to have answered.

An overwhelming, irresistible urge grabbed him and wouldn’t turn him loose. He wanted her to be sorry. Sorry she’d left. Sorry she’d hurt him. Sorry she’d shown back up in his life. He wanted her to know exactly what she’d missed. He wanted her to know, for one second, what she could have had with him.

He kissed her then, hard, fast, relentless, claiming her mouth, blocking out his anger, his pain, his concern. He didn’t want to care about her anymore. He had to get over her. Once and for all.

He kissed her as he once had, as he wished he’d been able to ever since. It was a lusty kiss to make her regret leaving him for the rest of her days. Feeling her soft lips, her mouth opening to him in surprise, all the pent-up pain inside him subsided, replaced by pure, red, pulsing desire. He focused on her mouth, their heat, his need.

Hell! What have you done now?

Before she could slap him, before he did something more that he knew he’d regret later, he broke away. Pulling back, disgusted at himself for kissing her, and at her for kissing him back, he sucked in a deep, ragged breath. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She released his lapel, her fingers curling toward her palm. “No,” she said, her voice as shaky as his resolve to never let that happen again, “you shouldn’t have.”

He was in big trouble. He wanted her just as much as he had when they were twenty. Maybe more. Definitely more.

How the hell was he going to work with her every day?

His brain felt fuzzy, stunned by his need, his foolishness. She’s married, you fool!

He pushed to his feet and gave himself some much needed breathing room by walking to the door. “That won’t happen again.”

“Was that the goodbye kiss you said I owed you?” she asked, her voice girded with anger and steel.

“No. That was just one more mistake.”

Two

Mistakes. Jillian knew all about mistakes. And becoming Brody’s assistant ranked right up there as one of her dumbest.

“Easier said than done,” she commented two days later with what she hoped was a pleasant if not awkward smile.

Brody’s gaze snagged hers, held her motionless. She knew the extensive report he wanted would be easier to write than trying to ignore the way he affected her. Or maybe it was that darn kiss. It had knocked her socks off. She couldn’t seem to put it out of her mind. Every time she looked at Brody, at his strong jaw, his firm, supple lips, she remembered. And her body vibrated with…anger, she firmly decided.

She stared at the financial report lying on the desk between them, but her senses remained hypnotized by Brody. He smelled of zesty soap and subtle cologne. He looked like a model straight out of the pages of GQ magazine. His conservative, expensively tailored suit hinted at the well-honed physique underneath. Danger lurked in those mysterious gray eyes. She had an alarming urge to comb back the thick black lock that curled carelessly over his forehead.

Stop it! she warned herself. You don’t want Brody. You certainly don’t need him.

But it was much easier to tell herself to forget the texture of his mouth on hers, the desire he’d stirred inside her with that kiss, than to actually erase it from her memory. Her skin still tingled.

Before that kiss, a part of her had felt dead inside. She realized now, in retrospect, she’d felt that way for a long time. Maybe she always had.

When she’d been a child, she’d often felt as though she were sleepwalking through life. Nothing had seemed real. Everything had lost its vibrancy the day her father had walked out on her family. She’d felt as if she lived in the black-and-white portion in The Wizard of Oz.

Then she’d met Brody. Suddenly her world had become alive, vivid with Technicolor hues. He’d given her hope through his easygoing manner, his trustworthiness and his love. When she’d learned about Gail, all that had changed. Her world had paled once more.

She’d been numb the day she’d married James, unable and unwilling to feel, but now she knew something inside her had died then. She’d given up on love. On romance. Maybe even on life. She’d traded her soul for security and received nothing but heartache in return.

Strangely, the day James had made her a widow she’d been set free. But not free or desperate enough to want Brody back.

Brody’s kiss had zapped her like an electric current to the heart. The sensations that had coursed through her caused more pain than pleasure. It would be easier, she decided, so much easier, if she still felt nothing.

“I didn’t say it’d be easy, Jillie,” Brody said in that sexy Aussie accent that made her heartbeat quicken. “But it’s necessary.”

She nodded. “I’ll get right on it.” She shifted to her left foot, propping her hip on the edge of his solid oak desk, leaning away from him, not wanting to accidentally brush shoulders. Or anything else. “When do you want the report?”

“Next week should be fine. That’ll give me a couple of days to look it over before my meeting with the attorneys.” His spontaneous smile curled her toes.

Her hand fumbled with the pen she held. It fell and rolled across his desk. He caught it and handed it back to her. Embarrassed by her own clumsiness, she took it, carefully avoiding even the slightest touch.

“Okay, then.” She stood on both feet and rounded the corner of his desk.

He caught her arm. Her nerves electrified.

“Jillie?” he said, his voice deepened, intriguing and alarming her at the same time.

Unnerved by his touch, by her own conflicting emotions, she faced him, but this time she refused to meet his scintillating gaze. Pretending to search for some monetary figure, she riffled through the stack of papers she carried. Get a grip on yourself, Jillian.

“Did you eat breakfast today?” he asked.

Her chin lifted, her pulse charged. “What?” Surprised by his question, she asked, “Why?”

“I don’t want my assistant fainting every day.” His eyes narrowed and he studied her face. “You look…” His pause made her too aware of how much his opinion mattered. Why did she have the feeling he wasn’t about to say she looked ravishing? “Pale,” he finally said, his voice filled with concern.

“I’m fine.” But she wasn’t.

“Are you sure?” He closed the gap between them.

“Y-yes.” Her voice vibrated with uncertainty.

He bracketed her shoulders with his hands, rubbing, chafing her skin beneath the thin jacket separating his skin from hers until she thought he might start a fire inside her. “You’re a bundle of nerves.”

“I’m fine,” she protested, and took a step back.

He released her but leaned closer, his warm, clean scent surrounding her, his minty breath caressing her ear. She could see nothing beyond his wide shoulders that were covered by the metallic-gray suit. “Do I make you nervous?”

“N-no.” She glared at him. Shocked, horrified, irate at his perception, at the truth pounding in her chest, she refused to admit it even to herself and snorted her derision. Oh, God! She actually snorted. A burning heat stung her cheeks. “Of course not.”

“Good.” He touched her elbow and wild sensations shimmied down her spine. “I wouldn’t want what happened the other day…” He paused, inclining his head, dropping his voice to a husky whisper, reminding her of the primitive, erotic kiss they’d shared.

Just what she needed—another reminder! Her stomach tumbled over itself. She should have eaten breakfast. But the thought of even dry toast had made her feel green around the edges.

“…to get in the way of our work,” he finished.

“It won’t.” She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let it. Because she needed this job too much. A whole lot more than she needed Brody Fortune. Or empty promises.

“A swanky joint you’ve got here, mate.”

The strange voice jerked them apart. Brody looked past Jillian toward the door to his office and an instant grin split his chiseled features. Jillian spun around to see who had intruded on them in such a compromising situation.

“C’mon in, Griff.” Brody brushed past her, his arm grazing her shoulder, reminding her how close they’d been standing. Way too close. He clapped the man’s shoulder.

“They must think you’re important around here.” The man had the same Australian accent as Brody, but his voice didn’t make her temperature rise. He glanced around the office, tastefully decorated in bold, opulent colors that matched Brody’s personality.

The stranger’s gaze landed on her. He had nut-brown eyes that looked as if they were shadowed with wariness. “Griffin Fortune.”

Another Fortune. Just what she needed. What had they all done? Swarmed the border? Defected? She wished they’d all go back to Australia and leave her alone.

“This is Jillian Hart—”

“Tanner,” she corrected Brody.

She noticed Brody’s smile harden into a scowl and took pleasure in his lips thinning, the brackets around his mouth tightening. He turned his attention back to his brother. “Have a seat, Griff.”

She remembered Brody telling her about Griffin once, so many years ago. He hadn’t been born a Fortune, he’d been adopted by Brody’s parents and raised on the Crown Peak Ranch in New South Wales. His features were not similar to Brody’s. Griffin’s hair reminded her of pecan pie, whereas Brody’s black hair made her think of rich, dark chocolate. She wondered why she still compared every man to Brody. Irritated at herself, she decided it was only natural since the two men were brothers. But she had to stop doing that.

She almost laughed at her latest food craving. She compared everything to food these days. When her stomach rumbled angrily that she hadn’t fed it recently, she clutched the folders against her abdomen, hoping to muffle the sound.

Taking this opportunity for a few minutes of privacy to get her thoughts and feelings about Brody under control and her mind back on work, she headed for the outer office.

“Jillie?” Brody stopped her.

“I know, two cups of coffee. I’ll be right back with them.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

She paused with one hand on the door, eager for escape.

Slanting a glance at his brother, Brody gave a slight what-the-hell shrug then pulled a white lunch sack from behind his desk. He brought it to her. “Here.”

Confused, she stared at the sack. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“It’s for you.” He lowered his voice to a husky whisper and cut his eyes toward Griffin who sat in the copper-colored suede chair opposite Brody’s desk.

“Me? But what—”

“It’s a bagel,” he answered before she could finish her question. “Eat it. I can’t have you fainting anymore.” He turned on his heel, dismissing her, and walked back to his desk.

His words were brusque, but the sentiment surprised her. It was a simple gesture. Logical, even. But somehow the sweetness of it touched her.

“I’ll be back with that coffee,” she muttered.

She closed the door behind her and sank into the chair at her desk. Slowly she opened the paper sack he’d given her. A warm, yeasty scent rose to greet her. Her heart fluttered like a butterfly’s wing beneath her breastbone.

He’d remembered. Oh, God, he’d remembered that she loved blueberries. When was the last time a man had given her something? When had a man looked out for her welfare? Or even tried to please her? Hot tears scalded the backs of her eyes.

She sniffed. Hormones, she thought. That’s all it is. She wouldn’t give in to the weak emotions. She certainly wouldn’t allow Brody back into her heart.

“Oh, shoot,” she mumbled to herself. “I forgot to get the coffee.” She pushed herself up from her chair.

Maybe the blueberry bagel was a peace offering. Fine. She could accept it for that. But nothing more. She knew Brody was the love-one, love-’em-all kind of man. Too much like James. And definitely not the kind for her.

“Some assistant you have there,” Griffin commented, templing his fingers in front of his mouth to hide a smirk. “What’s she assisting you with?” His broadening grin aggravated Brody.

“Merging these two companies. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh. I can see you’ve got a merger—” he winked “—of some kind on your mind.”

Brody frowned and opened a file folder in front of him. “How’s everything at the Double Crown?”

“A cyclone of activity.”

Glancing up from the accounting profile, Brody leaned back in his chair. “The wedding have things stirred up?”

“Our big brother sure got lassoed by that sheila. Reed’s making everybody bend over backward to make this wedding a blasted fairy tale. Guess I can’t blame him. Mallory’s some woman.”

Brody chuckled at his older brother having finally been bitten by love. “She’d have to be to handle Reed.”

A discreet knock on the door signaled Jillian’s return. She carried in a tray with two cups of steaming, fragrant coffee along with packets of sugar and cream. After depositing the tray on the table beside Griffin, she retreated without a word. Or a look in Brody’s direction. He couldn’t help but watch her petite hips rock from side to side in a subtle alluring fashion.

He wondered if the blueberry bagel had reminded her of their carefree college days, of lazy naps beneath a eucalyptus tree on campus where they’d kissed and shared their dreams. When he’d decided to stop on his way to the office and pick up a couple of bagels this morning, he’d remembered her penchant for blueberries and the time he’d bought her an ice-cream cone.

His insides had roiled like a broiler as he’d watched her lick the creamy concoction with the tip of her pink tongue. She’d smiled at him seductively, her mouth tilting on one side, a pale blue mustache above her upper lip. Unable to resist, he’d stolen a quick kiss, tasted the sweet tartness on her lips, and the memory still lingered in his mind, whipping his appetite and desires into a frenzy once again.

“Looking for one yourself maybe?” Griff asked after Jillian had again closed the door behind her.

“What?” Brody jerked his attention back to the present.

“Looking to make it a double wedding?”

“Hell, no.” He slapped his tie against his abdomen and crossed his arms over his chest. “What can I do for you?”

“I thought it was the other way around. Didn’t you have something you wanted me to do for you while we were all here in Texas? Or has your new assistant made you forget about that woman from college you wanted me to find?”

Brody’s shoulders tightened. He cleared his throat. “It’s not important anymore. I have too much work to do. No time to think about sheilas.”

Only Jillian.

Griff took a long, contemplative gulp of his black coffee, his brown eyes watching Brody over the rim. “How is the merger going?”

“All right,” he answered, ignoring the double entendre behind Griff’s words. “I’m thinking of doing some research in a couple of weeks. There’s a piece of real estate that’s recently come on the market. It borders the north side of the ranch. Could be a good investment. Unless you think I should stick closer to the family and the Double Crown.”

Griff frowned, obviously understanding Brody’s silent question. “I’ve got my eye on things.”

Brody felt the tension in the back of his neck compress on his spine. “Any word on Clint Lockhart’s whereabouts?”

“No.”

Shoving back his chair, full of restless energy, Brody rounded his desk and settled one hip on the edge. “I don’t like the idea of this criminal on the loose.”

“Neither do I. He seems to have disappeared.”

“What does the sheriff think?” Brody asked.

“That he’s still around. Don’t worry. I’m on top of things.”

Brody leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee. “I’m not worried about you, sport.”

Griffin nodded. “I know what you’re thinking—Matilda.”

Shaking his head, Brody pictured his rambunctious, too trusting, younger sister. “She’s trouble looking for a spot to happen.”

“I’ve been thinking we need to schedule some activities, keep her busy, so she can’t run into the wrong kind of people.”

“You mean, men.”

“Yes.”

“Not a bad idea,” Brody agreed. “She should be fine at the ranch.”

Griffin scowled. “Have you seen the way she looks at the cowboys out there?”

He nodded. “When I get back from my one-day trip to check out this property, I’ll invite her to San Antonio for dinner or sight-seeing or something.”

“You can’t let her out of your sight,” Griffin warned.

“I don’t plan on it.”

Setting his coffee cup on the tray, Griffin stood. “Think I’ll take in a few sights myself before I head back to the ranch.”

“Going souvenir shopping?” Brody asked, knowing his brother had other things in mind.

“More like checking out the cop shop. To see if I can find out any more about this Lockhart fellow.”

Brody walked his brother to the door. With his hand on the knob, he said, “Watch your back. Lockhart’s dangerous.”

“I’d say murdering Uncle Ryan’s second wife Sophia put him in that category.”

“Now he’s desperate.”

“I’ll be careful.” Griffin turned. “If you want, I could have someone do a search in the computer for that woman you were looking for.”

“It’s not necessary.”

Griffin’s brow creased. “You already found her?”

“I did.” And damn if he knew what to do about Jillian now.

“Hi, honey!” Betsy Keene pulled the door shut behind her as she raced into her trailer home, juggling two sacks of groceries. Breathless, she gave Clint her best smile, hoping he’d be in a good mood, wishing he’d greet her with a kiss.

“You’re late.” He swigged a gulp from his bottle of beer. From the collection of empty bottles on the table, she knew he’d started drinking earlier than usual. His bare feet were propped on the kitchen table, and he wore only a pair of faded jeans that hugged his narrow hips. “Where you been?”

Betsy flushed as she found herself staring at his lean, muscular chest. Clint’s virility made her as jittery as a young schoolgirl. She squashed her disappointment at his sharp greeting and knew she shouldn’t have taken the time to redo her hair and makeup in the car.

Hiding her disappointment, she set the sacks on the cracked Formica-topped counter. “The girl taking over my station at the diner was late. Then I needed gas for the car. Stopped off at the grocery store and I had to wait for Annelle Grayson to write her check. She’s as old as the hills and it takes her an eternity to sign her name. She has arthritis something awful—”

He slammed his bottle on the table. His blue eyes flashed like heat lightning. “Goddammit!”

She froze. “I’m sorry, honey. Here I am babbling on and you’re probably starving. It won’t take me but a few minutes to get dinner ready. How does fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy sound?”

“I don’t care about dinner.” He shoved his fingers through his auburn hair, which almost reached his shoulders. He was hard and dangerous. He made her feel wild and careless.

“And I didn’t even ask how you were feeling.” She pulled a package of chicken out of the grocery sack along with potatoes and enough Granny Smith apples to make a pie. “Is your leg paining you?”

“Hell, yes.”

She winced at his gruff tone but maintained a pleasant expression. “I’ll fix you a bath after dinner so you can soak.”

Her gaze snagged on the wad of cash sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, just as it had when she’d snuck onto the Double Crown Ranch and into Clint’s cabin almost a month ago. He’d asked her to locate his stash of cash as well as an ID from beneath the floorboard of his old cabin. Now, when he drank too much, he pulled it out of his new hiding place. It gave her a panicky feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t bear it if he left her. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Eventually.” He grabbed the cash and, lifting his hip off the chair, stuffed the wad into his pocket. His mouth quirked upward on one side and sent her stomach to fluttering. “But not without you, sugar. I’ll let you know when it’s time.”

Again she flushed from head to toe, this time with pure, undiluted pleasure. While she readied the chicken for frying, she imagined a life with Clint, traveling from place to place, making love early in the morning, cuddling in front of a crackling fire on a cold wintry night.

“I got you the San Antonio newspaper you asked for. It’s there in one of those sacks.” She rolled a chicken leg in flour mixed with seasoning salt.

“Can’t you get it for me?” He tipped the bottle against his mouth for a long pull. “I’m laid up here.”

“Of course, honey, I’m sorry.” She rinsed her hands and dried them on her apron. “Here you go.”

He took the folded paper from her. His tanned, calloused fingers brushed hers, and her spine tingled with anticipation. Longing welled up inside her, but he dismissed her with a wink. As she turned back to her raw chicken, he pinched her on the backside. She jumped with surprise and giggled with delight. Maybe tonight he’d be feeling good enough to get frisky.

While she washed and cut the potatoes and set them on the stove to boil, he read the paper, rustling the pages every few seconds.

“Well, now, this is interesting,” he muttered.

“What’s that?” Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled. The heat from the stove made perspiration dot her forehead. With the back of her wrist, she brushed back a lock of hair. “What did you find?”

“The high-and-mighty Fortunes are about to have a wedding.” He rubbed the top of the beer bottle along his jaw, scraping the stubble that had been growing for the last few days. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

“Who’s getting married?” She moved toward him, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Must be one of them Aussie cousins. And some interior designer.”

“I just love weddings!” It had been years since she’d been to one. She didn’t know many folks. But that didn’t matter. Maybe one day soon she’d walk down the aisle herself. Slanting her gaze at Clint, she wondered if maybe he’d be the one waiting for her, waiting to make her his bride.

“This might be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.” He slapped the paper onto the table. “We just might have to congratulate the bride and groom on their good fortune.” He gave a wild, dangerous laugh that sent a chill of excitement and dread down Betsy’s spine.

“Feeling any better?” Amy Fairaday asked, her voice as soft as summer rain.

Jillian leaned back in the recliner and popped another lemon drop into her mouth. She closed her eyes but sensed her sister’s careful inspection. “I feel okay if I lie completely still.”

“Why don’t you take a couple of days off and relax? It might help.”

“Believe me,” Jillian said with a heavy sigh, “nothing will help.” Besides, she couldn’t take time off from work. She’d only worked for Brody a couple of days. Anyway, she’d need that time later…in about six months.

“So, what’s it like?” Amy settled on the couch, throwing her legs over the arm and propping her chin on her hands.

Jillian slanted her gaze toward her older sister. “What?”

“Being pregnant.” A dark shadow hovered in her eyes. “Billy and I had talked about having kids. But he was always too busy. Too busy foolin’ around getting another woman pregnant.”

Frowning, Jillian wondered why the Hart women had been so unlucky in love. Was it in the genes? Or simply bad luck?

At least one good thing had come out of her own horrible marriage. She touched her lower abdomen. Wonder swelled inside her breast. When she’d first discovered she was pregnant, she’d worried, fretted, cursed her luck. Not because of the baby. But because she’d known her marriage was not a good environment in which to raise a child. She’d considered leaving James but had feared what he would do to her…to the baby. She’d hoped an absent father was better than no father at all.

Then he’d died. It had been an answered prayer. Almost. Except she’d never prayed specifically for her husband’s death, never imagined it possible or even wished for something so tragic. She’d simply asked for a miracle. And her luck had changed.

Until she’d run into Brody.

“Being pregnant,” she said in answer to her sister’s question, “is wonderful.” After James’s funeral, the shock of her pregnancy had given way to wonder and awe before reality had sunk in. Then she’d worried about finances as her husband’s bills and debts rolled in, erasing every cent of the insurance money. But the fears had never for one moment made her regret this baby. Her child would be her new beginning.

“And terrifying.” She modified her earlier statement. If it wasn’t for her sister’s generosity, she didn’t know where she’d be living now.

She wondered when she’d feel the baby stir inside of her and hoped it would be soon. Then she added, “And strange.”

Amy chuckled. “All that, huh? The ‘wonderful’ I can imagine. The ‘terrifying’ is understandable being a single mom. But why ‘strange’?”

Jillian laughed for the first time in days. “I’ve turned into the biggest klutz.”

Tilting her head back until her long golden ponytail stretched the length of her spine, Amy laughed. “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true.” She sucked on the tart lemony flavor of the candy in her mouth. “I’ve never tripped or spilled so much in my life. At the office everyone has started keeping clear of me. The government could declare me a disaster zone at any time. And I can’t seem to remember anything. I start to look up a file and I forget what I’m searching for. I’ve lost my keys twice this week. I guess it’s a good thing the baby’s attached at this point or I might accidentally forget it somewhere.”

“I doubt that.” Rubbing her socked feet together, Amy asked, “Want some hot tea?”

“No, thanks. I’m feeling a little better. As long as I keep something in my stomach I’m okay.”

“So we need to let you graze all day.”

Jillian rolled her eyes. “Great. By my ninth month I’ll look like a cow.”

“You’ll look maternal, glowing, that’s all.”

She tugged on the band of her skirt that pinched her waist. “Won’t be long and I won’t be able to fit into any of my clothes. Or yours.”

Amy smiled sympathetically. “So when do you think you’ll tell your boss?”

Shrugging, she felt her nerve endings vibrate as her thoughts switched to Brody. “Not until I have to. This promotion came with a raise. And I need to keep it. I need to show him I’m indispensable. I don’t want to be sidelined just because I’m pregnant.”

“But he’ll have to learn about it sometime.”

“I know.” She compressed her lips together. “Just not right now.”

“So what’s he like?” Amy asked. “You haven’t said much about him.”

Jillian pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She hadn’t told anyone about her previous relationship with Brody. Sighing, she twisted her fingers together as she remembered the kiss he’d given her. “He’s…”

Dark and brooding.

Sweet and generous.

Sexy and too tempting for my own good.

“I don’t know,” she finally finished.

“The accountant type?” Amy wrinkled her nose.

“Not really.”

“Not one of those buttoned-down, Type-A personalities?”

“Well…” It could describe Brody. In a sense. But it didn’t encompass all of him. He was certainly more serious now than when she’d known him in college. Of course, he was an executive. He had serious matters to consider.

“What, then?” Amy brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Does he carry his calculator in his front shirt pocket? Comb long strands of hair over a bald spot? Have crooked teeth? Crossed eyes?”

Trying to envision Brody with any of those maladies, Jillian laughed. “Not at all. In fact…”

“Yes?” Amy prompted, her hazel eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Go on.”

A hot sensation that reminded Jillian of Brody’s kiss and the heat it had generated made her face burn. “Well, he’s…” She couldn’t admit that he was sexier than Mel Gibson. Or as intriguing as Crocodile Dundee. “He brought me a bagel at work today.”

“That was nice.” Her sister’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t have a thing for your boss, do you?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘thing.’”

Amy groaned. “Oh, no, Jill. This is not a good idea.”

“You mean ‘wasn’t a good idea.’”

Her sister’s brow wrinkled with sudden concern. “What happened? Did he make a pass at you? Did you make one toward him?”

Jillian flushed. For a moment she thought she might faint again, but realized she was experiencing a different type of headiness. “Past tense.”

“Are you purposefully trying to confuse me?”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “Maybe I am.” She confused herself. Forget Brody, she warned herself. But she knew it was an impossible feat. She popped another lemon drop into her mouth and slid it across her tongue until it lay between her cheek and gum. “Remember when I went to school in Australia?”

Amy nodded.

“Well, I knew Brody—my current boss—then. We, um, sort of dated.”

Amy’s eyes grew round with disbelief. “You’re kidding!”

“I wish I were.” She gave a heavy sigh. “It ended badly. But we’re trying to go on about our business now. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Uh-huh.” Amy gave her a sly grin. “I think I know why you’re a klutz and forgetting things lately.”

Jillian arched an eyebrow.

“It’s not your pregnancy, little sister. It’s Brody. The new man in your life!”

Three

Brody is not the new man in my life!

Jillian didn’t need a man.

Didn’t want one.

Certainly not Brody.

She repeated that mantra throughout the rest of the week, especially when she was in his presence. She refused to let him affect her. Negatively or temptingly as he once had. He did not make her feel things she shouldn’t. He did not make her feel anything at all.

Carrying a tray with a couple of sandwiches, bags of potato chips and ice-cold drinks, she fortified her resolve and, pushing open the door with her hip, backed into his office. Either he was starving or he was expecting company for lunch.

Brody sat at his desk, his leather chair swiveled to face the panoramic view, and spoke in hushed tones into the phone. From her angle she could glimpse his autocratic profile, his sharply slanted nose, his chiseled jaw. As she moved to his desk she fortified herself to ignore the fact that he’d tugged loose his canary-yellow silk tie and unbuttoned the top button of his starched white shirt, allowing a tuft of dark hair to peek out. Earlier in the day he’d discarded his navy jacket and folded his cuffs up to his elbows. Seeing the dusting of black hair over his tanned forearms hadn’t fazed her in the least.

Proving her sister had been wrong in saying Brody was affecting her, Jillian set the tray on his desk, careful to not spill the drinks or knock over the brass picture frame on the desk that held a photograph of a bloodred quarter horse, its shoulders well-muscled, its majestic head turned toward the camera. Probably one of his family’s prized studs.

Not at all interested in Brody’s hobbies, or that of his family, she turned to go. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Brody’s hand signal, motioning for her to wait until he finished his call. Anxious to get back to her desk and the financial report Brody had asked her to generate, to get away from him, she clasped her hands in front of her, shifted from foot to foot and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the view of San Antonio.

The late summer sky shimmered like a turquoise stone, polished and smooth. Sunlight glimmered off a nearby high-rise. Down below, on Kingston Street, live oaks made shady patches in the park with their wide-stretching branches and jade-colored leaves.

“Why don’t you have dinner with me?” Brody said into the phone, his voice low, appealing.

Jillian’s attention boomeranged back to him. See-sawing a pen between his fingers, making it thump rapidly against his thigh, he elevated her anxiety level several notches. Great, she thought, this was just what she needed. She’d walked in while he was asking a woman out on a date.

Her stomach clenched, roiling with a number of indiscernible emotions. What did she care? And why did she want to hate the woman?

He cradled the phone between his neck and shoulder, leaning forward as if anticipating a positive response from the person on the other end. A sudden memory flash stung Jillian. She remembered dancing with Brody beneath a starlit sky. Slow, erotic music wrapping softly around them, cocooning them, binding them together in her mind. Her cheek rested against his chest. His chin propped on the top of her head, tucking her safely into the curve of his shoulder.

She slammed the brakes on those memories. Her emotions jackknifed, causing a pile-up inside her as longing, despair and irritation crashed into each other. He’d once made her feel cherished, given her the love and security she’d desperately needed. But the truth had twisted her insides into a heap of mangled metal. She’d never forget—or forgive—the humiliation she’d felt when she’d learned that the entire time he’d been dating her he’d also been seeing an old girlfriend.

Angry with herself for looking back, aching for strong arms to wrap around her with heart-stirring tenderness, she straightened her spine. It was a waste of time to yearn for what had once been between them. What had been only an illusion.

Amy was wrong. She didn’t feel anything for Brody. Not anymore.

Proving to herself it didn’t matter whom he dated, or what he did with some woman, she busied herself, rearranging his lunch on the tray, folding then refolding his napkin until the paper resembled a handmade fan. She wasn’t stalling, wasn’t waiting to find out if the woman on the other end of the phone would agree to have dinner with him. She was fixing his lunch.

She tore the paper off a straw and stuck it in his drink, sloshing some of the cola over the side. With each passing moment, her nerves twisted into fine knots. She refused to eavesdrop on his conversation. After all, she didn’t care who the woman was. Or what she looked like. It wasn’t any of her business.

But she couldn’t block out the way he said, “See you then, love.”

Furious at herself for paying attention, for the wave of disappointment that knocked her off her feet and the simmer of electricity that made the fine hairs along the back of her neck stand on end, she gritted her teeth. “Your lunch is ready.”

She slapped a sandwich down on a paper plate in front of him. Barbecue sauce shot out a slit in the paper covering the sandwich and speckled the front of his shirt. She gasped. “Oh, dear!”

He glanced down at his now spotted shirt, his brows slanting into a frown.

“I’m so sorry.” She grabbed a napkin and rounded the desk. She wiped at the mess she’d caused, but the tiny crimson spots smeared. “Oh, no.”

His hand folded around her wrist. Tiny fissures of heat spread along her nerve endings. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice warm, amused, that damn sexy Australian accent reminding her of balmy nights and hot kisses. “Don’t worry about it.”

Embarrassment branded her cheeks. Her skin tingled where he held her. “B-but I’ve ruined your shirt.”

“I’ve survived worse.” Standing, he continued holding her arm, his hand encircling her wrist like a heavy, iron band. His height made her tilt her head back to meet his solid-marble gaze. “No worries.”

His husky tone sent tiny sparks along her spine and electrified her insides. As quickly as he’d grabbed her arm, he released her and stepped away, leaving her unable to take a breath or clear her head.

With his gaze steady on her, his eyes darkening to the color of charcoal, he began to remove his tie, then untucked his shirt, yanking the tails out of his slacks.

Stunned, she swallowed hard. “W-what are you doing?”

“Changing.” Without unbuttoning his shirt, he grabbed the back of the collar and pulled it over his head, turning the fabric inside out and her right along with it.

Blood drained out of her head. Oh, Lord!

With his shirt off, his chest bare, his shoulders were as wide as she remembered. And just as overwhelming. His rugged, outdoor tan had faded with the years, as if he’d been stuck behind a desk too long. But it hadn’t diminished the hard, lean edge of his muscles. Or his effect on her.

She tried to focus…on anything but his hard, chiseled body. She shifted her gaze to the brass frame. Maybe that’s why he kept a picture of a horse on his desk, to remind him of more carefree days, when he had time to ride in the wind, feel the sun on his face, heat on his skin.

What are you doing? Was she trying to analyze this man? She didn’t care why he kept a picture of a horse on his desk. She didn’t care who he talked to on the phone, who he dated, who he kissed. She couldn’t care less about his faded tan or the way his black hair swirled around his nipples.

But she hated the wisps of heat stirring inside her.

“There a problem?” he asked, his voice as rough as her breath was ragged.

“P-problem?” Her gaze shot back to his face.

“I need a shirt,” he prompted. “Grab me an extra, will you?”

She took the shirt he held in his hands and then gave it back to him. What was she doing?

“A clean shirt. I can’t go to my meeting this afternoon with barbecue sauce all over me.”

“Right.” She blinked as if to turn on the ignition in her mind. “You want me to go buy one?”

“Look in the closet.” He nodded toward a far door.

“Right. Closet. Shirt. A clean one.” Turning on her heel, she moved toward the far door and almost fell over one of the suede chairs.

“Careful,” he cautioned, his voice warm and sexy, with a touch of humor that grated on her raw, exposed nerves.

Without glancing back at him, she walked stiffly toward the closet. She gave herself a mental shake. Get a grip, Jillian! Good God, you’re acting as though you’ve never seen a man half-dressed…er, undressed.

She’d certainly seen Brody’s chest before. But it had been years, ten to be exact. Comparing him now to her memory, she remembered his boyish frame with its slim, wiry lines and buffed, tanned skin. Now his muscles looked cut out of stone. A thick mat of dark hair covered his chest, arrowing down toward the waistband of his slacks. His abdomen had the strength and washboard texture of a swimmer’s. He might not lounge in the sun anymore, but he definitely found time to work out.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to erase his image. Grabbing a shirt covered in a cleaner’s plastic bag, she turned and almost bumped into him. Unbalanced, she blamed the swirling sensations on the baby growing inside her. After all, it had been a couple of hours since she’d nibbled on that blueberry bagel. Brody had made it a habit to leave one on her desk each morning.

Hunger. That’s all these feelings were. Pure and simple deprivation.

But what kind? her mind asked. It was definitely physical. But she sensed it was something unrelated to being pregnant. Something hot, sensual. Something related to Brody.

Refusing to look closer at her traitorous emotions, she took a step forward and stubbed the toe of her shoe on the carpet. Before she could fall, Brody reached forward and caught her against his bare chest. The shirt fluttered to the floor. Her hand flattened squarely over his heart. She could feel it pounding, falling far behind the racing of her own. The mat of hair covering his chest was softer than she’d imagined, a provocative contrast to the strength of his muscles, the heat of his skin.

Her gaze collided with Brody’s. Heat sizzled between them, like lightning skittering across a summer sky. His eyes were dark, compelling, pulling her to him, making her remember the warmth of his kiss, the passion in his arms. Staring up at him, his arms locked around her waist, she could no longer run from the truth. She wanted—needed Brody to kiss her.

Shocked at her thoughts, at the desire boiling inside her, she curled her fingers toward her palm and pushed away from him. “Um—” She stumbled toward the door. “I’ll let you get dressed now. I’ll be at my desk. I’ll let you know when your lunch guest arrives.”

He picked the shirt up off the floor and removed the plastic covering and cardboard from beneath the collar. The play of muscles beneath his taut skin mesmerized her. “I’m not expecting anyone.”

“Aren’t you?” She glanced at the extra sandwich, chips and soda on his desk.

He shrugged into the heavily starched shirt then fastened each button methodically. “I ordered the extras for you.”

“But I—”

“Did you have other plans?” His brow compressed into fine lines.

“No, it’s just that…well, I…”

“You don’t eat lunch, either?” He winked, giving her heart a lurch.

A smile tugged at her lips but she resisted. Still, his thoughtfulness touched her. Did he notice everything? “Actually, I am starving.”

“Good. Then have a seat.” He indicated the copper-colored suede chair she’d almost run over earlier then looped his tie around his neck. As he stepped into the private bathroom to tuck in his shirt and use the mirror to adjust his tie, he continued through the open doorway, “I thought we could go over some of those figures while we eat.”

Disappointment shot through her, followed by irritation. What did she expect? What exactly had she wanted from Brody? A date? She could have laughed at the absurdity of that thought. This was business. He was her boss. Nothing more.

“Do you like barbecue?” he asked, returning to his desk fully dressed, his tucked-in shirt accenting his trim waist. He unwrapped the paper-covered sandwich and the tangy aroma filled the room.

“Almost as much as chocolate,” she answered.

He grinned, and she realized she hadn’t seen him smile, really smile, since she’d started working for him. The way the elongated brackets surrounding his mouth creased his cheeks made her toes curl.

“You’re a real Texan, then.”

“Nothing but.” She opened her sandwich and poured an extra amount of sauce over the chopped beef.

“You didn’t grow up in San Antonio,” he said, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

“That’s right. Amarillo.” Sensing his unanswered question, she added, “It’s in the Panhandle. A good ways from here.”

“Were you homesick for Texas?” His pensive gaze made her feel restless inside her own skin. “Is that why you left Winslow so suddenly?”

She almost choked on a bite but washed it down with a deep pull on her soda. Her mind spun. She’d never told Brody why she’d left. Now it seemed too late, too petty, too painful to bring up what should have been forgotten. Even if she’d never gotten over Brody, never forgotten him, never forgiven herself for giving her heart so completely. But she didn’t want him to know how he’d hurt her. Not now. Not when it didn’t matter.

Reverting to the excuse and truth that she’d given the scholarship board for why she’d returned to the States early from her studies in Australia, she answered carefully, “My mother was sick.”

He gave a thoughtful nod. “Your letter said she passed away not long after you returned home.”

“That’s right.” It still gave her a strange, empty feeling that she couldn’t pick up the nearest phone and call her mother. She didn’t think the gaping hole in her heart would ever close from that traumatic loss. The loneliness had been unbearable during her marriage to James, when she’d longed to call her mother for advice. Now a sharp twist constricted her heart. She couldn’t share her pregnancy with her mother, either.

He paused for a moment as if to pay tribute to her long-ago buried mother. When he next spoke, his tone had hardened. “And then you married your old boyfriend.”

“Yes. James.”

His mouth pulled to the side as if he couldn’t make himself say the name. Several moments passed as they each concentrated on their sandwiches. Then he pinned her with a fine-pointed stare. “Has he made you happy, Jillian?”

Startled by the question, by the concern in his voice, her mind spun. Happy? Had James made her happy? Words clogged her throat. Her engagement had made her dying mother happy. The match had pleased James’s folks. She wasn’t sure what James had wanted. Another conquest? A Stepford wife to help him climb the ladder of success?

And her? What had she wanted? Security? Comfort? Escape from memories…and gnawing pains of regret and loneliness. Had it brought her happiness? No. Her marriage had only made things worse.

It was an answer she couldn’t readily admit. Especially to Brody. Her marriage to James had been a mistake from the start. But still the admission tasted bitter.

Instead, she skirted the topic completely with, “James is dead.”

Jillian Hart Tanner. A widow?

That description didn’t compute. Brody’s mind replayed her words over and over, as if trying to make sense of an illogical equation. It seemed simple. But the implications were mind-boggling. Finally the answer clicked and shifted his universe.

She’s not married.

She doesn’t have a husband.

She’s available!

A surge of unreserved, unabashed optimism flooded his soul. His pulse quickened, his blood pumped, hot and fast.

He stared at her, seeing her as he once had, beautiful, intelligent, single. But something in her eyes had changed. Sadness darkened, swirled in those aqua depths like storm clouds. He imagined her tears as she cried for her dead husband. Those tears poured over him, dousing his inappropriate excitement.

You fool, can’t you see she’s hurting? Can’t you be sensitive, instead of thinking of yourself?

Guilt saturated him, made him focus on Jillian. Her pain. Her loss.

“I’m sorry, Jillie.” Not sorry that James was dead. He’d never liked James Tanner. Hell, he hadn’t even met the bloke. But he’d despised him for taking Jillian away…for marrying the only woman he’d ever loved. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not something I talk much about.”

He nodded. “Doesn’t come up in conversations easily, does it?”

She shook her head and stared down at her hands. Her fingers turned white. He wondered if it was a struggle every day for her to wrestle her composure, to combat the anguish.

Like a slap, the truth hit him, the sting resonating through him, making a part of him he’d thought long dead tremble. She’d chosen James. Not him. No matter how sharp the truth, he couldn’t forget or ignore that fact.

He looked at her from across the desk and read the shadowy pain darkening her eyes. So many questions spun around his mind. How long had she been alone? What had happened to James, a young man of their own age? Too young to die. Too young to leave a beautiful wife.

“When did he…?”

“Two months ago.”

“Hell, Jillie.” Shock brought the words too fast. “What happened?”

Daintily, thoughtfully, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “An accident. On the road. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Lifting his hand, he wanted to go to her, reach out to her, hold her. But he knew he shouldn’t. He searched his soul but could find no words that might offer solace. He understood the need to turn inward, to protect the shaky walls of dignity.

Slowly he nodded his understanding and cursed himself for causing her more pain. His chest constricted with a raw burning agony for the heartache she must be suffering. He wished he could give her something to cling to for support—his hand, his arms, maybe. But he knew there was no comfort for a broken heart.

And damn if he ever wanted to be Jillian’s second choice.

It was the right thing to do, Jillian told herself over the next few days as they entered the last week of September. It was best if everyone, especially Brody, thought she mourned James’s loss. She wanted others to think she was a grieving widow. Even if the image she’d created was a blatant lie.

There was no reason to disparage James’s memory. No reason to let her wounds from her marriage ooze. She could clean them in private. But she felt as if she were keeping a dark, ugly secret, which made her feel isolated, alone.

And the feeling only grew worse.

Brody was to blame. Every day she worked with him in close quarters, analyzing reports, scheduling meetings. His rugged accent coiled her insides. She caught herself watching him, noticing his hands, his eyes, his smile. Glimpses of her past crept into her unconscious, reminded her of better days, of a time when Brody had made her feel special. It became a constant struggle to remember how he’d also made her feel used, how he’d broken her heart. And why she no longer trusted him.

With long, ambitious strides, Brody walked into his office, a grin as broad as the Palo Duro Canyon lighting up the sharp angles of his face. “You did good, Jillie. Damn good.”

Pushing up from her desk she followed him, carrying his phone messages in her hand. “The report helped your meeting with the attorneys?”

“It laid out the strategy perfectly.” He set his fawn-colored briefcase on his desk and popped the brackets. “This may end up being the smoothest merger in history.”

Pride surged within her. “I’m glad.” She handed him his messages. Their fingers brushed, sending an electrical current through her. Crossing her arms, she focused on work. “So what’s the next step?”

His gaze softened, making his eyes smoky. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Her enthusiasm kicked into gear. She liked the challenges her new position created for her, taking her mind off her own personal problems. “Whatever I can do—”

“What are you doing this weekend?” His question stopped her short.

Had she mistaken his intent? “Excuse me?”

“This weekend,” he repeated. “What are you doing?”

Oh, God! He’s asking me out.

Her pulse thrummed at the possibility—at the impropriety, she corrected. Her mind raced. Of course, she couldn’t go out with him.

Possible excuses filed into place. But the sorry fact was, she didn’t have any real excuse. Except that she didn’t want to see him in anything but a professional setting.

“I, um, well, Brody…” She stuttered to a halt, not knowing how to handle this situation.

She was not interested in him. Or anybody else, for that matter. She wondered why that same denial was beginning to sound more and more hollow.

Maybe she should just explain to Brody that it was too soon after James’s death. Anyone would understand that. She wouldn’t have to explain further. She wouldn’t have to lie. Worse, she wouldn’t have to confront the truth making her knees weak with need.

Strengthening her resolve, she forged ahead. “Brody, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What?”

“About this weekend.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” She maintained eye contact even when she wanted to look away. She had to be firm. “It’s risky. It’s…well, the timing is completely wrong.”

He rubbed his jaw. “How do you know?”

Biting down on her frustration, she wished he would just accept it and move on. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No. Explain it to me.” He folded his arms over his broad chest. “I admit I’m new at this.”

New at asking a woman out? She swallowed a laugh. He was the expert. Not her!

“Look, I could make a dozen excuses, but the truth is, I don’t have any plans. And I don’t want any. If I were to make up something, it would mislead you. Then we’d be right back in the same place. Let me make it as plain as I can. I’m a recent widow. I’m not interested in romance…or anything else. I don’t think—”

“I wasn’t asking you out.”

Confused, she blinked. “Excuse me?”

His mouth quirked into a semblance of a smile. He chuckled, but his gaze smoldered like a banked fire. “But if that’s what you want—”

“No.” Embarrassed heat flared inside her. What have I done?

You’ve made a complete fool of yourself, that’s what!

“Let me explain,” he continued, erasing the amused smile pulling at his lips. “I’m interested in looking over a piece of property near the Double Crown Ranch. It’s actually a winery. I hear there are several vineyards in this part of Texas. It’s a growing industry, here, as well as in Australia. I think it might be a good investment for our newly merged company. And it would expand the ranch even more.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t say anything else. She wished she had a magic button that would make her disappear.

“I was hoping you’d go with me. It borders the north side of the ranch.”

“Isn’t the Double Crown Ranch kind of large?”

“Approximately five hundred thousand acres.” He spoke as if that was a drop in an old bucket.

“That could take a while to cross.”

“We have to go around but it should be only a three or four hour drive. You could help gather information for my presentation to the board. But I understand if you’re not comfortable—”

“Forget what I said.” How could she have been so stupid? The only way for her to not look like a fool was to go with Brody. What had she done? “Please, just forget everything I said.”

He quirked a brow. “What are you saying?”

“Basically that I’ve been a complete idiot. I’m sorry, Brody. I—I…”

“Then you’ll go with me? To see the property, that is.”

Why did she think she’d regret this? Not for the usual reasons, but because it was now so obvious that Brody wasn’t interested in her.

“If you n-need me,” she stammered. “I mean, need me for work…for…” Flustered, she tried to mask the sudden twinge of disappointment…and irritation. Why didn’t he want to go out with her? That thought placed her in dangerous territory. She shouldn’t care what he thought about her. Or if he could ever be interested in her as anything other than an assistant. It shouldn’t matter.

But somehow it did.

Four

You’re just asking for trouble. Amy’s words haunted Jillian as she drove across San Antonio to reach Brody’s apartment punctually at nine o’clock the following Saturday morning. She’d suggested they go in her battered Camry, since she knew her way around Texas better than Brody did and they’d have to take back roads to reach the winery. He wasn’t the type to willingly turn control over to anyone, but he had reluctantly agreed.

Her palms began to sweat as she turned into the circular drive of the Remington Heights’ high-rise luxury apartments. She convinced herself that her rattled nerves were from the snobbish look the valet gave her as she parked outside the sliding-glass door entrance. But she knew the real reason.

Brody.

“Can I help you, miss?” the valet asked, meeting her as she opened her car door.

“I’m here to see a fr—my boss. Brody Fortune.”

He squinted down at her, his slicked-back hair reflecting the sun’s rays. “Is he expecting you?”

“Yes.” What did she look like, a groupie? “He is.”

“Very well.” Although obviously doubtful, he relented. “If you’ll step into the lobby, the receptionist will ring his apartment. In the meantime, I’ll drive your car around back.”

Probably so it wouldn’t be an eyesore in front of the swanky building. She handed over her keys in exchange for a valet ticket. “Fine.”

Jillian’s nerves chafed raw as she waited for the female receptionist with French-manicured nails and mink-colored hair to ring Brody. In a haughty tone, the woman said, “Mr. Fortune, pardon me for disturbing you, but there’s a woman here who says she has an appointment with you…a…”

“Jillian Tanner,” she answered the receptionist’s silent question.

The woman paused, listening to Brody’s response. “Yes, sir, I’ll send Ms. Tanner right up.” She placed the receiver back in its cradle. “He said he was expecting you.”

Imagine that!

The woman flicked a contemptuous glance over Jillian’s khaki slacks and butterscotch top. “Take the elevator to the seventh floor. Mr. Fortune is in apartment 7-D.”

“Thank you.” A satisfied smile pulled at Jillian’s lips. She stepped into the oak-paneled elevator, almost relieved that she only had Brody to face.

Before the doors closed, she heard the receptionist mutter, “Wouldn’t have thought she was his type.”

Well, Jillian wasn’t Brody’s type. She never had been. Never would be. This was business, she assured herself, and that’s all.

When the elevator reached the seventh floor, she walked down an elegant hallway, her steps muffled by the muted brandy-and-forest-green runner that stretched the length of the hardwood floor. Along the way, she passed polished tables decorated with impressive silk flower arrangements, Queen Anne-style armchairs and gold-framed paintings in the tradition of Monet. It didn’t take much to remind her that she and Brody were from very different worlds.

She paused at the last apartment and swallowed the rest of her reservations. Why did she feel like a pauper about to enter the king’s palace? Staring at the massive twelve-foot-tall door, she felt her stomach twist into a rock-hard knot.

After ringing the bell, she waited. And waited. A few anxious seconds passed, and she glanced at the gold-plated plaque again—7-D. Where was Brody? Hadn’t he said for her to come right up?

Allowing another pause, she finally rang the bell again. If he didn’t open the door soon, she would retrace her steps. Perplexed, she started to turn away when the door swung open.

Brody greeted her with an embarrassed grin. A shock of black hair fell across his brow, and she resisted the absurd urge to smooth it back into place. In one hand he held a spatula and in the other a smoking skillet.

Jacques Pépin, the famous French chef, he wasn’t. But fatally sexy, he was. She felt the impact of his smile clear down to her toes.

“So much for breakfast.” His starched white shirt and faded blue jeans seemed as out of place in the opulent surroundings as he would in a kitchen. “We can eat on the way to the vineyard.”

“You made breakfast? For me?”

“I know you haven’t had anything to eat.” He narrowed his gray eyes on her as if suddenly unsure of himself. A rare emotion for Brody, one that made him seem vulnerable, and too appealing. “Have you?”

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