They’d been dancing around this moment all weekend; both of them afraid of what would happen if they let their guard down.

She was tired of being afraid. She wanted him. Wanted him in a way that went far beyond sex.

“I’ve got all I need right here.”

In case he didn’t believe her, she forced his gaze to meet hers. Every muscle in his body was tense, shaking from restraint. In the shadowed blue light, she saw the desire struggling to break free. “Right here,” she repeated, and brushed a kiss against his lips.

A groan tore out of his throat and he wrapped an arm around her waist. Chloe found herself yanked tight against his body. “Do you have any idea how difficult you are to resist?” he growled.

The roughness in his voice turned her insides raw. “Show me,” she challenged, her rasp matching his.

He did.

Swept Away

by the Tycoon

Barbara Wallace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA WALLACE is a lifelong romantic and daydreamer, so it’s not surprising that at the age of eight she decided to become a writer. However, it wasn’t until a co-worker handed her a romance novel that she knew where her stories belonged. For years she limited her dreams to nights, weekends and commuter train trips, while working as a communications specialist, PR freelancer and full-time mom. At the urging of her family she finally chucked the day job and pursued writing full-time—and she couldn’t be happier.

Barbara lives in Massachusetts with her husband, their teenage son and two very spoiled, self-centred cats (as if there could be any other kind). Readers can visit her at www.barbarawallace.com and find her on Facebook. She’d love to hear from you.

To Kumkum Malik.

Without your help and advice I would never have started my publishing journey.

Thank you.

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

EXTRACT

CHAPTER ONE

PLEASE SAY SHE was not watching her boyfriend hit on another customer.

Okay, perhaps boyfriend was too strong a word. After all, she and Aiden had never said they were exclusive. Still, Chloe Abrams figured they were, at the very least, serious enough that he wouldn’t pass his number to other women while she was standing six feet away!

Wasn’t as though he couldn’t see her. Last time Chloe checked, between her height, her heels and her hair, she stood above the crowd by a good couple inches. Yet there he was, flashing his heavy-lidded smile at some blonde on the other side of the coffee bar, and Chloe would bet it wasn’t because the woman had asked for an extra shot of syrup.

From behind her, she heard a chuckle. “I wondered when you’d catch on.”

Great. As if the moment wasn’t humiliating enough, the resident slacker decided to chime in.

“You know she’s not the first one, right? Dude gives out his number more than directory assistance.”

Chloe dug her nails into the strap of her designer handbag and pretended not to listen. A difficult task, since the slacker’s voice had a silk-over-sandpaper quality that made him hard to ignore.

“Funny, he always gives out his number. He never asks the women for theirs. I can’t figure out if it’s because he thinks his company is that desirable or if it’s because by having them call him, he gets off the hook for paying. You wouldn’t want to weigh in, would you, Curlilocks?”

The strap on her bag crumpled, Chloe was squeezing so tightly. Problem with narrow city coffee shops was that it was hard to escape the crowd. In this case, the owner had crammed tables along the brightly colored walls, which meant that during the morning rush the patrons in line stood on top of those sitting down.

The slacker had first appeared shortly after the new year. If she was being honest, slacker wasn’t the right word, but she couldn’t come up with anything better. Every time Chloe came in—which was obscenely often—she would see him nursing a cup of coffee. A permanent ginger-haired fixture. Sometimes he read. Other times, she’d spy him bent over a pile of paper, scribbling away. Rugged, unshaven, bundled in a worn leather jacket, his no-nonsense presence jarred with Café Mondu’s trendy atmosphere. Usually he kept to himself.

Until today, anyway.

“If you ask me,” he continued in his quiet growl, “a woman like you could do a lot better.”

Not really, Chloe thought, but she didn’t feel like arguing the point.

“Your iced coffee is ready.” In an obvious show of female solidarity, the other barista called out Chloe’s order in an overly loud voice. First the slacker, now Aiden’s coworkers. Was there anyone who hadn’t noticed her humiliation?

“Thanks,” she replied. If the slacker wanted to assume the acknowledgment was for his comment, too, let him. Stepping toward the counter, she loosened her grip on her strap, the motion causing the leather satchel to slide downward slightly and brush the blonde’s hip. The woman stopped flirting long enough to glance over her shoulder. That got Aiden’s attention. He immediately looked in Chloe’s direction.

And winked.

Winked! Un-freaking-believable. He could have at least looked embarrassed over getting caught. No, the jerk winked, as if she was in on the joke.

“You okay, Curlilocks?” the slacker asked.

Okay? Try furious. Discovering Prince Charming was a jerk, she could handle. She was used to jerks. But to have him make a fool of her in front of the slacker and everyone else in the place? No way.

“Excuse me,” she said, tapping the blonde on the shoulder, “but you’re going to want stand back.”

“Why?” the woman asked.

“Because of this.” She raised her drink over Aiden’s head and poured.

“What the—?” Coffee and ice streamed down the sides of the barista’s face, plastering his shiny black mane to his cheeks. He looked like a long-haired dog after a bath.

Satisfaction gave a way better jolt than caffeine. “He’s all yours, sweetie,” Chloe said, tossing a smile to the blonde. “I’ve got better things to do.” Turning on her heels, she marched to the front door.

The slacker rewarded her with a slow clap as she passed. “Well played, Curlilocks. Very well played.”

At least someone enjoyed the performance.

* * *

“You did not.” Larissa Boyd stared at her with wide-eyed admiration. “The entire iced coffee?”

“All twenty ounces,” Chloe replied. “I’ve got to tell you, those bangs don’t look nearly as sexy when dripping wet.” She sat back in her office chair, smiling with a boldness she didn’t truly feel.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. He and his new friend were too stunned to speak. I think everyone in the shop was.” Except, that is, for the slacker. She could still hear his applause.

“Too stunned to speak about what?” Delilah St. Germain’s ponytailed head poked around the cubicle wall. “I got your text. What happened?”

“Chloe caught Aiden passing his number to another woman, and dumped an iced coffee on his head.”

Delilah’s eyes widened to match Larissa’s. “You did not.”

“Is there an echo in here? Yes, I did. Blame temporary insanity.”

“No, insane was when you started dating the jerk. This, on the other hand... I’m impressed. You’ve got guts.”

Guts or really poor judgment? Chloe’s rebellious high had started to fade in favor of foolishness.

Based on her friends’ awestruck expressions, they disagreed, so she kept up the facade. She was good at that: pretending to be unaffected. “I prefer to say I struck a blow on behalf of misled females everywhere.”

“Use whatever term you want. If I had been in your shoes, I wouldn’t have had the nerve.”

“Me, neither,” Larissa said.

They needn’t worry; neither of them would ever be in her shoes, and that wasn’t simply because they were both engaged to be married. To begin with, her friends attracted a different kind of man. Nice men who believed in calling women back. Neither of them would be impulsive enough to dump a cup of coffee over a guy’s head, because neither of them would be involved with a man jerk-offish enough to warrant the behavior.

Not that Chloe resented her friends’ happiness. On the contrary. She couldn’t be more happy. From the moment the three of them met at CMT Advertising’s new employee orientation, Chloe had recognized her two best friends were different than her. They were soft and lovable, with a smiling optimism she couldn’t muster if she tried. The two of them deserved all the happiness in the world.

“When you think about it, Aiden’s the one with the nerve.” Larissa’s voice dragged her back to the present. “Giving his number out when you were standing right there? What kind of guy does that?”

The kind of guy Chloe dated. “Apparently it wasn’t the first time, either. The slacker told me he’s a regular directory assistance.”

“Wait, who?” Delilah asked. She had a habit of tucking her hair behind her ear, a motion that caused her sinfully large diamond to sparkle as it caught the fluorescent lighting.

“The slacker. You’ve seen him. He sits at the front table every day.” She was met with blank looks. “Leather jacket? Buzz cut?” How could they not have noticed him? “No matter. He’s the one who told me Aiden writes his number on a lot of coffee cups.”

“You believed him?”

Oddly enough, yes. “No reason for him to lie.”

Delilah ran a hand around her ear again. “All the better you dumped his sorry behind, then. We never did think he was good enough for you.”

“Delilah’s right. Any guy who doesn’t appreciate you is a jerk. You can do better.”

“The slacker said the same thing,” Chloe muttered.

“The slacker has good taste,” Delilah stated.

She smiled. Naturally, her friends would rush to her defense, same as they did whenever her latest relationship went belly-up. Only Chloe knew the truth. That the betrayal wasn’t all Aiden’s fault. How could it be when she was the one genetically programmed to pursue doomed relationships? Short-term Chloe, good for a few laughs, but not worth sticking around for. Good thing she didn’t expect more, or she’d have serious depression issues.

“Jerk or not, he was also my date for your wedding, Del.” The brunette’s wedding was two weeks away. She was marrying the head of their advertising agency in a black tie ceremony that would be filled with colleagues and society people. All of whom would have plus ones now, except for Chloe. She sighed. “Damn, but he would have looked good in a tuxedo.”

“A tuxedo you were paying for,” Larissa pointed out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry; we’ll find you a proper date. One who can afford to pay his own way. I’m sure Tom has a friend.”

“Or Simon...”

“Absolutely not.” She’d rather go solo than take a blind date. Scrambling to find some stranger to take simply so she had a dance partner? Thanks, but she didn’t need another short-term deal right now. “In fact,” she said, thinking aloud, “not having a date is a good thing. Now I don’t have to worry about entertaining anybody, and can focus on being the maid of honor. What if you have a bridal emergency? I’m supposed to be at your beck and call for anything you need.”

“You’re not funny,” Larissa said, narrowing her eyes. “Beck and call” had been an inside joke for months. Ever since Larissa got engaged and turned planning her wedding into her life’s work.

“Actually,” Chloe replied with a grin, “I am very funny.”

“Wait till you start planning your own wedding. You’re going to want my help, and I’m not going to give you any.”

“Oh come on, La-roo, you and I both know I plan on being one of those inappropriate cougars who dates your son’s friends.”

Larissa folded her arms across her chest. “You would, too, just to get me, wouldn’t you?”

“You know it,” Chloe said with a cheeky grin. When discussing her love life, she was very good at playing the irreverent, cavalier friend. Only after Delilah and Larissa returned to their desks did she let herself give in to the hollowness plaguing her chest.

She’d liked Aiden, dammit. So what if their relationship consisted mostly of meeting up at parties and clubs? Enough time had gone by that she’d started to think maybe he might be a guy who stuck around awhile. She should have known better. Sooner or later all men left. After all, a person had to be worth sticking around for.

* * *

“Well, well, well, look who’s back. Should I grab my umbrella?”

The slacker’s gravelly greeting seemed to inch its way up Chloe’s spine, causing her to stiffen. Looking over at the front table, she saw him leaning back in his chair, a smile on his ginger-stubbled face. You really need to find a better nickname, she thought to herself. Smug Bastard might work today.

“I wouldn’t want to waste a good coffee,” she told him.

“Again,” he replied.

“Excuse me?”

“You mean you wouldn’t want to waste a good cup of coffee again. Though now that I think about it, you didn’t really waste yesterday’s drink, did you?”

Chloe narrowed her eyes. She was so not in the mood.

“Not a morning person, are we, Curlilocks?”

“Depends on the company.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest. “You wound.”

If only. She looked away, hoping he’d get the hint and stop talking. Being here was awkward enough without the commentary.

He didn’t. “I’ve got to admit, I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you’d be back.”

Neither was she, until she’d walked through the door. In fact, she’d stood on the corner for a good ten minutes, debating the decision, convinced the manager would toss her on the sidewalk the second she entered. Or worse, Aiden would throw an iced coffee in her face.

In the end, pride won out. Stopping for her morning iced latte had been part of her routine long before Aiden came into the picture. No way was she letting some two-timing coffee jerk change that.

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” she asked Slacker. He didn’t need to know about her indecision. “Like I said, they’ve got good coffee here.”

“Better than good, if you ask me.” To prove his point, he took a sip. Chloe noticed the side of his left hand already had ink smudges. Today was a note writing day, apparently.

“Although,” he added, once he’d swallowed, “if I were you, I’d ask another barista to wait on me. In case.”

“I’m not you,” she reminded him.

He surprised her by raking his eyes up and down her entire length. “That you’re not, Curlilocks,” he said with a rough-sounding growl meant to make her insides take notice.

Chloe’s hand flew to her abdomen. Something about the man’s voice managed to get beneath her skin. He knew it, too; his eyes gleamed with cockiness.

Keeping her head high, she headed to the register, where Aiden waited. “Hey,” she greeted.

“Good morning. May I take your order?”

That was it? Where was the glare? The terse words? The recognition? Surely she was worth some kind of reaction beyond a bland, generic greeting? “About yesterday...”

“Did you want a coffee?” The bland smile didn’t slip. He was, for all intents and purposes, treating her like a complete stranger. As inconsequential as an out-of-state tourist. Punching her in the stomach would have hurt less. “The usual.”

“Which is?”

The cut deepened. Chloe’s eyes started to burn. She quickly blinked. He did not deserve the satisfaction.

“The lady drinks iced peppermint mocha latte.”

Looking over her shoulder, she got a shrug from the slacker. “You know my order?”

“What can I say? Sit here long enough, you hear things.”

“Don’t you mean eavesdrop?”

His lips curled into a crooked smile. “Only on the interesting customers.”

“No offense, but that’s a little creepy.” Even if her stomach did flutter at the idea that she qualified as interesting.

“You say creepy; I say observant. Sort of a potato-potahto kind of thing. I like people watching.”

“Let me guess. You’re a writer.”

“If I am, then literature as we know it is in trouble,” he said, punctuating the remark with a low chuckle.

How on earth did Del and La-roo not notice him sitting there every day? Even as possibly crazy slackers went, the man stood out in a crowd. What, at first glance, looked like street scruff was really very controlled. His hair was shortly cropped, and his not quite red, not quite blond stubble looked more like he simply couldn’t be bothered with pulling out the razor than a lack of grooming. His battered jacket was similarly deceptive. Looking closer, she recognized what had been a very expensive piece of leather that had been worn till the thing molded to his broad shoulders. It reminded her of the basketball sneakers she couldn’t give up even after she could afford better ones.

“See anything you like, Curlilocks?”

Crap. Chloe turned back to the register, hoping she didn’t look too flustered. “I was admiring your jacket.”

His chuckle was low and raspy. “This old thing? I’ve had her for years.”

Her? Much as she knew she shouldn’t, Chloe took the bait. “You gave your jacket a gender?”

“Sure. Why let the big ticket items have all the fun?”

“Interesting point,” she conceded. “I supposed you named her, too.”

“Don’t be silly. That would be crazy.”

As opposed to this whole conversation. Fortunately, Aiden chose that moment to return with her drink. “No need,” he said, when Chloe reached for her wallet. “It’s on the house.”

“Seriously?” Didn’t she feel like a heel now. Maybe she’d misjudged him and yesterday’s situation. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

Her smile fell. “You mean you’re not trying to apologize for yesterday?”

“Why should I apologize? I’m not the one who acted like a raving lunatic for no good reason.”

No good reason? Chloe tightened her grip on the cup. He was lucky she didn’t give him a repeat performance. “Who did then?” she asked, forcing herself to step back from the counter before she could give in to impulse.

The barista raised and lowered a shoulder. “Beats me. Note on the register says the next time you came in, your drink was free. Apparently someone appreciates acts of lunacy.”

Chloe took another step back. The only people who knew what had happened were Larissa and Delilah, and as of last night, they’d vowed to boycott the café until “Aiden came to his senses.”

“Must have been one of those random acts of kindness.”

No, it couldn’t be. A glance at the front table showed a definite sparkle in the slacker’s ice-blue eyes.

“Why would someone pick me?” Particularly when she’d been rude to him? Regret stole at her insides.

Slacker leaned back, letting the hood of his sweatshirt become a gray cotton cowl around his neck. “Maybe that someone enjoyed seeing Don Juanista there get his comeuppance. I hear it took a couple hours to get the peppermint smell out of his luscious locks.”

A snort escaped before she could stop herself. Aiden was so vain about his hair.

“Too bad I didn’t snap a photo for the front bulletin board. I’m guessing there’s an awful lot of women who wished they could have seen karma bite ole’ Aiden in the rear.”

“I’m guessing you’re right.” The realization brought back yesterday’s humiliation in force.

Meanwhile, back at the register, Aiden had turned his sights to another woman in line, his grease pencil seconds away from marking his digits at the base of her cup. “Doesn’t look like karma bit all that hard,” Chloe noted.

“Oh, but it will. You just wait. Ten years from now, that suffering musician look will have morphed into a receding hairline and a beer gut. Let’s see how many women want him writing his number on their cup then.”

Chloe swallowed another snort. “You paint an interesting picture.”

“Interesting? Or Satisfying?”

“Maybe a little of both.”

“Then my work here is finished.” Slacker grinned broadly, revealing a row of bright perfect teeth. He had freckles, too, Chloe realized. The slightest dusting across the bridge of his nose, along with a couple of faint scar lines. Rugged, weather-hewn. He’d had a run-in with karma himself, hadn’t he? Did he win or lose? Chloe wasn’t sure why, but she had a feeling he would come out victorious in any battle.

A jostle from behind brought her back to reality. The gathering crowd meant eight-thirty was getting close. “I better get going,” she told him.

“Already? The conversation was just getting interesting. Sure you can’t stick around?”

“Unfortunately, some of us have to work for a living.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced. Man buys her a cup of coffee and she insults him. Insensitive, thy name is Chloe.

“Just as well. I’ve got a meeting myself.”

Chloe didn’t call him on the obvious lie. “Do me a favor and if you see the ‘stranger’ who bought me the coffee, thank him, okay?”

“Sure thing. Enjoy drinking it—this time.”

He winked.

Chloe squeezed her cup. Why’d he have to go and spoil a perfectly pleasant moment with a comment like that? Worse, why did her insides have to tap dance in response?

She’d retort, but the words didn’t want to come out. Snapping her jaw shut, she marched to the door, barely avoiding a collision with a cashmere overcoat as she rushed past.

* * *

Ian Black watched her exit with amusement. Kid was trying so hard not to look flustered. She had swagger, that’s for sure, although Ian had known that long before she’d tipped coffee over the Irish Casanova’s head. The way she strutted in here every morning with her high heels and that long curly hair every morning, as if she owned the damn shop... Bet she walked into the Empire State Building the same way. You had to admire her display of confidence, whether it was real or strictly for show.

Her cacophony of curls blew back from her face as she slipped through the front door, treating him to a glimpse of her tawny-skinned profile, a golden flash amid the early spring gray. For a tall woman, she had surprisingly delicate features. Like a Thoroughbred horse, she was lean and leggy. A damn attractive girl, and the barista was an idiot for not treating her better. Ian had been watching the two of them flirt for weeks, disappointed when he’d heard Aiden say they were “hooking up.” Ian had hoped the swagger meant she knew better. Thankfully, she’d come to her senses. Then again, let he who wasn’t guilty of bad judgment cast the first stone. Sure wouldn’t be him, that’s for certain.

“One of these days, I’m going to insist on meeting somewhere less crowded,” Jack Strauss grumbled as he unbuttoned his cashmere coat.

“Excuse me for frequenting my own business.” Ian nodded at the girl behind the register, who immediately moved to get Jack a coffee. “And you’re late.”

“Stop confusing me with one of your employees. Traffic was a bear.”

“Driving wouldn’t be such a problem if you lived in the city.”

“Not everyone can afford the rent.”

“Good grief, you’re a laywer. Of course you can pay the rent.”

“Okay, not everyone can afford your kind of rend. Did I say something funny?” he asked when Ian chuckled.

“Inside joke.” He was wondering what Curlilocks would make of the conversation. She thought he was a bum. The color on her cheeks when she’d made the remark about working betrayed her. He would have corrected her if he didn’t find her mistake so damn amusing. Ian wondered if, when she did find out, he should duck for cover. She looked as if she had quite an arm.

“Must be a good joke, whatever it is. I haven’t seen you smile in a long time.”

Draping his coat along the back of the chair, the silver-haired man sat down in the chair opposite Ian just as his coffee and pastry arrived. He took a large drink, then let out a breath.

“Feeling better?” Ian asked.

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that question?”

Yes, he was. Much as Ian wanted to believe Jack’s concern was as much out of friendship as it was obligation as his sponsor, he knew better. “Same as always. One day at a time.

“You’re not...”

He shook his head. “No worries. These days I’m all about the coffee.”

“So I see.” Jack took another sip. “Although you didn’t have to go to such extremes. Most recovering addicts settle for buying cups of coffee, not coffee shops.”

“I’m not most guys in recovery.”

“No kidding. One of these days I expect to walk in here to find you bought a coffee plantation so you can grow your own beans.”

“Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Ian never did believe in doing things halfway. Military service, business, alcohol abuse.

Hurting people.

Jack nodded at the stack of stationery by his elbow. “Still writing letters, I see.”

“Told you when we first started meeting, I had a long list.” He ran a hand across the stack. Twenty years of being a rat bastard left a long tail. “Don’t suppose you have those addresses I wanted tracked down?”

“Again, stop confusing me with an employee.”

“Are you planning to bill me for your law firm’s time?”

When Jack’s look said “of course,” Ian stated, “Then technically, you are an employee. Now, do you have the names?”

“I’m beginning to see why your board of directors ousted you. You’re an impatient son of a gun.” The lawyer reached for his briefcase. “My investigator is still trying to locate a few people.” He held up a hand before Ian could comment. “You gave him a pretty long list.”

“Could have been worse. Tell him to be glad I stuck to Ian Black, the business years.”

“Thank heaven for small favors. You do realize that when the program says you need to make amends, you don’t need to literally contact every single person who ever crossed your path.”

You did if you wanted to do things right. “You make amends your way, I’ll make amends mine,” Ian told him, snatching the papers. He didn’t have the heart to tell Jack the list didn’t begin to scratch the surface.

Quickly, he ran his eyes down the top sheet. Three pages of ex-girlfriends, former friends, employees and associates, all deserving of apologies.

And one name that mattered most of all. He glanced up at his friend. “Is—”

“Last page. At the bottom.”

Of course. Save the worst offense for last. Flipping pages until he got to the last one, he found the name immediately. His biggest mistake.

And the hardest of all to make amends for.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT DO YOU mean, don’t call him?” Ian slapped his empty coffee cup on the table. Since they’d started meeting, Jack had done nothing but talk about the twelve steps. Make amends to the ones you hurt, ask forgiveness, etc., etc. Now here Ian was, doing exactly that, and the man was saying he shouldn’t? What the hell?

“I didn’t say you should never call him,” Jack replied. “I’m simply suggesting you slow down. Amends aren’t made overnight.”

“They aren’t made sitting around doing nothing, either.”

“You aren’t doing nothing. He answered your letters, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Ian replied, “but...” But letters could say only so much. It was too easy to censor what you were writing. Too hard to read what wasn’t being said. In the end, everything sounded flat and phony.

“Some conversations should be face-to-face. I need him to hear my voice, so he knows I’m sincere.”

“He will, but I think you still need to go slow. You can’t push the kid if he’s not ready.”

“Who says he’s not ready? It’s not like I’m suddenly appearing in his life unannounced.”

“Then why didn’t he give you his phone number?”

“Because I didn’t ask,” Ian quickly replied. Truthfully, he should have called long before this. During those early months of sobriety, however, he’d been shaky—and all right, a little scared—so he’d let Jack and the counselors talk him into writing a letter instead. But he was stronger now, more himself, and he needed to face his son. “I’m tired of wasting time,” he told Jack. “I’ve wasted enough.”

Thirteen years, to be exact. Thirteen years during which his ex-wife, Jeanine, had no doubt filled his son’s head with garbage. Even if a good chunk of what she said was true, it wouldn’t surprise Ian if she went overboard to make him look as bad as possible. His ex-wife was nothing if not an expert at deflecting blame. Her influence made repairing his mistakes all the more difficult. He could already sense her lies’ effect in the way Matt phrased his letters. So polite and superficial. Again, it was too easy to read between the lines. The only way he would loosen Jeanine’s grasp was for them to talk face to face. “I’m not expecting us to plan a father-son camping trip, for crying out loud. I simply want to talk.”

On the other side of the table, Jack shook his head. “Still think it’s a bad idea.”

“I didn’t ask what you thought,” Ian snapped. He already knew the older man’s opinion, and disagreed with it. Jack didn’t have children. He wasn’t sitting here with the window of opportunity growing smaller and smaller. A year ago Matt was in high school; now he was in college. Three years from now he’d be out in the world on his own. Ian didn’t have time to take things slow.

“Maybe not.” The lawyer didn’t so much as blink in response to the rude reply. Ian suspected that’s why Jack had been assigned as his sponsor; he was one of the few people who didn’t back down at the first sign of temper. “But I’m giving it to you, anyway. I’ve seen too many men and women fall off the wagon because they tried to do too much too fast too soon.”

“How many times do I have to remind you, I’m not your average addict.” He was Ian Black. He believed in moving, doing. Too many people wasted time analyzing and conferring with consultants. Sooner or later you needed to pull the trigger. Getting to yes meant getting things done.

Which was why, as soon as Jack left for his office, Ian reached for his cell phone. The call went straight to voice mail. Hearing the voice on the other end, he had to choke back a lump. He’d heard it before, but never this close, never speaking directly to him. Hearing his son sound so grown-up... All the milestones he’d missed rushed at Ian. So many lost moments. He had to fight himself not to call back and listen to the message again. They’d speak soon enough.

* * *

Eleven hours later, though, his phone remained silent. He told himself to relax. Kid was probably in class or doing homework. For all he knew, they had lousy reception in the dorms and Matt hadn’t even gotten his message. Ian came up with a dozen reasons.

None made him any less agitated.

Letting out a low groan, he scrubbed his hands over his face.

It didn’t help that he spent the day writing letters of apology. A stack of envelopes sat by his elbow. One by one he’d addressed and ticked off names on the list Jack had supplied.

So many names, so many people who hated his guts and probably—rightfully—danced when they heard he’d been ousted from Ian Black Technologies. As he’d told Curlilocks, nothing beat a healthy dose of karmic blowback. Curlilocks. Aiden said her real name was Chloe, but he thought the nickname suited her better.

He probably shouldn’t be thinking of her at all considering the shocking number of women he finished apologizing to. So many wronged women. Some, like his ex-wife, were women he never should have gone near in the first place. Others were opportunistic bed partners who’d hoped to become more. But many were simply good women who’d offered their affection and whom he’d let down. Their names stung the most to read. Business casualties he could rationalize as part of the industry; personal betrayals showed how toxic a person he could be.

Ian ran his finger across Matt’s name and felt an emptiness well up inside him. The head roads he’d made in this relationship weren’t nearly enough.

To hell with waiting. Patience was overrated. He grabbed his phone and dialed. Voice mail again. He slammed it down on the table, the force causing his empty coffee cup to rattle.

When he’d bought the coffee shop, the first thing he did was order new drinkware, replacing the cutesy china cups with sturdier, heavier stoneware. The kind that, when hurled, would leave their mark rather than shatter. What, he wondered, would happen if he tossed one right now? Would his employees duck in fear as they used to? The new and improved Ian Black vowed not to be a bully. But damn, did he want to heave something right now....

“Should I get out my umbrella?”

He looked up to find Curlilocks looming over his table. Even with his black mood, a rush of male admiration managed to pass through him. At some point during the day she’d corralled her curls into a high ponytail that controlled, but didn’t completely tame them. She must have walked a few blocks because her nose and cheeks were bright pink from the harsh winter air that had taken up residence in the city that night.

“Little late for you to be roaming the streets, isn’t it?” It wasn’t like him not to notice her entrance. He wondered how long she’d been standing by his table. Long enough to witness his little meltdown?

“Working late. Came here for a refuel, because the office coffee stinks.” For the first time, he noticed she was holding two coffee cups, one hot, one cold. She slid the hot one in his direction. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Call it a random act of kindness.”

Ian stared at the white cardboard cup. Kindness didn’t suit him at the moment. “No, thanks.”

“Seriously, go ahead. I owe you for spending your money on me this morning.”

Right, because she thought him down on his luck and was probably worried that he didn’t have the money to waste. This morning he found her mistake amusing, but tonight it merely emphasized his current position, and the mistakes he’d spent the last eleven hours trying to amend. “I don’t need your coffee. You want to feel charitable, try the guy on the corner.” Someone who deserved the gesture.

Her eyes widened, their chocolate warmth replaced by humiliation. Ian immediately regretted his response. “Look, I just meant—”

“Forget it!” She held up her hand. “I was paying you back for this morning, is all. You don’t want the coffee, then you give it to the guy on the corner.”

“Chloe—” A blast of cold air killed the rest of his apology.

So much for the new and improved Ian Black. Why didn’t he go kick a kitten, too, so he could really be a jackass?

* * *

Chloe strode from the shop as fast as she could. You try to do a guy a favor. Jeez, she’d bought him a cup of coffee. No need for him to make a federal case out of it. What did he think she wanted to do? Save him? Only reason she bought him the drink was because the café was about to close, and he’d looked a little lost staring at his empty mug. He didn’t have to toss her good deed back in her face.

What had caused his sudden mood shift, anyway? The guy had been happy-go-lucky enough this morning. Did the day just wear him down? Lord knows sitting alone in a coffee shop all day would do that to her. Such a waste of what looked like a strong, capable man. More than capable, really.

Not that she studied him all that closely.

The wind bit her cheeks, reminding her that, at the moment, she was the one braving the cold, not her slacker. She flipped up the collar on her coat. It wasn’t much protection against the wind, but at least she could bury her chin a little. With her eyes focused on the sidewalk, she dodged the sea of homebound commuters, wishing she could be one of them. Stupid slacker. It was his fault she was dodging anything. If she hadn’t wasted half her day wondering about his story, she’d be on her way home, too, instead of heading back to the agency.

The attack came out of nowhere. One minute she was rushing down the sidewalk, the next her shoulder was being ripped backward. A pair of hands slammed into her back, hard, knocking the air from her lungs and her body off balance. Before she could so much as gasp she was pitching forward, face-first onto the sidewalk. Stars exploded behind her eyes as her hands and chin struck the cement.

From behind her, she heard a shout, followed by the scrambling of feet and a second, deeper cry of pain. A second later, she felt an arm around her waist.

“You all right, Curli? Damn, look at your chin.”

“Wh-what?” Chloe was too dazed to answer. The arm around her waist felt warm and safe, so she leaned in closer.

“Your chin,” her savior repeated, his voice soft and rough. “It’s bleeding.”

She touched her face, flinching when she felt sticky wetness. The dampness trailed down her scarf to the front of her coat. She tried to look down, to see the damage, but everything was dark.

“It’s mostly coffee,” he told her, but we should make sure your chin doesn’t need stitches. Do you have anything in your bag I can use to wipe the skin clean?”

“I don’t think—my bag!” She sat up a little straighter. That had been the tug she’d felt on her arm. The jerk had stolen her pocketbook.

“Right here.” The soothing arm disappeared from her waist. A second later, a brown leather bag appeared in her lap, minus the strap. Chloe fingered the jagged end where the mugger cut the strap free. The bag had been her twenty-fifth birthday present to herself. Now it was ruined. Because some thug had got close enough to...

Her lower lip started to quiver. That made her teeth and chin hurt more.

“Shh, don’t cry, Curlilocks. It’ll be all right.”

No, it wouldn’t. “I—I was m-m-mugged.” The word hurt to say. She felt dirty and violated.

“I know. I know.” His whisper reached through the cold, calming her. “If it’s any consolation, they’re hurt worse than you.”

“They?” There were two? She started to feel nauseous. “I didn’t see them.”

“That’s how it works. They find someone who’s not paying attention and grab the bag from behind.”

Fingers brushed the hair from her face. Tender fingers, but they made her tremble nonetheless. “You stopped them,” she said.

“Right place, right time.” The fingers found their way to her jaw. Tilted her face until she could see his pale blue eyes. Under the streetlight, his stubble looked more blond than red, the freckles across the bridge of his nose more prominent. “We really need to treat that cut,” he said. “Do you have anything in your bag?”

Chloe shook her head. “Afraid not. I cleaned the thing out this morning.” Thank goodness, too. Any heaver and the force of it being ripped away might have dislocated her shoulder.

“Lucky for you, I’m good at improvising.” Before she could ask what he meant, he’d shed his jacket and begun peeling the sweatshirt over his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax. The shirt’s fresh from the laundry.” He mopped at the cut with one of the sleeves.

Chloe caught his wrist. “You’re ruining your sweatshirt.”

“A sacrifice for a worthy cause,” he replied.

By now, they’d attracted curiosity and several people had stopped to check on them.

“We’ll be fine,” the slacker told them. “Doesn’t need stitches.”

“How do you know?” She hated to admit it, but with the gentle way he was dabbing at her wound, she wouldn’t care one way or the other.

“Let’s say I’ve seen my share of cuts and wounds. How are your hands?”

She turned them over. Road burn marred her palm. “I’m betting your knees match,” he said. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the coffee shop and clean you up properly. We can call the police from there, too. Chances are there’s not much they can do at this point, but you should file a report, anyway—just in case.”

Chloe could do little more than nod. The way her insides were shaking, she couldn’t think straight if she tried.

Meanwhile, the slacker took charge, effortlessly. Letting someone else carry the load for a change felt good. When his arm returned to her waist, and he helped her to her feet, she couldn’t help curling into his body. He smelled of coffee and wood. Strong, masculine, solid scents that filled her insides with a sense of security.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said, realizing that fact almost with surprise. “Slacker” definitely no longer applied.

He paused a moment before answering. “Ian Black.”

Ian Black. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. Didn’t matter; her rescuer finally had a name. “Thank you, Ian Black,” she said, offering a grateful smile.

“You’re welcome, Chloe.” Hearing him use her proper name only made her smile wider.

They held each other’s gazes, not saying a word. Finally, Ian stepped back, his arm slipping away from her waist. “What do you say we get you cleaned up?”

Right, her chin. Unbelievably, Chloe had forgotten.

“I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t happened along when you did,” she told him as they walked slowly back.

With the immediate drama over, adrenaline had kicked in, causing her legs to shake. She was afraid her knees would buckle beneath her if she moved too quickly. Ian kept pace a few inches from her elbow, not touching, but close enough to grab her should something happen. He held her bag tucked under his arm. The big leather satchel looked ridiculous, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m only sorry I didn’t arrive a minute earlier. I might have spared your chin,” he said.

Which throbbed. To make walking easier, Chloe had taken over the job of pressing it tight. She was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped long ago, but Ian insisted she maintain pressure. “I don’t care about my chin.” She’d suffered worse playing college ball. “I’m more bummed out about my bag.”

“Pocketbooks can be replaced.”

“Not at that price,” she muttered.

“Then on behalf of your bag, I’m sorry I didn’t move faster.”

“You showed up. Better than nothing.”

Why did he show up, though? He’d been sitting at his table when she’d left. She started to frown, only to have pain cut the expression short. “Were you following me?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Oh.” At least he scored points for honesty. She scooted an inch or two to the right. “Why?”

“To apologize,” he told her. “I had no business being so rude to you earlier. You bought the coffee to be nice. I was wrong to bite your head off.”

Had all that taken place tonight? The exchange seemed like eons ago. “Be pretty rude of me not to accept now, wouldn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t be the first person.”

It was such a strange response, Chloe couldn’t help frowning again. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t get an answer. They’d rounded the corner to the coffee shop. A Closed sign hung in the window. “Shoot,” Chloe muttered. “I’d hoped we’d get here before they locked up for the night.”

“No worries.”

There was a female barista wiping down the counter. Ian rapped on the window to draw her attention. Her chin must have looked pretty bad because the woman immediately stopped what she was doing and unlocked the door.

“Oh my God, what happened?”

Once again, Ian took charge, steering Chloe straight to the table in the corner. “We’re going to need the first aid kit, Jesse.”

Now, Chloe knew she had to be a mess, because the woman obeyed without a word. On the other hand, Ian’s demeanor didn’t exactly invite discussion.

While the barista disappeared into the back room, Ian made his way to the sink behind the coffee bar. Reaching into an upper cabinet, he retrieved a fresh towel. Then, grabbing a stainless steel bowl that was drying on the counter, he filled it with water.

“You look pale,” he said when he returned. No surprise there. The shaking in her legs had spread to the rest of her body. Took all she had not to fall off the chair.

“Hold on.” He crossed the room again, this time to help himself to a bottle of water from the display case. “Here. Drink some of this.”

“Thank you.” Drinking and keeping the sweatshirt pressed to her chin proved difficult, especially with her free hand trembling. Some of the water dribbled past her lips and onto the shirt.

“You’re really making a mess tonight, aren’t you Curli?”

Chloe was about to comment when she caught the twinkle in his eye. A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “Good thing you didn’t give me coffee. I might have stained your sweatshirt.”

“Heaven forbid. Coffee’s such a bitch to get out.”

As opposed to blood. “I hope this wasn’t your favorite shirt.”

“A worthwhile sacrifice,” he said again, then ran his index finger down the bridge of her nose before giving the tip a playful tap.

Fighting to keep to the color from flooding her cheeks, Chloe looked away. Maybe it was the change in temperature after being outside, but her chill had begun to fade, replaced by an odd fluttering deep in her muscles. Like shivers, only more intense and without the nervous edge.

“Here’s the first aid kit. I can’t vouch for the contents. Been awhile since we’ve had to use anything in it.” Jesse’s return removed some of the electrical charge from the moment. “I grabbed some plastic bags, too. In case you want to make an ice pack.”

“Good idea. Could you make me a couple? You might want them for your knees,” he added to Chloe.

As soon as he mentioned them, she lifted her skirt for a peek. Sure enough, both knees had quarter-size scrapes right below the kneecap. Dark red marred the outer skin, the beginnings of what would be large purple bruises. The cuts didn’t hurt now, but they would soon. She looked around for a way to prop her legs so she could balance the ice bags. Finding none, she left her feet dangling. She’d ice the bruises later.

Meanwhile Ian was sorting through the first aid kit. “I see what you mean about the contents,” he said tossing a half a roll of gauze on the table. “Better make an extra ice pack for her chin, too.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Boss? The sweatshirt pressed against her chin was the only thing keeping Chloe’s jaw from dropping. “You work here?” she asked Ian.

“Something like that.”

“Define something.” She’d caught the look Ian and the barista exchanged. Either he worked there or he didn’t. Why the evasive answer?

Ian didn’t reply. “We’re going to be here awhile, Jess,” he told the other woman. “Will you be all right getting home?”

“I’m meeting my boyfriend up the street for drinks.”

“Be careful. We don’t need a second incident.”

Chloe waited until Jesse said goodnight before resuming her questioning “You could have told me you were an employee here.” Might have saved her an afternoon of speculating if she’d known there was a perfectly logical reason for him to be hanging around. Not to mention saving her from being mugged.

“Could have, if I was an employee.”

“But she called you boss.”

“Uh-huh.”

The answer hit her like a ton of bricks. Good Lord, but she could be dense, “You’re the new owner.”

“Guilty as charged. Ow! What was that for?”

She’d kicked him in the shin. If her knees didn’t hurt, she’d kick him someplace else. “For making me think you were down on your luck,” she snapped.

“I didn’t make you think anything. You drew your conclusions all on your own.”

“You still could have said something. Do you have any idea how much—” Time I spent thinking about you? Thankfully, she caught herself before the rest of the sentence left her mouth. The hole she’d dug herself was deep enough, thank you. “Why didn’t you correct me?”

“Let’s say I found the misconception entertaining.”

“Glad I could amuse you.”

“Trust me, Curli, you did.” His eyes met hers, their sparkle so bright and smug Chloe would have glared in return had her stomach not chosen that moment to do a somersault. She felt like an idiot. Her and her big grand gesture. “No wonder you told me to give the coffee to the man across the street.”

“Figured he could use the warmth more than me.” Moving closer, Ian lifted the sweatshirt from her chin. The fabric tugged the skin where the cloth had dried in place, causing her to wince. “Sorry,” he said, tossing the garment aside.

“For the chin or for misleading me?”

“Both. Now, tip your head back so I can clean you up.”

Although annoyed, Chloe did what she was told. A second later, Ian’s fingertips brushed across her throat. She jumped, her frazzled nerves making the touch feel far more intimate than it was.

Ian sensed her discomfort. “Shhh.” His thumbs stroked her pulse points. Again, intimate, but soothing. “I need to see how deep the cut goes.”

As he spoke, he leaned in tight. Once again, Chloe found herself breathing in coffee and wood, strong, manly scents that calmed her nerves. His hands were softer than she expected. Given his gruff exterior, she would have guessed them to bear signs of exposure and hard labor. These fingers, however, had the surface of silk, with a touch to match. Hard to believe they belonged to the same strong hands she’d seen gripping a coffee mug this morning. Until he fanned his thumbs along the base of her throat, that is. Then she felt every ounce of their strength thrumming below. Controlled but ever present.

“You know,” he said, his breath ghosting warm across her skin, “that was one of the reasons I ran after you. I wanted to set the record straight.”

The sting of a wet cloth pressing against her cut kept her from responding. “Wasn’t fair to keep stringing you along the way I was, especially after you made such a nice gesture.”

“Nice, but irrelevant.”

“Being irrelevant doesn’t erase what you were trying to do.” He rinsed out the towel and began dabbing at her chin again. “Good intentions should be acknowledged.”

His answer brought back the odd fluttering sensation from earlier. She wanted to press her hand to her stomach, but their position made doing so impossible. Somehow, while cleaning her cut, he’d moved so close his knee had wedged itself between her legs. Or had her legs parted for his knee? She felt the seam of his jeans pressing against her flesh, making annoyance increasingly difficult to maintain.

“One,” she said suddenly, grabbing the first distraction that came to mind. “You said setting the record straight was only one of the reasons you ran after me. What was the other?”

“I already told you, I wanted to apologize for being a jerk. I had no business biting your head off.”

“Why did you?”

The only sound was that of water being wrung from the towel. “Long story.”

And guessing from the sour way he spoke, not a very pleasant one. “Want to share?”

“Ever wish you could turn back time?”

Having expected him to say no, his question caught her off guard. “Beyond tonight?”

“Yeah,” he replied, tossing the cloth into the bowl. Water splashed over the sides, leaving a puddle on the table. “Beyond tonight. Muggings don’t count.”

Then what did? Relationships? Bad decisions? “All the time,” she answered. More than he could possibly know. She gave a soft laugh, trying to inject a little humor into what was otherwise a pathetic situation. “You met Aiden.”

“True enough. What on earth did you see in him, anyway?”

“A really sexy Irish accent. What can I say?” she added, when Ian arched a brow. “I’m shallow.”

“Aren’t we all?” he replied with a smile.

Right now, the shallow part of her had noticed the shadows behind his eyes. The darkness alternately marred and enhanced their blue color, giving his gaze depth. “So why are you turning back time?” she asked him. “Don’t tell me you have relationship issues.”

“I’ve got issues up the ying yang, Curlilocks.” His hands cradled her jaw again, tilting her head backward. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

“Will I live, Doc?” She really wanted to ask what he meant, but those were the words that came out.

Ian was quiet as he studied the wound. Amazingly, his touch was even more gentle than before. Between the featherlight contact and his breath blowing warm at the base of her throat, Chloe found herself fighting not to break out in a warm shiver.

“You already have a scar,” he said after a moment.

“Took a header going in for a layup. College ball,” she added for clarification.

“A six-foot-tall woman playing basketball. There’s a stereotype.”

“Six feet and a half inch, thank you very much.” She lowered her chin, a mistake, since she found herself nose to nose with him. The shiver she’d been fighting broke free. “And playing ball helped pay for school.”

“Lucky you.”

“Suppose that’s one way of looking at things.” If you call being born with pterodactyl-length arms lucky. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

“We all have a choice,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

Busy pawing his way through the bandages, Ian didn’t answer right away. “Exactly the way it sounds. We always have a choice. We don’t always make the right ones.”

“You can say that again,” she replied. “I’ve made enough bad decisions to qualify as an expert.”

“Nonsense, you’re just a baby. Talk to me when you’ve made as many mistakes as I have.” He tore open a Band-Aid. “Then you can call yourself an expert.”

Chloe recalled her thoughts this morning, about whether Ian had battled karma. Apparently he had, although not as victoriously as she’d supposed.

“All done,” he announced, stepping back. He was referring to bandaging her cut, but intuition told her he meant the conversation, as well. The abrupt end left her as unsettled as his touch.

Made her wonder if she wasn’t dancing around a mistake herself.

CHAPTER THREE

“DO YOU LIE to everyone you meet, or did I win some special kind of prize?”

Engrossed in letter writing, Ian almost missed the question. He looked up to find Chloe towering over his table. She’d dressed for dramatic effect today, with her hair pulled back and a pair of large sunglasses accentuating both her cheekbones and her bandaged chin. Instantly, the memory of her skin beneath his fingers sent awareness rolling through him, and he had to squeeze his pen to keep from reaching out to touch her again. She was too attractive for her own good. The type of woman the old Ian would have pursued with a passion. Wined her, dined her and charmed those boots right off. On second thought, he’d charm off everything but the boots.

Damn the conscience that came with sobriety.

“Would you mind starting the conversation again?” he asked her. “I missed the beginning.”

“Ian Black Technologies.”

Ah. His not-so-secret identity. “Someone’s been playing on the internet.” He wondered how long it would take for her to dig up his story.

“Your name sounded familiar, so I went online to find out why, and there you were, larger than life. Ian Black, technology entrepreneur extraordinaire.”

“Extraordinaire’s a pretty strong word. More like a guy who had the right idea at the right time. Still doesn’t explain how I lied to you.”

Her sunglasses rose and fell, signaling an arched eyebrow or two. “You said you owned a coffee shop.”

“I do.”

“Conveniently leaving out the part about the global defense company. A lie of omission is still a lie.”

“Maybe I like keeping a low profile.” The sunglasses moved again; an eye roll this time, he suspected. “Besides, I didn’t omit anything. Or didn’t you read the part where I got kicked out of my own company?”

“My ad agency works with a lot of large companies. CEOs get replaced all the time. Corporate politics, change in culture. Doesn’t alter the fact you’re hardly as down-and-out as you led me to believe.”

Fascinating. She might the first woman he’d ever met who was annoyed because he was rich. She was also terribly naive if she thought his eviction was solely because of politics or culture change. “If you work in advertising, you know there’s also such a thing as corporate spin. Believe me, I earned my ouster.” Given how bad things got, he was lucky he’d held his office as long as he did. “As for the omission...I already apologized for misleading you. Defense contracting is part of my past. I prefer to focus on fixing my present.”

“Fixing?” she asked.

“Told you, I made a lot of mistakes.” He pointed with his chin at the two paper cups in her hand. “One of those mine?”

A blush made its way up those cheekbones, adding a shade of pink to the tawny color. “Apparently I didn’t learn my lesson last night.”

“Last night was sweet.”

“Don’t you mean naive?”

“Never apologize for doing something nice. So was buying coffee today.” Regardless of whether he owned the place or not. “Besides, profits are always appreciated.” He motioned for her to sit down.

“I wanted to do something to thank you for saving me,” she said, settling into the place across from him. “I thought about buying you a new sweatshirt, but that was when I learned you were a big-time tycoon.”

“Meaning I can buy my own.”

“Meaning you could buy me one.”

Ian laughed. She was a spunky one.

“From the looks of things, I’m going to assume you made it home okay, too.”

“More than okay. I’ve never had a police escort before.”

“I have,” he told her. “Although they weren’t as friendly.” Nor did any of them check out his legs the way Officer Kent did hers.

“You didn’t need to ask him.”

Yes, he did. Curlilocks might put on a good show, but she wasn’t as tough as she liked people to believe. Beneath all the spunk and saucy comments lurked a whole lot of vulnerability. If you looked close enough, you could see it flashing behind her eyes. Lord knows, he’d looked close enough last night. Exactly why he had asked the police officer to take her home. Talking, touching her....he’d pushed his luck far enough. For a man who hadn’t been with a woman in over a year, taking her home would have been way too tempting. He had enough mistakes to fix without throwing into the mix a one-night stand with a woman just out of a bad relationship.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said. “Part of the perks of being semi-famous is you feel okay asking the police for favors.”

“No, I meant he’d already offered.”

Oh. How considerate of the man. “Does this mean poor Aiden’s been replaced?”

“No way,” she replied with a wave of her gloved hand. “Not that Aiden’s irreplaceable, because believe me, he isn’t. I’m simply not looking to do any replacing. I wasn’t kidding when I said I had a bad track record. I’m not what you’d call the best judge when it comes to people, as you know.”

All the more reason he’d made the right decision last night. “How do you know Officer Kent wasn’t the exception to your track record?”

Leaning forward, she lowered her sunglasses as if about to share a secret. “Because there is no exception.”

“You sell yourself short.”

“I’m not selling anything short,” she said, wrapping her lips around her straw. “I know I’m a prize. It’s the men that fail to meet expectations.”

“Present company included?” Ian couldn’t help himself; she’d left the door wide open. When she didn’t answer right away, he laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Seems to me a guy who lied about being poor shouldn’t ask stupid questions.”

Ian laughed again. No sense arguing, as she’d only reboot her lie-of-omission argument. Given neither of them were likely to concede ground, the argument would last all day.

They were alike in a lot of ways, weren’t they? Stubborn, quick with the verbal cut. It’s why he knew she wasn’t as cavalier about men as she made out to be. The sunglasses might hide her eyes, but you couldn’t kid a kidder. Last night’s vulnerability tinged her voice.

Of course, she’d deny the charge to her dying day. Ian knew, because he’d do the same. Better to face the world with bravado. Hide the scars and fears, lest your weakness show.

So why did he talk about his mistakes last night? Reaching across the table, he pulled the other coffee close and peeled off the lid. The aroma of fresh brewed arabica greeted his nostrils. Hot, steaming and black. The one habit from his drinking days he never planned to drop. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. Heaven. “What did man do before the invention of coffee?”

“Killed each other.”

“In that case, I’m starting a petition to award the man who brewed the first cup the Nobel Peace Prize. I’m not sure, but I think his name might have been Starbuck.”

This time Chloe was the one who laughed. Ruby-red lips parting to release an indulgent lilt. The sound wound through his insides, warming places long dormant.

He took a long drink, reveling in the relaxation. It had been a long time since he’d dropped his guard around someone—someone besides Jack and his rehab counselors, that is. No wonder he’d backed off last night. Subconsciously, he recognized the potential friendship and didn’t want to screw things up.

“I should let you get to work,” he said, setting his coffee down. “Going out on a limb, I’m going to guess you didn’t show up early just to buy me a cup of coffee.”

“If only. That is—” her eyes dropped to her cup “—I have to make up the work I didn’t stay late and finish last night. I don’t like leaving things hanging.”

Me, either, he thought, glancing down at the letter he’d started and restarted a half dozen times. Another ex-lover whose feelings he’d crushed. Every apology he wrote was a reminder of how many “things” he still needed to address. “You have a good excuse, though,” he told Chloe. “I’m sure your boss will understand. Especially when he sees your chin.”

“Why do you think I kept the bandage on?”

Damn, but he wished she wasn’t wearing sunglasses. He liked the way her eyes sparkled when she got cheeky. “If you really want to ratchet up the sympathy, add a limp. Nothing tugs on an employer’s heartstrings like a little hobble.”

“Did the tactic work for your employees?”

“Hell no. Why do you think they were happy to see me go? I was a major hard-ass.”

“So I read last night.”

“And yet you still talk to me.”

“Today, anyway.” She started to leave, only to stop suddenly. When she spoke again, it was without the saucy edge. “In case I didn’t make myself clear earlier, I really do appreciate everything you did last night. This probably sounds silly, but if there’s anything I can do for you...”

“Don’t sweat it. And you don’t owe me a thing. Believe me, the good karma points are more than enough.”

“Trying to avoid a receding hairline and beer gut?”

“You’re onto me, Curli.”

The corners of her mouth curled into a playful smirk. “I don’t think you need to worry too much, Ginger. Man your age? The damage is already done.”

Didn’t he know it. Exactly why he forced himself not to watch her behind strut out the door. His blood was stirred up enough for one day. Stir it any further and he’d have to add another letter to the pile.

* * *

The transition from toasty coffee shop to the harsh outdoors hit hard. Chloe shivered and hugged her bag tight. She might have acted all laissez faire to Ian, but the truth was last night still had her feeling vulnerable. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if he hadn’t been there to lean on. His steady presence was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. If she concentrated, she could still smell his scent. Twelve hours later, the memory alone warmed her nerves. He’d been so strong, so dependable. She wasn’t used to dependable.

Of course, you could have knocked her over with a feather when his photo popped up during her internet search, and she found her slacker slash coffee shop owner was none other than the CEO of a major defense company.

Former CEO, she corrected. A fact Ian had been quite keen on emphasizing this morning. Something to do with his abrasive management style leading to a power shake-up. She’d been too shaky to do more than skim the story last night.

Wonder where the ouster fell on his list of “issues”? She’d ask, but feared opening a wound. Especially recalling the pain he’d so clearly tried to mask when speaking. And here she thought knowing the slacker’s story would end her speculating.

Up ahead, she spotted a familiar blonde head wrapped in miles of dark blue scarf and moving slower than the rest of the pedestrians. La-roo didn’t do cold weather well.

“Trying to dial the phone by telepathy?” she asked when she caught up to her friend.

Larissa frowned at the cell phone in her hand. “I could have sworn Tom said he would be in the office early this morning. We’re supposed to talk about groomsmen gifts. Oh my God, what happened to your chin?”

“I got mugged last night.” Chloe did her best to sound casual, but her friend stopped short anyway.

“You’re kidding! Are you okay?”

“Other than the chin and a few scrapes on my hands and knees, I’m fine. My bag suffered the brunt of the damage. Two hundred dollars down the drain.”

“Thank goodness. You must have been terrified.” Larissa took a step, then stopped short again. “What about your stuff! Are you going to have to cancel everything?”

“Fortunately, no. Ian tackled the guy before he could get too far, and saved my credit cards.”

“Who’s Ian?”

Chloe told her the whole story, including Ian’s true identity, although she left out the part about last night’s odd sense of closeness. Knowing La-roo, she’d get all romantic over what was nothing more than an overblown reaction to Ian’s heroics.

When Chloe finished, her friend shook her head. “Unbelievable. This guy sits around a coffee shop all day? Why? I know running a small business takes a lot of time, but moving in seems extreme.”

“No clue. Maybe he likes being idly rich.” Which was doubtful. Ian didn’t strike her as a man who liked being idly anything. He was more the man of action type. Like last night. She got a hot thrill just thinking about how he’d taken down the thug.

“Whatever the reason,” Larissa said, “you’re lucky he was there.”

“Yeah, I was.”

They pushed their way through the revolving door into the office building lobby. After three blocks of cold, the rush of warmth was almost tropical. Not as cozy feeling as at the café, but definitely welcome.

“I hate this weather,” Larissa said, unwinding her miles of scarf. “I thought it was supposed to be spring.”

“Early spring,” Chloe reminded her. “You know as well as I do, that doesn’t necessarily mean warm.”

“No kidding. Did you hear they are predicting rain this weekend? If I don’t see some sunshine soon, I’ll go crazy.”

“Cheer up. Another few weeks and you’ll be in Mexico sipping champagne.”

“The trip can’t come soon enough. I only hope Del gets good weather for her wedding.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Del and Simon care, so long as they get married.”

“True. Those two are so in love it’s sickening.”

Chloe had to agree. Both Delilah and their boss had worked late last night themselves. She wondered if they’d noticed she didn’t return from her coffee run, or if they were too caught up with each other. Simon’s door had been shut tight. She pressed a fist to her midsection. Inexplicably, thoughts of Simon and Delilah dissolved into an image of her and Ian, causing the fluttering sensation to return.

“You’re one to talk. You’ve got Tom,” she said, focusing her attention back where it belonged. Outward.

“I guess.” Busy pressing the elevator button, Larissa sounded distracted. “Hey, is this Ian guy cute?”

Cute was the last word she’d use to describe Ian Black. “He’s attractive. Why?”

She didn’t have to answer; Chloe knew the reason as soon as she asked the question, and it was a bad one. “I’m not interested in getting involved right now.”

“He’s a step up from the men you usually date. A lot better than Aiden, that’s for sure.”

Was he? At least with Aiden, what you saw was what you got. Ian, on the other hand.... She barely knew the man and she already could tell he ran deeper and stiller than most waters. There was a reason she preferred shallow. Men with depth left bigger scars when the relationship ended. The nicks and cuts caused by guys like Aiden hurt bad enough. Why invite bigger pain?

“You know, there’s no law that says people have to be in a relationship,” Chloe said as soon as the doors closed. Thankfully, no one joined them, meaning they could finish this conversation in private.

“No one ever said there was.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me to have one?”

“I’m not pushing anything. All I did was ask if this Ian person was good-looking. You’re the one who went off.”

Chloe looked at her shoes. Her friend was right. She had flown off the handle prematurely. “Sorry. Last night might have made me a bit oversensitive.”

“Can’t blame you there. If I’d been mugged, I’d be touchy, too. Although...” Larissa hesitated.

Glancing over, Chloe noticed her friend had literally bit her lip to keep from saying more. “Although what?” Might as well finish the whole discussion. When it came to certain subjects, Larissa could be relentless. Chloe’s love life was frequently one of those subjects. “Spit it out.”

“Fine,” she said. “You’re always so adamant about not wanting a serious relationship.”

“I happen to like being single.”

“So you say.” Arms folded, lips drawn in a tight line, her friend was a five-foot-two-inch block of doubt. “I can’t help wondering, who you’re trying so hard to convince with your argument. Me? Or yourself?”

* * *

Under normal circumstances, Saturday morning meant sleeping in and drinking coffee in her pajamas. This Saturday, however, the bridal salon called to say her dress for Delilah’s wedding was ready, so instead of being happily curled up under her comforter, Chloe found herself making the trek uptown. She wanted to run her errands before the rain started.

And she wanted to avoid Larissa. Chloe was still annoyed with her for that comment on the elevator. Who was she trying to convince, indeed. What a stupid question. Why would she need to convince herself of something she’d known for years? La-roo’s problem was that she had an overdeveloped sense of romanticism. Her whole world consisted of brides, weddings and babies. Chloe was far more practical. She’d much rather preserve her self-esteem than chase some useless fantasy.

Thankfully, Larissa didn’t notice how she’d dodged the original question: whether Ian was attractive. Big fat yes there. Even a dead woman would think so. For crying out loud, his voice alone qualified as sex on a stick. Add in the rugged features and obvious rock-solid torso, and who wouldn’t be...intrigued?

Intrigued, though, didn’t mean interested. If she happened to find herself walking three blocks out of her way to visit Café Mondu, it was only because she had a craving for a well-crafted iced peppermint mocha latte.

Just as it was surprise, not disappointment tightening her stomach when she discovered a pair of middle-aged women occupying the front corner table.

“Good morning,” the barista at the counter said in greeting. It was Jesse, the woman from the other night. “Looks like Ian did a good job.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your chin. The cut’s healing nicely.”

“Thanks.” Chloe ran her fingertip along the scab. She still had a bump from smacking the sidewalk, but the redness had started to fade. “Lucky for me your boss has a knack for first aid.”

“Must have been the army training,” Jesse said.

“You knew about that?”

“I overheard him talking to a couple servicemen one day, why?”

“No reason.” For a second Chloe worried that she was the only person in New York who didn’t recognize the man. She’d learned online that his military service was an important part of the Ian Black corporate story. It was his experience as a medic that inspired him to invent the Black blood clotting patch that launched the company’s success. “I only recently found out, is all. He’s not here today, is he?” she added. Only because it would be rude not to say hello.

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