“Then how about a walk?” her handsome host offered. “Maybe that’ll work up your appetite for coffee and dessert.”

She managed a negligible nod as he moved around the table and pulled back her chair.

But it wasn’t until he took her hand and led her outside into the moonlight that she knew she was in serious trouble.

“I’ll bet you don’t have stars like this in Chicago,” he suggested as he peered up at the sky.

Amy started to answer, but the view took away her ability to speak as well as her breath. The black canvas of the night sky spread out endlessly before her. Stars glistened like diamonds splashed across its vast velvet surface.

Oh, yes, he would be right about that. Apparently there were a good many things down here in Texas that she didn’t have back home—would never have. Those sexy blue eyes locked with her hungry ones and awareness quivered across her heated skin like the greedy fingers of a skilled lover.

And that was precisely why she had to say good-night with no possibility of coffee or dessert.

She was far too sure that the dessert would be way more than she was prepared to accept.

Way, way more.

Romancing the Tycoon
Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

Chicago…inside the Colby Agency

Amy Wells flipped to the next page of her Glamour magazine: “The Perfect Man…”

She lifted a skeptical eyebrow at the perfect-man assets listed by women between the ages of eighteen and thirty polled by the sassy magazine. Tall, broad-shouldered, well-muscled and sinfully handsome. That about summed it up, she mused. What guy who looked like that wouldn’t fit the profile?

One word…that’s all it took to send her mood back into a depressive state.

Profile. She wanted to do profiles…to work undercover. To be a Colby Agency investigator.

She sighed woefully. She’d given up on the fairy tale. She wasn’t going to find Mr. Right or Mr. Perfect. Though she was only twenty-five, she longed for a steady, satisfying relationship. It just wasn’t happening. And it wasn’t just her. Lots of her friends had the same problem. Where were all the good men?

They no longer existed, she had decided, and promptly she’d thrown herself into her job. If she couldn’t have a great sex life with the man of her dreams, she could at least have a great job. So far she’d managed to come a long way. She’d been hired by the Colby Agency, the most prestigious private investigations firm in the state, if not the country. She’d worked her way from receptionist to personal assistant. But she longed for more. She wanted to be a real agent, to track down the answers…the bad guys.

Another wistful sigh seeped past her lips as she stuffed the magazine back into her desk drawer. Break time was over. No more fantasizing for today. Time to get back to the real world.

Amy glanced forlornly at the stack of folders to be sorted and filed. Though she appreciated very much her latest promotion to personal assistant, it wasn’t enough. Mildred, Victoria Colby-Camp’s loyal secretary, was a great lady to work for, but Amy longed for so much more.

She’d read every single final report on every case the Colby Agency had taken on in the past three years. At first, she’d been content to serve as receptionist and merely watch with growing interest as the investigators the agency employed went about their intriguing business. To be honest, she’d been a little intimidated by the likes of Ian Michaels and Simon Ruhl. But then a new female investigator had been hired, Nicole Reed-Michaels. That had changed everything for Amy.

Though Amy had heard about the agency’s first female investigator, Katherine Robertson, who’d married the infamous secret agent Jack Raine, watching one in action was a whole other ball game. Nicole’s supreme intelligence and slick, super-agent demeanor had kindled an unquenchable passion in Amy to follow in her esteemed footsteps.

Amy wanted to be a Colby agent. She wanted a case of her own. One where she would uncover the identity of the bad guy. Where she would save the day and make Victoria proud.

She wanted to be one of the best.

If only she could somehow garner the boss’s attention in that light. She’d started taking self-defense classes about a year ago and was pretty good if she did say so herself. She’d also sharpened her observation skills by teaching herself to pay attention to even the smallest detail. She’d even signed up for a private investigator class at the local spy shop. She’d learned all kinds of interesting things there and just by listening around the office. It wasn’t as though she had dates lining up to fill her calendar.

What more could she do?

She was twenty-five! Time was running out. Before long her best years would be behind her and she wouldn’t have accomplished the one thing she wanted more than anything else: to be a Colby agent.

The magazine in her drawer nagged at her. Okay, so she still wanted to meet the right guy as well. But she realized now that her first priority was getting her career on track. She’d thought long and hard about it and had realized what could happen if she fell in love first. Certainly there was nothing wrong with falling in love. Even the venerable Colby agents fell in love on a regular basis, most of the time while on a case.

A dreamy smile slid across Amy’s face. Now that would just about make things perfect. Getting her career headed in the right direction while at the same time finding the perfect man. Instantly her heart rate picked up an extra beat.

But then, that probably wouldn’t happen. It just made her feel better to believe that her career kept her too busy to think about her social life. And hoping against hope that her career would kick in at the same time that she’d meet the man of her dreams was a nice fantasy.

Oh well, it kept the cynicism at bay.

The telephone on her desk buzzed, summoning her back to earth for a cold, hard reality check.

She was still a personal assistant. And finding the perfect man was about as likely as was stumbling onto the precise case that would finally get Victoria’s attention.

Waiting for hell to freeze over was a wiser bet.

“Amy Wells,” she said automatically, answering the telephone before it buzzed for the second time.

“The Hanover file?” Amy listened as Mildred confirmed the name of the file she needed. “Right away,” she said in answer to the request that it be brought to her office as soon as possible.

Pushing her troubling thoughts aside, Amy went off to the records room in search of the Hanover file. Her fantasy might never become a reality, but at least she could keep dreaming. There was no law against that or any statute of limitations. To hell with admitting defeat, she’d just keep reaching for the brass ring.

With that in mind, her imagination instantly conjured a shadowy image of the perfect man. One who was everything the magazine poll said he should be and more. A grin tugged at her lips as she opened the drawer labeled H and flipped through the folders. One who needed rescuing by a woman like her.

Amy Wells, Colby agent-in-training.

“GOOD MORNING, Edgar,” Victoria Colby-Camp said when her call was transferred to her impatient client. Edgar Winterborne had requested a rush on the background check of his prospective son-in-law, Texas oil tycoon John Robert Calhoun, IV.

“I hope you have good news for me, Victoria,” he said urgently. “There’s a lot riding on this deal.”

His one and only daughter’s future, Victoria silently filled in for him. Edgar Winterborne was about to pull off the merger of the century. Winterborne Industries of Illinois and Calhoun Oil of Texas were on the verge of becoming the Cal-Borne Alliance. The two families had been sworn enemies since before the Civil War. But the differences in the two went far deeper than North versus South, they were about money. The almighty dollar. Whoever had the most was in control.

And Edgar Winterborne’s somewhat spoiled daughter, as well as the Calhoun heir, were caught slap in the middle of it all.

“You can rest easy, Edgar,” Victoria told him. “John Calhoun is as clean as they come. His business dealings as well as his personal ones are as honest as they are impressive. If the man has a single skeleton in his closet, it’s not to be found.” That was one thing Victoria would stake her agency’s reputation on, thoroughness. The investigation into the Calhoun family had revealed many things: wealth, power and a strong hand in politics, but not one aspect leaned even remotely toward the negative. The Calhouns were a fine family, as were the Winterbornes. Victoria simply didn’t understand the motivation for the current no-holds-barred merger. Why couldn’t they just get along and do what had to be done within the business of refining oil without involving blood?

“This is very important to me,” Edgar interjected solemnly. “As much as I want this deal to happen, I want my daughter to be safe and happy.”

“I’m certain you do,” Victoria allowed for lack of anything else to say. Arranged marriages just weren’t heard of anymore. Certainly not in the United States of America. That either of the participants would be willing still amazed her. Then again, money could be a powerful motivator. She sincerely hoped it would prove to be about more than the money. Marriages fell apart everyday with partners who considered themselves to be in love. What hope could there be for a couple who hadn’t even met? She prayed they would work those details out before children were brought into the picture.

A child didn’t need that kind of uncertainty. Victoria knew that all too well. Children needed love, nurturing and support. Anything less left a permanent mark. She had been robbed of the opportunity to protect and nurture her own son. But he was back now and she intended to make up for every moment they had missed.

“I’ll be happy to have a copy of the report delivered to your home this afternoon,” she said, interrupting Edgar’s rambling about the price of crude and how it would take a strong American alliance to end this country’s dependence on foreign oil.

“That would be splendid. We’re planning on spending a few days down in Texas starting this evening,” he told her. “I’d like to take a look at that report before we leave.”

“I’ll have it delivered straight away then,” Victoria offered. “I’m sure Regina is looking forward to the trip.” Regina was Edgar’s daughter, the one whose life was about to change vastly. From all reports the young woman was quite a handful. She’d dropped out of three different colleges before completing her education. Her father had bailed her out of numerous financial scrapes and unsavory liaisons with ex-boyfriends. Victoria wasn’t certain for whom she felt the most sympathy, Regina Winterborne or John Calhoun, her prospective groom.

“I appreciate that, Victoria,” Edgar said. “I can always count on the Colby Agency.”

And that was the bottom line as far as Victoria was concerned. The Colby Agency always came through. “Thank you, Edgar. Have a pleasant trip to Texas.” With that the call ended and Victoria pressed the buzzer for Mildred. “Ask Amy to step into my office, please.”

“Will do,” Mildred returned pleasantly.

Victoria’s brow furrowed with worry as she waited for Amy’s arrival. Mildred had been her secretary since the Colby Agency’s inception. She did not want to lose her, but Victoria had a feeling that as Mildred’s relationship progressed with her current beau, Dr. Austin Ballard, that possibility became more and more likely. Dr. Ballard had already retired and turned his pharmaceuticals company over to his daughter Jennifer. His one desire now was to enjoy each day and to travel—with the new love in his life, Victoria feared selfishly. She considered asking Ethan Delaney, one of her top investigators, to talk to Jennifer. After all, she was his wife. He’d rescued both Jennifer and her father from the evil that had threatened them not so long ago. It was at Ethan and Jennifer’s wedding that Mildred had met Dr. Ballard. Maybe, Victoria reflected, she’d have a little chat with Ethan later today.

Just then Amy Wells entered the room, her smile bright, her expression eager. As always her appearance was professional yet very hip. She wore a pair of hip-hugger khakis and a slim-fitting navy sweater that just met the wide leather belt accentuating the low-riding slacks as well as her slender hips. Her long dark hair looked silky, the straight style quite youthful. But it was her brown eyes that shone above all else. Amy was bright and always, always polite.

Though Victoria considered Amy an asset to the agency, somehow she just couldn’t see her as Mildred’s replacement should that necessity arise. It wasn’t for lack of ability, Victoria knew. Amy’s heart just didn’t appear to be in the world of clerical duties. Though she always did an outstanding job, whether she was filing or interacting with the clientele, still, something was missing.

Inspiration, Victoria decided. Amy was not inspired by her work and that troubled Victoria. They would have to talk. Soon.

“How are you today, Amy?” she said, forcing away the lines of concern with a heartfelt smile.

“Fine, Victoria. How can I help you?”

Victoria studied her for one moment more before she relayed her needs. There was a hopefulness about her that gave Victoria pause. Maybe they should have that talk now. But, she remembered, Edgar Winterborne needed the report right away—in time to review it before leaving for Texas.

Her usual keen focus fractured, Victoria shuffled the pages of the report together and slid them into a large white envelope. After penning Edgar’s name and address on the front, she pressed the clasp into place and offered the closed envelope to Amy.

“Mr. Winterborne is waiting for this report. I’d like you to hand-carry it to his residence. Deliver it personally to him.”

Amy nodded. “Sure. Anything else?”

Again that hopeful flicker of something just beneath the surface. Concern drew a new line between Victoria’s eyebrows. “Is there something we need to discuss, Amy?” Despite the shortness of time, she simply couldn’t send her away without asking.

A mask of uncertainty instantly claimed the young woman’s features. “Everything’s fine, ma’am,” she said hesitantly. “Was there anything else you needed?”

Confident there was more, but, considering the shortness of time, willing to let it go, Victoria nodded. “That’s all.” She watched Amy hurry away. It was past time she got to the bottom of this. With the possibility of Mildred taking an extended leave or worse, Victoria couldn’t afford to have Amy unhappy. She was the only person at the agency who knew the many secrets of how Mildred accomplished her numerous and varied tasks. No way could Victoria risk losing them both, and she certainly couldn’t stand in the way of true love.

The blessing—or curse depending upon the way one looked at it—of true love without fail found her investigators one by one. No matter how they tried to evade it, it always homed in on its target. Case in point, Trevor Sloan. Now there had been a man who definitely was not looking for love—true or otherwise. But it had located him just the same.

Victoria exhaled a long sigh of defeat. Why fight it? It was inevitable. Sometimes she lost a valued employee, sometimes she gained one. It all evened out in the end, she supposed.

Besides, who was she to fight true love? It certainly had found her—twice in her life. Lucas Camp, her beloved husband, immediately came to mind, sending a stir of heat through her. Though James Colby, her first husband and father of her son, would always hold a special place in her heart, Lucas made her incredibly happy. If only all couples contemplating a future together could find what she and Lucas had discovered…true love firmly based on absolute trust.

The Wild Horse Ranch…near Runaway Bay, Texas

JOHN ROBERT CALHOUN, IV, sat astride his mount in the middle of a wide-open pasture and watched the beautiful horses graze. Shiny brown and black coats, a few dappled and mottled whites, all with perfect proportion and carriage. The Wild Horse Ranch was lucky to have such an awesome herd. He blinked and looked out over the endless sea of green pasture. But it wasn’t horses that made the Calhoun name the respected one it was. Nope. It was the thousands of acres of oil fields that lay beyond what the eye could see. It was the crude pumped every day from deep within the earth. Black gold. In Texas, oil equated to royalty.

“God Almighty,” John muttered. Did it really need to be this way?

“I understand your misgivings, John,” the solemn voice said from next to him.

Nathanial Beckman, Nate, had followed him out here. The man, his father’s closest confidant, wasn’t going to let go until he was sure John intended to do his father’s bidding once again. Nate had been with the family for forty years and, to John’s knowledge, he had never failed in any endeavor.

John lifted his hat and plowed a hand through his hair. “I don’t think you do.” He settled the Stetson back on his head and shook it slowly from side to side. “He’s asking too much this time.”

“John.” Nate moved his own mount a little closer, his tone more urgent now. “You have to know what a huge step this is, not just for Calhoun Oil but for the whole country.”

There he went again with the guilt trip. If Calhoun Oil and Winterborne Industries merged, the country’s dependence on foreign oil could be greatly reduced. Both companies stood to gain tremendously and, for the first time in three or four generations, the families would be united. Just what he needed, the weight of the country’s oil future as well as the family’s one opportunity to set the past to rights resting squarely on his shoulders. Was it his fault that more than a hundred years ago the two families had been torn apart by war and greed and that the rift hadn’t been fused to this day?

No it wasn’t.

But his father had slam-dunked him with that very burden.

“I know how big it is,” he growled, wishing like hell that Nate would find himself something to do while John thought over this whole mess. It wasn’t as if it would go away. He had to deal with it…but he needed time to come to terms with what his father wanted him to do.

Marriage.

He bit back a curse. It wasn’t that he wanted never to get married. He did. Eventually. But he’d scarcely turned thirty. Why did it have to be now? And to a woman he had never even met?

To seal the merger of a lifetime.

That’s what his father would say. The only way that the Winterbornes and the Calhouns would ever be reunited was with a marriage and the co-mingling of blood. In other words—kids. He not only had to marry this woman, he also had to have children with her—posthaste.

This time John did swear. Nate flinched but didn’t run away as John wished he would. Instead, he remained steadfastly by, waiting to plead his case once more if need be.

But John didn’t have to hear it again. He knew the deal.

Regina Winterborne, twenty-four, had been in more trouble than he could shake a stick at. She was attractive and she wore her highbrow upbringing like a badge of honor. In other words, she was a snob. One who spent a small fortune on designer clothes and who’d had more short-term relationships than even John had. And that was saying something.

Money aside, John had been blessed with an excellent blend of his mother’s beauty and his father’s rugged features; he knew he was good-looking. How could he not? Women flocked to him as though he was the latest motion picture heartthrob. Most of the time he didn’t mind. But occasionally he did. How the hell was he supposed to know the real thing when it came along? Would he really know when a woman cared about him simply for him rather than for his looks or his money? Probably not.

That was one thing he wouldn’t have to worry about anymore if he went through with his father’s “deal.” He would know that the union was about money and the question would be moot. But what kind of life was that? How would children fare with a mother and father who had only married to combine their companies? Not too well, he imagined.

But it wasn’t as if he had a lot of options. Though John had recently turned thirty, he had never once in his life disobeyed his father. Not a single time had he ever even considered going against his father’s wishes. And, the truth was, he wasn’t stupid. He fully understood how important this merger was, on a professional level as well as on several others.

It was the opportunity his father had hoped for, as had his own father and grandfather before him. Not once had they gotten this close. Now the road to reuniting the two most powerful oil companies in the nation lay directly in front of John. Turning away from it was out of the question.

“When will she be here?”

“I’m leaving in half an hour to personally escort the Winterbornes to Texas. We should arrive by five this evening,” Nate said proudly. “A quiet dinner at the house has been arranged. Some free time will be available for you and Miss Winterborne since your fathers will be attending the poker game in Runaway Bay later tonight.”

The poker game. Not a Friday night had passed in John’s lifetime that his father hadn’t attended the poker game in Runaway Bay. No less than half a dozen players, all oil barons, showed up for the game each week. John wondered vaguely how the good old boys from Texas would tolerate a Yankee in their midst. A grin tugged at his lips. Maybe this weekend would be worth the trouble after all.

And that easily the decision was made. John would not stand in the way of progress. Nor would he be responsible for another hundred years of antagonism between his family and the Winterbornes. Nope. If a wedding was what it took to pull off this coup, then he’d suit up for the challenge. He wasn’t a quitter, and he damn sure never shirked his duty. As the one and only heir of the Calhoun name, he was it. There was no one else to do what had to be done, and another heir was necessary to carry on the family business.

But about one thing he would have his way. The woman who was to be his wife would be his wife. His alone. There would be no illicit lovers on the side, no trysts…no cheating whatsoever. It would be the real thing. In and out of bed.

He blew out a mighty breath. “All right, Nate. Let’s make this thing happen.”

John turned away from the beauty of the horses and the lush pasture and set his sights on something far less attractive—coming to terms with his impending marriage.

Back in Chicago…

AMY MANEUVERED her ancient but reliable car through Chicago’s Friday-afternoon traffic more quickly than she’d anticipated and headed to the country estate of Edgar Winterborne. She relaxed her tense shoulders and settled in for the drive once on the open road. All she had to do was deliver this report. She glanced at the white envelope lying on the seat next to her. Then she could call it a day. Mildred had told her not to worry about coming back to the office. Amy could start her Fourth of July weekend early.

She heaved a discontented sigh. Why hadn’t she answered Victoria’s question truthfully? How was she ever going to work up the nerve to say what she really wanted? It was so simple. It wasn’t as though the possibility of her becoming a full-fledged investigator was beyond the scope of comprehension. She knew she could do it.

All she had to do was prove it somehow.

But there was nothing she could do about it today. It was Friday and Monday was a holiday. She might as well put it out of her mind and enjoy the long weekend. Maybe between now and Tuesday some sort of epiphany would hit and she would know just what to do. Or maybe some handsome stranger would move into the empty apartment across the hall and invite her to help him settle in.

Yeah, right.

The envelope Victoria had given her snagged her attention once more. She looked at her watch. The trip to the Winterbornes would take at least another hour, she might as well make a fuel stop. Then she’d have a chance to take a look at that report. Why not? She read all the Colby Agency reports. No one had told her she couldn’t.

Banishing the guilt factor to the farthest corner of her mind, she pulled into the lot of the next gas station and parked near the pump. Once the nozzle was in place and the gasoline filling her tank, she climbed back into her car and opened the clasp on the envelope containing the report.

John Robert Calhoun, IV. She surveyed the picture of the Texas cowboy and her mind immediately dredged up the list the glamour magazine poll had compiled. Tall. Mm-hmm. Broad-shouldered. Yep. Well-muscled. She studied the pictures that had been taken without the subject’s knowledge. He sat astride a horse and was, apparently, rounding up a herd of horses. Holy-moly—he was gorgeous. A little shiver went through her, awakening a long-slumbering libido. Now there was a real man.

She remembered hearing Victoria tell Mildred that his ranch was called the Wild Horse because he took in the wild animals from all around the country to keep poachers from harming them. A hero. Hmmm. Compassionate and definitely well-muscled, she decided after studying his image awhile longer. And sinfully handsome without a question. His blond hair and blue eyes contrasted sharply with his deeply tanned skin.

He looked like the kind of cowboy who could make any woman swoon. The perfect man. Oh, yeah. Amy sighed wistfully. Lucky Regina Winterborne. He was all hers.

She shook her head and shoved the report back into the envelope. What did she care about hard-bodied cowboys anyway? Focus. She had to stay focused. Right now she had one thing on her mind and one thing only: becoming the next Colby Agency investigator.

Regrettably, she didn’t have time for anything else…even fantasizing about a rugged cowboy who was promised to another woman.

Chapter Two

Regina Winterborne was many things. Spoiled, admittedly. Impetuous, definitely. But dumb she was not. She had no intention of marrying some stubborn, macho cowboy. No matter what her daddy promised her.

Living a whole hour outside of Chicago was bad enough. It made hair salon appointments as well as spa sessions immensely annoying. Every time she wanted the least little thing she had to drive all the way into the city. She hated driving into the city. She hated living in the country more.

But she’d tried taking her own apartment in town. The penthouse she’d selected had been opulent without doubt. Her staff of three—cook, maid and personal assistant—had been top notch. The only drawback had been the money. There was never enough of it.

Her father had insisted that if she were going to live away from home she would learn to do so on a budget. So he’d set her up on a monthly allowance. Well, she huffed as she remembered the ridiculously paltry amount, how was she supposed to conduct herself properly under such conditions? Why, there’d scarcely been anything left to pay the hired help each month. So, she’d had to move back home and play the dutiful daughter whenever her father was around.

She folded her arms over her chest and glared out the floor-to-ceiling window of his study. Anything to keep from having to look him directly in the eye. He read her too easily. She wasn’t about to let him see what she really thought just now.

“Regina, don’t turn your back on me,” he ordered in that booming voice that made the board of directors at Winterborne Industries sit up and take notice.

She simply rolled her eyes. “I’m not turning my back on you, Daddy. I’m merely enjoying the fabulous view.” And it was fabulous, if one was into miles of sickeningly lovely landscape and nothing else.

He moved up beside her, obviously content with her lie. “This is for your own good, my dear. I only want the best for you.”

Yeah, right. He wanted to seal this history-making deal and get her out of his hair at the same time. “I’m sure you do.” She wasn’t entirely successful at keeping a hint of sarcasm out of her tone.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said more quietly.

That couldn’t possibly be true, she mused, or he’d be ranting rather than gentling his usually boisterous voice. Because right now the only thing she was thinking was how much she wished someone would rescue her from this prison.

Someone like Kevin. Her heart skipped a beat. But Kevin was long gone. He’d quickly grown weary of her father’s interference in their relationship…just like all the others.

“You’re thinking,” her father went on, “that I just want you married off so someone else will have to attend to your needs.”

Give the man a cigar. She gritted her teeth, holding back those very words.

“But that’s not true at all,” he urged. “You’re my only daughter—my only child. I want the very best for you.” He sighed mightily. “I worry that you’ll fall victim to the charms of some no-account like that Kevin Martin. He’s worthless.”

Regina didn’t have to look to know that her father’s face had turned beet-red, she could hear his temper rising in his voice. He hated Kevin. Had hated all her boyfriends from the time she was fourteen and had developed breasts as well as a mind of her own.

Well, that was just too bad. He was not going to pick her husband. She would not be forced into an arranged marriage.

“If your mother were here, she’d tell you the same thing,” her father said more calmly. “Men like Martin are leeches—self-serving and uncaring about anyone but themselves. He isn’t nearly good enough for you. I hope you see that.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she lied again, just to get him off the subject. “I know that Kevin is scum. You don’t have to worry. He broke up with me anyhow.”

That much was the truth. Kevin had tired of the run-ins with her father and had opted to run out on her. She stiffened her spine against the unfairness of it all. And now her father wanted her to marry some cowboy just because he had the largest oil business in Texas. No way.

“You’re twenty-four, Regina. It’s time you settled down and took on the responsibilities of being a Winterborne. You will inherit everything I have worked my entire life to build and that my forefathers worked to build before me. If you’re not ready for that challenge, you might lose everything.”

Now that grabbed her attention. She looked at her father for the first time since the conversation began. “What do you mean I might lose everything?”

He shook his head sadly from side to side. “I had no choice but to make a codicil to my will. Unless I am fully convinced that you are prepared to take over the company and run it properly, the board of directors will run things as per my final instructions and you will receive a monthly allowance until such time that they deem you fit to take charge of the company.”

Horror burgeoned like a scream in her throat. “But…but,” she croaked, “how will I live?” Begging on a street corner flashed vividly through her mind. Dear God, he couldn’t be serious. His idea of an allowance was laughable at best. And those crusty old codgers on the board hated her!

“It doesn’t have to come to that,” he said pointedly. “All you have to do is trust me and you’ll have everything.”

The horror drained away leaving an almost blinding clarity. “In other words, if I marry this Texan I get everything…if I don’t I get a measly allowance.”

Indignation washed across her father’s pale, pudgy face. “Your allowance has never been measly!” The red started to rise up his neck once more. Oops! She’d hit a nerve with that one. “You have always, always gotten anything you asked for. I have never permitted you to want for anything.” Something in his expression changed and a new kind of fear crept up her spine. “Perhaps,” he suggested furiously, “that is part of the problem.”

“Daddy,” she wailed, suddenly sure of what he intended next, “you can’t seriously want me to marry a man I’ve never even met!” Even she wasn’t that impetuous.

Her father lifted one shaggy eyebrow in that condescending manner he’d always used with her when he actually wanted to turn her over his knee and spank her. But he never had, not once. “That’s precisely why we’re spending the weekend at his ranch. We’re going to get to know him and that is the end of the subject. If you wish to stay on my good side, you will do as I request.”

Do it or lose it, that was the bottom line. She could stay single and play all she wanted if she were willing to give up the fortune that, as the only Winterborne heir, she was fully entitled to. Or she could buckle under and marry some stranger who would probably boss her around just like her father did.

Wow, what a choice.

“I want you packed and ready to go in one hour,” he ordered. “I absolutely will not tolerate any grief either, young lady. You will behave yourself this weekend or you will be sorry. Is that clear?”

She stared directly into her father’s worried eyes. He loved her. She knew he did. In his mind he was only trying to save her from herself. She didn’t doubt for a moment his heart was in the right place, but that didn’t make her like it. Then there was the money to consider.

What good would her freedom be if she were perpetually broke?

“Yes, Daddy,” she said in the most obedient tone she could muster. “I’ll go pack.”

The telephone rang and her father hurried over to his desk to answer it. Regina peered out the window once more and tried to picture the bleakness of Texas. She despised long stretches of nothing. She was scared to death of horses. And she absolutely hated macho, arrogant men. How on earth was she supposed to survive on that stupid ranch even for a weekend?

The image of her birthright, billions of dollars, circling the proverbial drain and disappearing flashed in her mind’s eye. Okay, maybe she could survive it for just a little while.

“I’ll be right there,” she heard her father say, his tone urgent. She frowned. Where could he be going when they had to leave in just one hour? Before she could ask that very question, he skirted his desk and rushed over to her.

“The employees at one of the facilities have walked out, shutting down the whole operation. I’ve got to get over there and see if I can get this worked out. We can’t afford any bad publicity of any sort right now.”

In other words, her father didn’t want the cowboy to find out since it might give him pause.

“Of course,” she said, suddenly elated. This meant they didn’t have to go to Texas, which bought her a little more time to figure a way out of this. “I’m sure Mr. Calhoun will understand our postponing.” She resisted the urge to do a little end-zone victory dance. Hot dog! She was free for the weekend. Fireworks and all-night parties.

“Oh, no,” her father said, positively mortified at the very idea. “His private plane is already on its way to pick us up. You go on ahead of me. I’ll join the two of you as soon as I have this little misunderstanding worked out.” He gave her a pointed look. “Just don’t mention anything about it, all right, dear?”

Her hopes fizzled like a dud firecracker. “Fine,” she muttered. What else could she do? Her whole future depended on her cooperation. The way she saw it, the only choice she had was to try and figure out a way to send this cowboy running in another direction. If he chose not to marry her, then it certainly wouldn’t be her fault.

She smiled. Oh yeah, that could work. And her father wouldn’t be the wiser.

“OH, MY GOD,” Amy murmured as she stopped midway down the mile-long drive and admired the house that loomed before her. The Winterborne mansion was huge. Not just huge, she amended, palatial. That was it, she decided. It looked like an enormous castle with acres of magnificent gardens flanking it. The only thing missing was the moat.

Amy eased off the brake and rolled the rest of the way up the drive, past the elaborate fountain, choosing to park near the side of the grand house rather than up front. As she emerged from her car she noted that somehow her dilapidated old compact just wouldn’t look right at the bottom of those luxurious steps.

Suddenly conscious of her attire, she smoothed a hand over her travel-wrinkled slacks. She straightened her sleeveless sweater and squared her shoulders. She was a courier for the Colby Agency. She might not live in a mansion or drive a Rolls, but this was important business.

Amy marched up the steps and straight to the massive double doors. She pressed the doorbell and waited for a butler to answer. Surely in a house like this, the residents didn’t bother answering the door themselves.

The door suddenly swung inward and a young woman, maybe about Amy’s age, stared out at her, annoyance written all over her face. “Just a minute,” she barked into the cordless phone she clutched in her right hand. “What do you want?” she demanded of Amy.

Taken aback but determined to maintain her professionalism, she dredged up a smile. “Good afternoon, I’m Amy Wells from the Colby Agency. I believe Mr. Winterborne is expecting me.”

The woman looked her up and down disapprovingly. To Amy’s credit, she didn’t squirm. “He’s not here. He had to leave. I’ll tell him you came by.”

Wait a minute. That wasn’t going to work. Victoria had said that Mr. Winterborne needed this report right away. “Wait!” Amy cried before the door could slam in her face.

“What?” the woman snapped, obviously in a hurry to get back to whoever was on the other end of the telephone line.

Amy positioned herself in the doorway to prevent its closing. “I have to give this report to Mr. Winterborne. It’s very important.”

“Fine,” the woman relented. “Come in and you can call him at the plant.”

Amy stepped into the marble-floored entry hall and was awestruck all over again by the grandness of the home. The outside was beautiful but the inside was breathtaking.

The woman moved a few feet away to resume her call. “I can’t believe you’re even calling me like this,” she hissed.

Amy tried to focus on the details of the amazing entry hall rather than on the hushed words, but the intensity of the phone conversation prodded her natural curiosity.

“No,” the woman said sharply. “You walked out on me, Kevin. Left me here to deal with my father.”

Now Amy got the picture. The girl was apparently Mr. Winterborne’s daughter and the caller, or “cal-lee” as the case might be, was obviously her boyfriend…or ex-boyfriend.

“Vegas? What the hell are you doing in—?”

Silence echoed for about five seconds.

“How much?” This time her fury had dissolved into something like awe. The same kind of awe Amy had felt at seeing this place. “You won that much?”

Okay, Amy reasoned. Her boyfriend was in Vegas and had just won a lot of money and was calling to…make up? Amy grinned. She definitely had this investigating thing down to a science. She just had to find a way to get Victoria’s attention. Simply asking for the position wouldn’t be good enough. Amy wanted to bowl her employer over with some sort of amazing feat. That way she would just have to say yes! No wouldn’t even be a possibility.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” the woman said wistfully.

Amy’s heart went out to her. Was this guy trying to win her back? Did he deserve a second chance? Her gut instinct was that anytime a person had a chance at true love, he or she had better take it. It sure didn’t come along often.

“Okay,” the woman said breathlessly. “I’m going to the airport right now. I’ll be on the next flight out there.” She giggled. “Yes. I love you, too.”

Amy had been right all the way around. The thought pleased her immensely.

The woman jumped when her gaze collided with Amy’s once more. “Oh. I’d forgotten all about you.”

Amy kept her smile in place in spite of the indifference radiating from the other woman. “I just need to deliver this report to your father.”

The woman, who Amy had decided was Miss Winterborne, nodded. “He’s at the Caldwell facility.” She started for the door. “I’ll give you directions or the number. Whichever you want, but I’m in a hurry here.”

Amy followed, the white envelope clasped in her hand. Victoria’s instructions had been for her to deliver it personally to Mr. Winterborne. Driving to another destination wouldn’t be a problem as long as she accomplished her mission. “Directions will be fine.”

Miss Winterborne opened the door, but then quickly closed it. She turned back to Amy, her eyes round with something like horror. “They’re here,” she said on a breath that rushed out of her lungs as if she’d seen a ghost.

Who was here?

Whoever it was, it was none of Amy’s concern. She had a job to do. Failure wasn’t an option if she wanted to keep Victoria Colby-Camp impressed. “You were going to give me directions to—”

“Ah…stay right here.” Miss Winterborne rushed to the other end of the long hall and grabbed something. As she hurried back to the door Amy recognized the object as a designer suitcase, the kind that looked like a huge old-fashioned purse and had probably cost more than Amy’s monthly salary. “I’ll be right back,” the woman assured Amy before slipping out the door.

What was going on here? Amy suddenly remembered the telephone conversation and how Miss Winterborne had promised to get the next flight…

Surely she wasn’t leaving Amy here to fend for herself. She glanced around the enormous hall. The house seemed empty. How would she find out where Mr. Winterborne was if the daughter disappeared on her?

She couldn’t.

And that was unacceptable.

Amy jerked open the front door and strode out onto the landing that topped the dozen half-moon steps which descended to the U-shaped drive.

A long black limousine sat at the bottom of the steps. A driver placed the bag Miss Winterborne had exited the house with into the trunk and closed the lid. He smiled at Amy and quickly hurried around to the driver’s door.

Where was Regina Winterborne?

Amy looked left then right but saw no sign of her. Her gaze went straight to the tinted windows then. She must already be inside the car. Annoyed, Amy charged down the steps intent on demanding to know where Mr. Winterborne was.

“Good afternoon, Miss Winterborne,” a male voice said bringing her up short two steps shy of the car. “I’m Mr. Beckman.”

Amy whipped around expecting to see the woman right behind her somehow, instead the only thing she found was a tall, well-dressed gentleman smiling down at her.

“Where’s—”

Before Amy could complete her question, the man gestured to the car’s passenger-side door. “The plane is waiting. Mr. Winterborne already informed us that he would arrive later in the weekend.”

The plane? What plane?

Amy shook her head, confusion bearing down on her now. Where was the woman? Regina Winterborne? Amy had to deliver this report. “I’m supposed—”

“We’re behind schedule as it is,” the man said, his tone direct. He moved past her and opened the door. “We don’t want to keep Mr. Calhoun waiting.”

Mr. Calhoun? Who…?

The image of the man astride the horse immediately flashed in her brain. The guy in the report. She looked down at the white envelope. Mr. Winterborne’s report.

“The flight will take about three hours but the bar is fully stocked and you can watch a movie if you’d like.” He grasped her arm firmly and urged her toward the open door. “We have several to choose from.”

Wait a minute! Realization belatedly sank through the fog of confusion. He’d called her Miss Winterborne.

“But I’m not—”

Mr. Beckman smiled patiently. “I’m sure you will be by the time this weekend has concluded. Mr. Calhoun is quite the charmer.”

With that said, he promptly hoisted her into the car and closed the door. Before she could even blink he slid into the seat next to the driver and ordered, “Let’s go.”

Just when Amy would have roared her indignation something caught her eye…or, actually, the lack of something. Her car was gone. She whipped around in the seat as the limo circled the fountain and headed down the long drive. It was gone all right. She’d left the keys in the ignition since she’d only expected to deliver the report at the door, not go inside. Who would have expected it to be stolen here of all places?

And then she knew.

The woman—Miss Winterborne—had stolen it. To go to the airport to catch a flight to Vegas where she would rendezvous with her boyfriend.

Shaking her head, Amy turned around and moved to the edge of her seat. “Look,” she said to the two men in the front seat, “there’s been a big mistake.”

The one named Beckman glanced over his shoulder at her. “Everything will be fine, Miss Winterborne,” he said again in that patient, practiced tone. “Just relax and this will go a lot more smoothly.”

What would go a lot more smoothly? Anger jolted Amy. Dammit, why wouldn’t the man listen to her? “I’m trying to tell you that I’m not—”

Before she could finish her statement the privacy window powered up between the passenger compartment and the front seat, leaving her talking to herself.

Fury exploding in her like an erupting volcano, she pounded on the tinted glass that separated her from the only other two people in the vehicle. “You’ve got the wrong girl,” she shouted for the good it would do with the privacy glass up, making the passenger compartment not only invisible to them but also soundproof. She tried the door handle but it was locked. Not that it would have done her any good anyway. People might jump out of moving cars all the time in the movies but she certainly had no desire to.

Okay. She eased back in the seat and took a breath. He’d said the plane was waiting which meant they were headed to an airport. Once there they would have to let her out of the car to board the plane. She would explain then that she wasn’t who they thought she was.

She fumed at the idea that the real Miss Winterborne had stolen her car. Fear momentarily paralyzed Amy. What if Miss Winterborne was in some sort of trouble and had left Amy to take the heat for her?

Beckman could be some kind of loan shark or…her eyes widened in fear when she considered the numerous other possibilities.

Then she remembered that he’d mentioned Mr. Calhoun. Amy relaxed marginally. Mr. Calhoun was waiting, so they were obviously headed to meet him. Amy’s eyes widened once more. Calhoun lived in Texas.

She snatched up the envelope and pulled out the report on the man. She’d skimmed it while she fueled up and hadn’t noticed anything negative. Maybe she’d better read it more carefully. Men who were on the up and up surely didn’t send the hired help to collect a woman against her will. Had Regina Winterborne wanted to take this trip she wouldn’t have run off after her ex in Vegas. Amy steamed when she thought about how Beckman had all but shoved her into the car and then locked her inside.

No wonder the real Miss Winterborne had run away.

Amy’s eyes rounded again. What if her father and this Mr. Calhoun had made some sort of deal that Miss Winterborne was trying to escape?

What if she knew something terrible about the man and feared for her safety?

Amy’s gaze landed on the report once more. If John Robert Calhoun, IV, had anything to hide, she was certain the Colby Agency would have found it. All Amy needed to do was scour these pages and then maybe—just maybe—she could save Miss Winterborne from whatever fate lay in store for her in Texas. Surely Miss Winterborne’s father wouldn’t send her to a man who was anything less than honorable.

Another realization struck Amy then. Mr. Winterborne hadn’t seen the report. He had no idea what kind of man Calhoun really was. By the time this car reached the airport Amy had every intention of knowing all there was to know about John Robert Calhoun, IV.

VICTORIA SURVEYED her desk once more. She never misplaced notes. Never.

“Mildred,” she said to her longtime secretary who waited patiently nearby, “I’m sorry, but I seem to have lost them.”

“That’s all right. I can bring you a copy of the one I made for the file after Trent dictated the information to me.”

Victoria nodded absently. This simply wasn’t like her. She never lost anything, certainly not something as important as preliminary notes on an ongoing case.

“Thank you, Mildred. I’ll try not to lose this one.”

Mildred went off to make the new copy and Victoria huffed her impatience. Thank goodness the notes hadn’t mentioned anyone by name, only the negative activity that Trent Tucker, one of her best investigators in the art of tracking and surveillance, had discovered. If the notes had accidentally ended up in the trash, rather than being filed or placed in the burn bag for destruction, at least no one would know to whom the illegal activities were connected.

The Colby Agency prided itself on discretion.

Victoria sighed wearily. It was Friday and it was late. She should go home and put work out of her mind. Everyone else, except Mildred, of course, had already left for the day in anticipation of the holiday weekend.

She might as well do the same.

Lucas didn’t want her putting in too many hours at the office just yet.

Warmth welled in her chest.

It was nice having someone to worry about her.

There was absolutely no reason for her to worry about anything except sharing a holiday weekend with her husband and son. Her family.

All else would take care of itself.

Chapter Three

This was bad.

Amy stared at the words on the final page of the Calhoun report. On the surface this guy appeared to be above reproach, but behind the perfect facade lurked incredible evil.

She shivered as she read the words once more. Calhoun was suspected of having ties to the mob and would apparently do almost anything to make money. Amy frowned and shuffled the pages once more. The entire report was squeaky clean except for this one page. At first she’d thought maybe this page didn’t even go with the report, but then she’d read in there somewhere that any additional information discovered would be attached. Well, this was definitely additional information even if unconfirmed. Trent Tucker was working on confirmation at this very moment.

Amy chewed her thumbnail. It was downright awful. Mr. Winterborne certainly wouldn’t have sent his one and only daughter off for the weekend at Mr. Calhoun’s had he suspected any of this. Amy was certain of that, though she was still irritated at the woman’s audacity. She’d stolen Amy’s car and taken off, leaving her to face this mess. But then again, she was trained for this sort of situation. She knew how to handle herself, physically and emotionally.

Amy stilled. Maybe this was her chance to prove her worth as an investigator. She could ferret out the truth over the weekend. Lord knew she didn’t have anything else to do. Right now all the agency had was suspicions. But she could find the connection, she was sure of it. She would have access to Calhoun’s home…to his private files maybe.

A smile spread across her lips as anticipation rushed through her. This could be her first case, even if she had come by it unexpectedly. Beckman had said that Mr. Winterborne wouldn’t be joining them right away and neither he nor the driver appeared to realize that she was not Regina Winterborne. If that held true with Calhoun, Amy would have some time, maybe even the whole weekend, to covertly investigate the man.

The smile turned into an outright grin. Oh yeah. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. If she could make the connection, turn suspicion into fact, then she would have proven not only her ability but her value as an investigator.

All she had to do was play along with this little game of mistaken identity. That Mr. Calhoun was gorgeous amounted to mere icing on the cake. God had finally answered her prayers.

It was fate.

That’s all it could be.

The limo braked to a stop at a private airfield and Amy allowed Beckman to escort her to the Learjet standing by. She supposed that it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Calhoun would have a private jet. He was, after all, an oil tycoon. So she wouldn’t count that against him, but such pretentiousness definitely set her instincts on point. Though she didn’t know any men who owned a jet, she could imagine arrogance went along with that kind of presumed self-importance. Well, she had news for Mr. Calhoun: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

His secrets were about to be revealed.

There were a number of other things about him she’d like to have revealed, but the job came first. She shivered at the thought of his picture.

Amy utilized the flight time to recall everything she’d ever heard about the Winterbornes. She didn’t know that much but she felt as though she had enough information to fake it. If—very big if—Calhoun had not met Regina as she suspected, pulling off this charade would be easy. But she wouldn’t know until she got there…unless…

She decided to go for broke.

“Does Mr. Calhoun prefer to be called John or Robert?” she asked of Beckman who appeared immersed in the files he’d brought along in his briefcase. She wasn’t the only one who’d decided to make this a working flight, she mused.

Beckman looked up at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. “John,” he said after studying her for a moment. “He prefers to be called John.”

Amy nodded, not certain whether that was a positive response or a negative one. She still didn’t know for sure if Regina had met him. For some reason Beckman looked at her suspiciously now. Had she blown it already? Her pulse tripped into overtime.

Putting his files aside, Beckman leveled his gaze on her. “Miss Winterborne, John is an honorable man. He doesn’t expect this to be easy at first. But, in the long run, it is the right thing to do for both of you.”

Amy had a bad feeling about the “it” he referred to. It was her understanding that Mr. Winterborne intended a business deal with Mr. Calhoun and hoped his daughter would like the man, which would facilitate future business dealings. Maybe she was wrong about that.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said as vaguely as possible with her heart pounding. That bad feeling had morphed into something resembling fear. Call it intuition, call it ESP, but Amy was suddenly certain this whole charade might just be a really bad idea.

“Why, a marriage between you and John, what else?” Beckman said as if she should have known precisely what he meant.

Marriage?

“You really expect Re—” Amy caught herself just in time “—me to marry a man I don’t even know?” Well, there. She’d said it plainly enough. If Regina had, in fact, met John before, Amy’s cover was blown completely.

A kind of haughtiness that bordered on ugly flickered in Beckman’s eyes. “Let’s be honest here,” he said, his tone matching his hateful expression. “It’s not as if you’re some naive little maiden now, is it? As I understand it, you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself among the rich bachelors in the Chicago area. I’d say this is your one chance to redeem yourself.”

Fury boiled up inside Amy. Fury for Regina Winterborne. How dare this man speak so harshly about her when the woman wasn’t even here to defend herself.

But then…he didn’t know that.

Well, she’d just have to do the defending.

“I beg your pardon,” Amy retorted, allowing him to hear and see the depth of her indignation.

Beckman smirked. “Come on, Miss Winterborne, I’ve heard all about your exploits. The last one…what was his name?” Beckman stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Ah yes, Kevin something-or-other. He helped you go through a few hundred thousand of your daddy’s money and then he disappeared. Does that about sum up your most recent relationship?”

Kevin…that was the name of the guy Regina had been speaking with when Amy arrived. She was running off to meet him at that very moment. In Vegas no less. Amy blinked, momentarily disconcerted. Should she just tell Beckman the truth here and now? What if she were wrong? What if Calhoun was all that he appeared to be and Regina was the wacky one? What if Amy had this thing all wrong?

Then she remembered the suspicions in the report. Suspicions that amounted to far worse than having a fling and running through a little money with a scumbag boyfriend.

Amy leaned forward, putting herself several inches closer to the condescending jerk who’d dragged her into this mess. “Mr. Beckman, you have no idea who I am. That you would judge me on such hearsay is appalling. Perhaps I should take up the issue with Mr. Calhoun when we arrive.”

Beckman’s smirk wilted instantly. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Winterborne. I’m certain you’re right.” He squirmed a bit more before he added, “You surely understand that Mr. Calhoun’s well-being is my only concern in the matter. I simply would hate to see his heart broken.”

Amy doubted his sincerity but let it go at that. Besides, she was pretty sure Mr. John Robert Calhoun, IV, could take care of himself. He certainly looked man enough. Another shiver swept over her skin. In fact, she imagined he could take care of most anything. Like a toe-curling, full-body orgasm. The kind magazines raved about all the time. The kind she’d never had. What was she saying? She hadn’t had one, period, in about two years. Work, she reminded herself. She was too busy for a personal life.

John Calhoun, IV, would be about work. No matter how good-looking, no matter how seemingly perfect, she would not be swayed from her ultimate goal. Cracking his apparently impervious veneer and revealing the fraud behind it would certainly test her ability. Would show once and for all that she was agent material. Amy had faith in herself. She’d wanted this opportunity for far too long to allow anything to stop her. Not for love nor money would she be deterred.

Mr. Calhoun had better be on his toes because Amy Wells was onto him.

JOHN JERKED his string tie loose once more and muttered a curse. Why the hell did it matter what he looked like? This weekend wasn’t about what he looked like or even what he wanted in life, it was about closing the deal his father had worked half a lifetime to bring to fruition.

He should just greet the woman naked and let her see all there was to see. She was, if the powers that be had their way, going to be his wife. Why bother with a courtship ritual? It wasn’t like any of it mattered?

This was a business merger. One he wasn’t fool enough to not see the benefits of, but one he didn’t have to like.

John had dated extensively, had had his share of physical relationships. But he’d always assumed that when he settled down for the long haul it would be with a woman who would love him for the man he was, not for the oil business he operated.

That wasn’t going to happen. Love, trust, neither of those ingredients would enter into the negotiations. He tugged the tie into a bow once more. Hell, why bother with any of these pretenses? Why not just call over the justice of the peace and have the ceremony performed this very weekend? No point in dragging out the inevitable. All that would do was prolong the agony.

John had never been a glutton for punishment. But he would have more than a wife in name only. That was the one thing he had to make clear this weekend. Infidelity was not his style and he refused to be forced down to that level for sexual gratification. If they were to be married, he would have her in his bed…willingly.

Though he had never met Regina Winterborne, the one photograph he’d seen when his father shoved it in front of his face promised an attractive woman. Her dark hair had been up in a ponytail and equally dark glasses had shielded her eyes, but she’d looked appealing otherwise even if the photograph had appeared to have caught her off guard. He had to ask himself, however, why a woman like that would allow herself to be manipulated into a loveless marriage?

For the same reasons he allowed it, John supposed.

He was the only heir, as she was. Their fathers obviously had their futures plotted out to the best interest of their respective companies. John wasn’t oblivious to the long-term benefits. But, dammit, this was the twenty-first century. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past. Offspring didn’t go to these kinds of extremes anymore to please their parents.

Well, he admitted, most didn’t, anyhow.

But here he was, primping to meet the woman he was supposed to marry in order to facilitate a business merger.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he said to his reflection in the full-length mirror.

He wouldn’t go back on his word. That was a given. John never broke a promise. He would see this weekend through and, if possible, he would come to an agreement with the woman. But he would have to know that there was hope for something more. That was the one promise he made to himself.

He would spend this weekend getting to know Regina Winterborne and, when it was over, if there was even a hint of hope, he would take the next step. But first he had to know that falling in love was at least a possibility. It wouldn’t take long to make that determination. He had three days and three nights. She would leave on Monday afternoon. The fact that her father probably wouldn’t be able to join them until around noon on Sunday was all the better. He needed time with the woman alone. Without interference from anyone else, including Nate. John intended to send him on his way as well. This had to be between John Calhoun and Regina Winterborne.

By the time their seventy-two hours together were up, he would know if she was the kind of woman with whom he could spend the rest of his life…to whom he could give his heart.

As sentimental as it sounded, that was the bottom line for John. Though his mother had been dead for more than a decade now, he still remembered the way his father had looked at her. The way she had looked at his father. That was what he wanted. Admittedly, under the circumstances, he might have to wait for it. But he had to have some promise that it could be forthcoming.

Anything less was unacceptable.

A light knock on his bedroom door dragged John from his troubling musings.

“It’s open.”

The door eased away from the frame and Liam stuck his head inside the room. “They’re here,” he said in his usual annoyed tone. Liam had worked on the Wild Horse for as long as John could remember and he hated when his normal routine was disrupted. “Nate called in and said they’d just turned onto Stampede Lane.”

“Thanks, Liam,” John said, mustering a smile for the old man.

He grumbled something resembling a “you’re welcome” and shut the door.

John took a last look at himself. His jeans were clean and freshly starched, as was his white shirt. The black string tie and freshly polished boots finished off the getup. Good enough for church, good enough for this, he decided. Anything more than that would have been too much. He had no intention of going out of his way until he saw further. Until he knew she was worth the extra exertion.

That was callous, he railed silently. But this was enough to make any man callous.

Settling his Stetson into place, John descended the stairs and opted to wait in the long entry hall that welcomed visitors to his family home. Stampede Lane was actually the driveway to the property, but it extended three miles so he had another moment or two.

He glanced around the room and wondered what a city dweller would think of his home. Not that he really cared. He’d loved this home his whole life. His mother had designed it and, as far as John was concerned, the southwestern villa was the most beautiful place in north Texas. If Miss Regina Winterborne didn’t like it, well that was her problem because this was where they would live.

His father had moved into a retirement community nearly three years ago. Not because John wanted him to, by God. He’d tried everything to talk his father into staying. But the stubborn old man had insisted that moving was what he wanted. Shortly after settling into the small but luxurious apartment community, John had realized why. J. R. Calhoun, as he was known to his friends, was in hog heaven. There were at least ten retired widows living in the community to every one retired widower. J.R. spent five nights out of seven having dinner with one available female or the other.

He did reserve Sunday nights for his one and only son. And Friday nights were for poker and catching his breath, he laughingly told John.

John really couldn’t blame him. His father had been incredibly lonesome since his wife of nearly forty years had died. John had the ranch as well as the business under control. What was there for him to do, J.R. had insisted? And he’d been right. He might as well enjoy his final days on this earth in whatever fashion he chose.

But John had a feeling that rugged old bucks like his father lived forever. Or, at the very least, long enough to see that his only son’s life was charted out just the way he wanted it.

John squared his shoulders and pushed the thoughts away. He had to stay focused this weekend. He had just seventy-two hours to determine if he could spend the rest of his life with Regina Winterborne.

AMY TRIED to stifle a gasp but failed miserably as the car parked in front of the house belonging to John Calhoun.

Mr. Beckman glanced at her, clearly surprised by her reaction.

The Calhoun home was no more ostentatious than the Winterborne place. But there was something more personal about it. Like the Winterborne mansion, the house was very large. But rather than a castle-like structure, this was a southwestern-style villa, complete with a red-tiled roof. Serving as a lush backdrop were north Texas’s vivid green pastures dappled with clusters of trees and horses. Acres and acres of white rail fencing closed in the pastures that went on for as far as the eye could see. The infinite beauty was interrupted only by the occasional barn.

There were no meticulous gardens as there had been at the Winterborne estate, but the grounds were nicely landscaped just the same. A couple of four-wheel-drive, crew-cab trucks sat near the house, and there was not a luxury automobile in sight. The limo that had brought them from the airport to the ranch was a rental, as had been the one back in Chicago.

Mr. Beckman opened the car door and gestured for Amy to get out first. He had chosen to sit in the passenger compartment with her on this leg of the journey. She’d at first thought he had grown suspicious of her since she’d asked so many questions, but he’d seemed completely at ease as the miles had rolled out behind them.

“Welcome to the Wild Horse Ranch,” he said as he emerged from the limo to stand beside her. “I’m sure you’ll find your stay here a pleasant one.”

Amy turned around slowly so that she could take in every detail without the obstruction of tinted glass. It was even more beautiful than she’d first thought. Even a city girl like her could appreciate the sheer natural splendor of it.

“It’s not what I expected,” she admitted, certain that Regina Winterborne would have said the same thing.

Beckman smiled. “Most people react that way when they first visit.” He escorted her up the walk while the driver removed the bag from the trunk. It was the first time Amy had thought about clothes. She sure hoped she and Regina wore the same size. As she recalled, the young woman who’d left her in this predicament looked about the same size as her.

“I’ll be going back into town once I’ve made the formal introductions,” Beckman explained, breaking into her wardrobe worries.

For the first time since this adventure began, Amy felt an inkling of uncertainty. “You won’t be staying?” That could mean that she and John Calhoun would be alone. Then again, she didn’t really like Beckman, why did she care if he left?

Because at least she knew him. She stopped on the portico and stared at the massive door that led into the enormous home. What lay beyond that intricately carved wooden door was the unknown. A man who had secrets…dirty secrets if the suspicions she’d read panned out. Secrets she wanted to reveal in order to thwart whatever evil plan he had in store for poor, unsuspecting Regina Winterborne. To do that she had to step through that door and stick to the ruse she’d been dragged into and ultimately decided to use to her advantage.

The only down side was that she was on her own.

What had felt like the perfect plan now seemed foolish and shortsighted.

But what could she do? She was here. This man thought she was Regina Winterborne. What choice did she have but to see this through?

None.

If she ever wanted to be a Colby agent, she had to prove her worth. Not to mention that if she blew it now without getting the goods on Calhoun, she’d have a heck of a time convincing Victoria that she hadn’t jumped in over her head.

Sadly though, Amy feared that she had done just that.

The door suddenly opened wide and the cowboy she had admired in the photograph stood before her.

He was taller than she’d imagined. His shoulders were even wider than she’d guessed. But the one asset to which the photograph had truly failed to do justice was the eyes. They were the bluest she’d ever seen. Piercing, startling blue. And right that second they were focused fully on her.

“Welcome to the Wild Horse, ma’am,” the cowboy said in a deep, husky voice that sent goose bumps skittering across her skin.

“Th-thank you,” she stuttered in time with the stumbling of her heart. My God, the way he said ma’am gave her goose bumps.

“Miss Winterborne,” Beckman cut in, startling Amy all over again since she’d completely forgotten his presence, “this is John Calhoun. John, this is Regina Winterborne.”

“Come in.” The cowboy looked from her to Beckman. “Both of you.”

With that Amy was led into his home. Her breath caught again as her gaze traveled over the cathedral ceiling with its massive wooden beams, and the whitewashed stucco walls, and on to the terra-cotta-tiled floor.

Except for a leather sofa, the furniture clustered about the room consisted mostly of wooden pieces and all of it was dark and polished to a high sheen. Plaid and striped throw pillows accented the butter-soft leather of the sofa and proud wingback chairs.

But nothing in the entry hall or the enormous great room into which he led her took away from the real mind blower—the man. If Amy had ever laid eyes on a more gorgeous specimen of the male species she had no recall of it now.

John Robert Calhoun, IV, was definitely the perfect man.

Her gaze collided with his and she didn’t miss the same approval mirrored there. Judging by what she noted in his eyes he liked what he saw as well. Heat kindled low in her belly and her heart fluttered, but then suddenly sank like rock in a freshwater pond as did her smile. John Calhoun thought he was looking into the eyes of his future wife. And he liked what he saw.

Too bad she was just a stand-in—one who intended to uncover all his well-hidden secrets.

That goal suddenly felt all wrong.

But it was too late to back out now.

The game had already begun.

Chapter Four

She wasn’t what he’d expected.

It was true that John had only seen the one picture of Regina Winterborne and in it she’d worn dark glasses. The long, silky dark hair he’d anticipated. The petite frame softened by slight feminine curves he’d noted in the photo. But it was the sheer innocence and vulnerability in her eyes that startled him. That calf-caught-in-the-fence look of fear.

Surely a woman as experienced with the opposite sex as Regina Winterborne wasn’t afraid of him…

Marriage.

The epiphany kicked him in the gut with all the force of an ornery mule.

It wasn’t him she was afraid of…it was the idea of commitment. The new rules and boundaries she no doubt realized would rule her world.

John glanced at Nate who looked past ready to get this show on the road. Had he relayed John’s non-negotiable terms already? Dread knotted in his gut. He didn’t want this weekend to start off on the wrong foot, especially considering old man Winterborne wouldn’t be here to serve as a buffer. But John would be damned if he’d change his mind.

If he was required to take a wife to seal this deal, then she would be more than an in-name-only accessory. Their relationship would be the real thing.

John tensed as those lovely brown eyes swept down the length of him, then bounced back up to meet his. He’d have to have been blind to miss the startled amazement and undeniable approval reflected there. Miss Winterborne liked what she saw. Unexpectedly a flick of heat slid through him, making him tingle. Maybe this could work after all. It had been a long time since a woman, one he’d only just met, made him tingle. Were his father here, he’d insist that it wouldn’t be that way if John didn’t keep himself busy all the time with those danged horses.

His father was of the mindset that running one of the country’s largest oil businesses was enough stress for any man. He didn’t believe his son needed to take on the added pressure of single-handedly attempting to save the wild equines that roamed the few un-populated territories of the West. But John knew what he had to do…recognized his calling. Nothing his father said was going to change that.

Neither was the woman standing in front of him right now. His gaze raked her lean but feminine body once more. The low-riding slacks, funky belt and sweater that offered a little glimpse of flat belly appealed to him, that was for sure. But nothing would change his mind. She’d either accept his world for what it was or she could go back to Chicago and find herself another of those city slickers she appeared to prefer. Well, if all he’d heard was true anyway.

“Perhaps we could all have a drink,” Nate suggested, cutting into the thick tension.

John started at the sound of the other man’s voice and quickly shook off the irritation welling inside him. He had to get hold of himself here. It was only fair that he give Regina Winterborne the benefit of the doubt. And this weekend was far too important for him to go jumping the gun. There were assessments to make, and concessions too, most likely. He glanced at his wife-to-be once more. If her self-serving reputation proved true, which he suspected it would, since her own daddy had bemoaned her impetuousness as well as her petulance, she would want her own way on some things. Most things probably. Only time would tell if her way and John’s would mesh.

“That’s a mighty fine idea, Nate,” John said. A good, stiff drink was something he imagined both he and Miss Winterborne could use right about now. If memory served she preferred some sissy wine that Liam had special-ordered for this visit.

“What’s your pleasure, Miss Winterborne?” Nate asked their guest.

She blinked a couple of times. “I’ll have whatever you gentlemen are having,” she replied, her voice a little too high, her expression flustered.

John tamped down the need to frown. Liam had ordered that fancy white wine just for her. Maybe he should tell her that her preferred drink was available. Her daddy had said she drank nothing else. The frown nudged its way onto his brow. Then again, daddies didn’t always know what their little girls liked best. Deciding the idea merited no further contemplation, he gestured to the couch and suggested, “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Winterborne.”

“You have a beautiful home, Mr. Calhoun,” she said a little breathlessly as she turned around slowly to admire the room once more before taking a seat.

He tried to see the place as she would. He’d grown up in this house. Had personally overseen the latest remodeling three years ago. Somehow he’d managed to keep the scheme of things the way his mother had intended. He definitely hadn’t wanted to change that. It made him feel close to her. Damn. Even after a dozen years he still missed her.

“Call me John,” he said to the lady now perched stiffly on one end of his leather couch. He settled into one of the matching wing chairs. The soft, supple brown leather furnishings had replaced the old plaid jobs that had served his family in this room for as long as he could remember. But time and the rambunctious kid he’d been had long ago worn out the comfortable old pieces. Even the frames had been beyond repair leaving him no alternative but to replace everything. He’d picked out the new furniture himself. He wondered briefly if his guest liked his taste. This would be her home as well, after all.

She smiled and something shifted in his chest at the sweetness, the utter genuineness of the expression. “If we’re going to be on a first-name basis,” she ventured timidly, “I suppose you should call me…” She swallowed, looking suddenly ill at ease once more.

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