“I’ve seen that same look in your eyes ever since your father didn’t show up at the church. That’s why I didn’t quit on you before. And that’s why I’m not quitting on you now. I am not leaving.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed. His hands tightened around Deanna’s shoulders, drawing her closer to him, until there was not an inch of breath to be had between her body and his. “And what if I kissed you again now?”

He was trying to make her run.

She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.

And even though she felt weak in the knees and shivers were slipping down her spine, she lifted her chin.

Her gaze met his. “What if you did?”

Dear Reader,

I’ve always believed that family is the most important thing one can have in their life. Personally, I have been deeply blessed to know that strong foundation in my life, with parents and extended family who have always shown their love and support, and I hope that this is the same foundation that I’ve passed on to my children as they find and make their places in the world.

Not everyone is so lucky to be raised with unswerving support. Not every family is so lucky to be able to pull together in a time of crisis—whether great or small. For anyone who is in that situation, my wish for you is to create a family that does just that for you. Find it with your friends. Find it with your community. But, like Deanna Gurney, keep your heart open to it. Because, in the end, family is what we make of it, no matter who those members turn out to be or from where we find them.

Family.

It’s what Deanna finds with Drew and the remarkable Fortune clan, and it’s with deep pleasure that I get to welcome you to their family fold, too.

Allison

About the Author

There is a saying that you can never be too rich or too thin. ALLISON LEIGH doesn’t believe that, but she does believe that you can never have enough books! When her stories find a way into the hearts—and bookshelves—of others, Allison says she feels she’s done something right. Making her home in Arizona with her husband, she enjoys hearing from her readers at Allison@allisonleigh.com or PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.

Fortune’s

Proposal

Allison Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In loving memory of Larry

Chapter One

“Happy New Year, Deanna. Hope you have fun tonight.”

The farewell was echoed three times over as Deanna Gurney watched the last of her coworkers at Fortune Forecasting head out the office door.

She sighed faintly and looked at the round watch on her wrist.

It was nearly eight. Four more hours, and she could put the close on another year.

She sighed again and slowly tapped the end of her red pen on the surface of her desk as she stared blindly at the article she was supposed to be proofreading.

The tapping might as well have been a clock ticking.

A new year was supposed to be the start of new things, wasn’t it?

Unfortunately, she couldn’t help but think that the “new” was likely to turn out worse than the “old.”

Depressed by her own thoughts, she shook her head and focused again on the article that her boss had decided just had to be completed before the office took their brief New Year break.

Trust Andrew Fortune not to realize that his latest burst of creative, financial genius was inconveniently timed when it came to the rest of his staff.

She corrected a spelling error and felt her gaze drifting upward to the opened doorway of her boss’s office.

Drew wasn’t sitting at his desk. If he had been, she would have had a straight-on view of him. Instead, she only caught the occasional glimpse of him as he paced around his spacious office, passing behind his desk occasionally to stop and look out the windows that offered a near-panoramic view of San Diego. During the day, she knew he’d be able to see all the way to the coastline.

Now the only thing he’d see out those windows was the night sky and city lights.

Even as she watched, he paced past the doorway, completely oblivious—as he had been for most of the day, since he’d spread the word that he wanted this last project done before they shut down for the long weekend—to anything that was transpiring beyond his office doorway.

He wore a Padres ball cap on his brown head, the bill pulled down low over his brow. A sure sign that his mood was just as dark as the grim set of his angular jaw suggested. When he was feeling particularly good-natured, that hat would have been turned backward with the bill scooting down his neck and there would have been a cocky half twist to his lips, a faint dimple in his right cheek and a wicked glint in his dark brown eyes. He’d have been holding a golf club in his hand, practicing his putting across the smooth, thick, beige carpet that lined his office instead of clenching the end of a baseball bat in his hand.

The faint buzzing of her cell phone drew her attention and she picked it up off the desk, looking at the display.

Gigi.

She sighed again and set the phone down, unanswered.

Her mother had already called her a half dozen times that day. Deanna had no desire to talk to her, yet again. Hard as it had been, she had already said what she’d had to say.

But the vibrating phone reminded her that she did have work to do that didn’t involve lollygagging around, worrying about her boss’s state of mind.

She had plenty of reason not to feel particularly celebratory. But Drew Fortune had the world by the tail. He was thirty-four years old—eight years older than she—and handsome as sin, plus he was poised to take the helm of the hugely successful trend analysis firm his father had founded decades earlier. And if not for the fact that she knew what his plans for that day were supposed to have been—flying to Texas—she was certain that he would have been heading out with one of his leggy, buxom blondes on his arm who’d have undoubtedly ensured that she rang in his new year in a major way.

Deanna made a face and scratched her red pen through a redundant phrase.

“Hell, Dee. That page looks like it’s bleeding.”

She didn’t look up at her boss. “It’s one of the things you pay me for, remember?” She corrected another misspelling.

Brilliant, he was. But a good speller?

Not exactly.

“Seems to me I’m also paying some other folks who ought to still be around.” Drew sat on the corner of her desk and picked up her cell phone as if he had every right to do so. He tapped the end of his baseball bat against the toe of his leather shoe.

“We didn’t need the rest of the staff here to finish up the article.” Everyone had pulled together the data that he’d needed. The only thing left now was for her to finish proofing it, send it via email to their bazillion clients and then to the newspaper that was printing it in Saturday’s New Year’s Day edition.

He made a low sound that seemed distinctly displeased. “So you decided who stayed and who went?”

“Everyone stayed as long as they did because you asked them to,” she said evenly. “But once their tasks were complete, did you really expect them to sit around and twiddle their thumbs until I finish my end of it?”

He grimaced.

“Besides, it’s New Year’s Eve,” she reminded. “People had plans that didn’t necessarily include hanging around here.” Including him, because he was supposed to have been on the company jet hours ago.

He lost interest in the phone and picked up her stapler instead. “Did you have plans?”

She sighed, set down her red pen and folded her hands on top of the draft. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“A date, I suppose.” His dark, level brows were barely visible beneath his pulled-low cap. “What was his name? Mike?”

She kept her expression calm. It was easy enough. She’d had plenty of practice staying calm in the four years she’d worked for him. And before that, a lifetime of being Gigi’s daughter. “It was Mark, actually.” Which Drew knew very well because he’d met the man several times during the nine months she’d dated him. “And we broke up.”

His brows pulled together. “Since when?”

Since my mother. The caustic answer leaped into her brain, but she held it back. The problems that she had with Gigi had nothing to do with her work. “A few months ago.”

Drew’s lips twisted. “Nothing like true love,” he muttered. He set down her stapler and pushed off the desk. “So who is the date, then?”

She couldn’t imagine what was spurring his sudden interest in her love life, but then she couldn’t imagine what had put that hard, grim look on his face either, or this sudden, unusual … hovering … while she worked.

“Dates. Plural.” She smiled slightly, wryly enjoying the novelty of the speculative look from him that she earned. “Three of my girlfriends,” she added. “So stop looking so impressed. We’re planning a spa weekend, as it happens.”

Her phone vibrated again and she pressed a button, silencing it. “No men at all,” she concluded. And no frantic calls from Gigi, she vowed silently.

Her mother had made it very clear that she’d expected her little Deedee to drop everything and come sit by her side in her latest hour of need, even if it was New Year’s Eve. And she’d made it abundantly plain how she considered Deanna’s refusal to do so an utter betrayal.

But then, Gigi was nothing if not melodramatic.

It didn’t matter to her mother that Deanna had spent most of her life rearranging her life to accommodate Gigi’s needs.

“Where at?”

“Up in La Jolla.” She named the resort. “I was supposed to meet them two hours ago so we could all drive up together. Instead, I’ll have to meet them there.” She knew better than to expect Drew to apologize, though. That wasn’t exactly his method. And it wasn’t as if La Jolla was far. A handful of miles only.

It just was not what they’d planned.

And all because Drew was in a clearly bad temper.

He was pressing the end of the bat into the thick carpet, his expression still black, and she chewed the inside of her lip as she tried not to watch him.

But it was hard.

He was a man made to be watched. Thick brown hair that was usually just this side of rumpled—unless he had an important meeting and then he’d slick it back and look even more devastating. Wide shoulders and a lean build that looked just as good beneath his custom-made suits as they did when he was shirtless and entertaining clients on the beach.

Yes, Drew Fortune was certainly watchable.

But not touchable, her mind whispered.

She knew better than to mix business with pleasure. She’d learned that well simply by watching the messes that her mother made. That her mother was continuing to make.

Not that Deanna had to worry that Drew might think of her in that way anyway. She did her job and she did it well, and that was the only thing he cared about.

Which was exactly how she wanted it. Give her professional respect over a romantic dalliance every day of the week and twice on Sundays.

She enjoyed her work with Fortune Forecasting, and ordinarily, she liked working for Drew Fortune. And right now, given Gigi’s latest exit from reality, Deanna needed the distraction of her work more than ever.

She picked up her pen and forced her attention back to the page. “I’ll be done with this in ten minutes,” she promised. “Then you can get out of here, too.” So could she. She’d join her girlfriends and try to forget for a few days that her mother—still jobless since her last one ended in its usual emotional meltdown—was on the verge of financial ruin and blamed Deanna for not wanting to save her.

She couldn’t understand at all that Deanna simply couldn’t save her.

“Hallelujah,” Drew was saying, his tone flat, almost as if he were answering her own silent thoughts. “Just get the article done.”

Her jaw tightened a little with annoyance. What did he think she was doing?

Once again, her cell phone softly buzzed against the surface of the desk and she opened the top drawer of her desk, tossed it inside and closed the drawer again.

She still imagined she could hear it silently vibrating against the collection of pens and paper clips inside.

“Why don’t you just turn the damn thing off if you’re not going to answer it?”

Good question. “She’d just start calling the office line, then.”

He lifted the baseball bat and rested it over his shoulder. “She?”

“Gigi.”

“Your mom must be pretty anxious to talk to you. Six calls from her at least.”

Which he knew because he’d looked at her cell phone. “She’s annoyed that I didn’t include her in my little New Year’s vacation.” At the mammoth understatement, her pen nearly went right through the paper as she struck out another phrase. “Did you know that you repeated yourself twice here about the Decker rebound?”

He sat again on the edge of her desk and slid the paper out from beneath her pen. He glanced at it, then handed it back. “That’s what I’ve got you for.”

Misspellings were usual for him. Repetitive phrasing was not.

She quickly continued reading, but for some reason it was harder than it usually was ignoring the bulge of his very well-shaped thigh beneath his charcoal-gray trousers.

And there was at least a yard of space between them.

“I, um, I hope you’re already packed for your trip to Texas.” She realized she was skimming the last paragraph and made herself slow down. The last thing she wanted to do was disseminate something with an error that she should have caught just because she was feeling particularly distracted by her boss. “Because you’re supposed to meet the jet at the airfield in two hours.” She’d arranged, then rearranged the corporate jet for him, when it became clear earlier that day that he was not going to make the first flight as she’d scheduled it, nor the second.

He was supposed to be in Red Rock by morning where his father, William, was to be married. And even though Drew had a jet at his disposal, the earliest he’d be arriving now would be the middle of the night.

“What’s the weather supposed to be like there at this time of year anyway?” She knew Red Rock was about twenty miles outside of San Antonio, but only because she’d looked for it on the map.

“Breezy with a scent of hell,” he muttered.

She lifted her eyebrows a little, giving him a quick glance. “I know you’re no fan of marriage—” he made that abundantly clear to every woman who passed through his revolving door “—but this is your father’s wedding. Aren’t you happy for him?” William Fortune had lost his wife—Drew’s mother—four years earlier.

She remembered that time distinctly and not simply because she’d just begun working for Drew. It was the only time she’d ever seen him completely devastated.

It was also the only time she’d ever come close to making the mistake of forgetting that he was her boss.

Perilously close.

She blew out a silent puff of air, feeling ridiculously warm.

Four years had passed since that time, but it might as well have been yesterday for how clear it was in her mind.

He’d kissed her.

One time.

One … very … memorable time.

And she’d been a head case for much too long afterward.

Which was all over now, thank goodness. No way would she let herself fall into the same behavior as her mother.

“No, I’m not happy.” His voice was short. “And why are you nodding?”

She blinked, focusing in on the present and the look Drew was giving her. “I, um, I was just glad to be finished with the proof.” She raced through the last few sentences and was relieved that it was perfect as drafted and set down her pen.

She turned to her side desk where her computer sat and moved the papers next to her. “Don’t you like the woman your father is marrying?”

“Lily? She’s his cousin’s widow.” He leaned across the desk and slid open her drawer, pulling out the cell phone. It was buzzing, yet again.

Afraid he was going to answer it, she snatched it out of his hand and slid it into the side pocket of her jacket. She definitely didn’t want chancing her mother getting her boss’s ear. “So?”

“So I don’t see why they have to rush into anything. Wouldn’t it just be easier to talk to your mother?”

She let out a faint laugh. Her fingers worked quickly over the keyboard as she made her corrections to his document. “You’re obviously dreading the trip to your father’s wedding. Maybe you shouldn’t be giving me advice on dealing with my parent.”

He exhaled roughly and shoved off the desk again. “It’s not the wedding,” he muttered. “Not entirely.”

Her fingers slowed fractionally and realizing it, she hastened her pace again. Letting Drew get under her sympathetic nerve was not a wise course of action.

His father was getting married. Effectively replacing his mother. And Deanna had seen for herself, up close and personally, how deeply affected he’d been when she’d died.

“Your brothers will be there,” she offered, trying to be helpful. He’d told her once that he had four of them, but only he and one other brother, Jeremy, didn’t live in Texas. “How long’s it been since you’ve seen them?”

“We were all in Red Rock together a few years ago.”

She didn’t have any siblings and so often had wished she had. She wouldn’t have felt so alone in the world. “Well, then, aren’t you looking forward to that?”

He swung his bat like a golf club, but he looked anything but leisurely. “What the hell does it matter?”

Irritation skittered along her nerves. “I guess it doesn’t,” she snapped back, “except that this whole project—” she waved her hand over the stacks of papers littering her desk “—that you insisted had to be done now, is obviously just a way for you to put off going to Texas. Were you hoping that we wouldn’t actually get it finished, so you could claim that you couldn’t get away at all?”

Drew nearly did a double take at his assistant’s tart words. Her hazel eyes were practically snapping up at him and a blaze of color was burning in her lightly tanned cheeks.

Usually, she was the soul of calm.

And for some reason, the fact that she suddenly wasn’t was just one more thorn under his saddle.

“Guess I didn’t realize how important your spa weekend with the girls was,” he countered.

Her lips tightened. “You know, Drew, sometimes you are such a—” She broke off and shook her head so hard that her brownish-red hair bounced around her shoulders. She turned her softly pointed chin back to her computer monitor and began typing, her fingers pounding furiously over the keys.

“A what?”

“Nothing.” She was typing even faster, the keys clicking madly.

“Just say it, Dee.” He blamed the urge to goad her even more on his father. William wasn’t satisfied with ruining his own life with his damn marriage plans, but now he wanted to ruin Drew’s, too. “Why hold back now?”

She gave him a stern look that reminded him, strangely enough, of his mother. Probably because his mother was on Drew’s mind, because she clearly was not on William’s mind, he reasoned.

“Why don’t you just go back into your office and let me finish without distraction?” she countered. She lifted her left hand to wave it in dismissal, and her right hand never stopped moving over the computer keyboard. “Decide what you want your new business cards to say when you replace your dad as the CEO now that he’s retiring. Maybe that will improve your mood.”

“Maybe the fact that I’m not likely to be the new CEO will improve yours.”

The clacking keys went abruptly silent.

She stared up at him and the fiery green glint faded in her eyes, leaving confusion in their depths. “What?”

He tightened his grip around the baseball bat.

He wanted to throw the damn thing through one of the windows.

“I’m not taking over as CEO.” The words tasted like acid-coated boulders.

She looked bewildered. “But everyone knows you’re taking over for him.”

“Yeah, well, I guess Dad didn’t read the memo.” His voice was short.

“Drew—”

He exhaled. “As far as I know, he’s not planning to close down this office. He just wants to close me down.”

The high color faded from her cheeks and she looked pale. “But you do a remarkable job here.”

“Not remarkable enough for him.”

She shook her head a little, making her hair swing again. “Your father’s never seemed anything but proud of the work you’ve done here. For heaven’s sake, he even told me once when he was visiting the office how he thinks you’re a chip off the old block.”

“And there’s the problem,” he said flatly. “Since he thinks he didn’t really get his act together and start up this place until he married my mother and settled down, he’s gone and decided that I have to do the same damn thing!”

He swung the bat hard and it connected with the soft cushion of one of the upholstered chairs sitting outside the door to his office.

The cushion dented, and Deanna let out a startled squeak.

Neither was as satisfying as a broken window, and cursing his father, he tossed the bat onto the chair and stomped back into his office.

Deanna followed him, her hands clenched around the lapels of her drab brown jacket that matched her knee-length drab brown skirt. “Your father thinks you should get married?”

His head was pounding. He wanted a drink. He wanted a cigarette and he’d finally managed to quit the damn things six months earlier. He wanted to forget that the past year had ever happened and he particularly wanted to forget his father’s ultimatum.

If only he could.

He threw himself down onto the chair behind his desk and yanked off his hat. “He doesn’t just think it,” he said wearily. “He expects it. Or no CEO for Drew.”

She slowly sank down onto one of the chairs facing his desk. She looked dazed, which was probably the only reason she wasn’t smoothing her skirt circumspectly around her pretty knees the way she usually did. “Are you sure you’re not—” she swallowed and moistened her lips “—well, overreacting? Maybe you misunderstood what he meant. Maybe you heard the word marriage and a wire in your brain went poof.”

He gave a bark of laughter that was completely devoid of humor. “Oh, he was perfectly clear. My life lacks balance, he said.” He hunched forward, clenching his fists on top of his desk. “I’m too committed to the company, he said.”

His fist hit the desk, sending a pen rolling off the side. “What the hell else should I be but committed? This company is everything to me and he damn well knows it. But now, dear old Dad has decided that unless my neck ends up in a marriage noose again, I’m suddenly not fit to run it after all.”

Deanna’s eyes were wide. “Um … again?”

He could practically feel the steam wanting to pour out of his pounding head. “And he’ll go find someone who isn’t even a Fortune to head things up instead.” Even more than the marriage nonsense that William had been threatening for much of the past year—ever since he’d gotten involved with Lily—telling Drew just that morning that he’d bring in someone else to run the company if Drew didn’t heed his words had been an even worse slam.

Their telephone conversation—if the argument that had ensued could be called that—had disintegrated from there.

Drew was still stinging from it.

“I’ll be damned if I’ll work for somebody else at what should be my own freaking company.”

Her brows drew together, creating a little vertical line between them. “You’d just give it up, then?” She lifted her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Walk away from everything you’ve worked for?”

“It’s not like I have any women around I’d remotely consider marrying. Dad decided to marry Lily and look what happened. He’s lost his marbles.”

“I—I’m stunned,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know what to say.”

He scrubbed his hands down his face and leaned back in his chair again, watching his assistant through his narrowed eyes.

But his mind was still replaying the argument with his father.

Despite his wedding to Lily scheduled for the following day—a new year and a new life with his new wife—William had had the cojones to bring up Drew’s mother, Molly. To use her memory as a tool in his arsenal against Drew’s footloose lifestyle.

That had been the ultimate slam.

And he’d responded in kind. If William were so concerned about Molly, then what the hell was he doing getting married again?

Drew pinched his nose and closed his eyes again. The angry words still circled in his head. “As if a marriage certificate has anything to do with success,” he muttered. “It’s insane.” He looked at Deanna.

She was sitting straight as a poker in her chair. Instead of twisting the life out of her jacket, her hands were now twisted together in her lap. She still had that frown etched on her face and her eyes were dark with concern. “I, um, imagine for you, marriage certainly is a deal breaker.”

And Drew had never failed to close a deal.

He’d always had the singular ability to put the right pieces together, even when people—including his father—said it would be impossible.

His brain suddenly shifted. Boulders rolled and he saw a glimmer of light. “This is a deal,” he murmured, wondering why he hadn’t seen it before.

Maybe Deanna was right. He’d heard marriage, and the wiring in his brain had short-circuited.

Her eyebrows had climbed up her smooth forehead. “Excuse me?”

“A deal.” He sat forward. For the first time that day he felt a grin hit him. “And all I need is a signed marriage license to seal it.”

The corners of her lips curved in response to his, but she was still watching him warily. “Usually that involves a marriage,” she pointed out. “Which you’ve already said you’re not interested in.”

“I’m not,” he assured. “But a marriage license just comes with wedding. All I need for that is a wife.”

She lifted her hands. “Exactly.”

“I can hire a wife.”

She blinked for a moment. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“Sometimes you need specialized people at the table to close a deal. I just need the right woman to agree to the terms.”

“Which are what?”

“Sign the paper, say ‘I do’ and then act like my wife for a short while—long enough for Dad to calm down, retire like he’s planned to do all along and name me as his replacement—then go on her way.”

She snorted softly and shook her head. Her hair gleamed under the overhead light. “Do I need to remind you that the women you usually date—before they reach the three-month expiration, that is—will be looking for a whole lot more out of your deal than going on her way?”

Because he usually marked his way out of his brief romantic entanglements with gifts of jewelry that Deanna arranged for him, she had a point.

“I’d need someone convincing,” he mused. He drummed his fingers on the desk as his thoughts coalesced into the perfect solution.

He looked his assistant square in the eyes.

“Someone like you.”

Chapter Two

Like her?

Alarm had Deanna shooting out of her chair. “Now I think you’ve lost your marbles.”

But Drew was sitting there in his chair as calm now as he’d been agitated earlier, and she felt her stomach sink even lower when he picked up the hat he’d discarded earlier and put it on.

Backward.

The small scar near his hairline that showed because of it gave him a particularly rakish look.

“It’s the perfect solution,” he reasoned. The faint dimple in his cheek appeared.

She gaped. “You are mad.”

He spread his hands, his palms upward. “Think it through, Dee. If a new CEO is named—someone from outside—what’s the likelihood that you and everyone else who’s worked here will get to stay? Bring in a new person at the top and changes are bound to trickle down. It’s the nature of the beast.”

A fresh wave of panic began forming at the edges of her sanity. “You already said that a new CEO wouldn’t mean closing this office.”

“Closing is one thing. Clearing the decks to bring in his—” he shrugged “—or her, I suppose—own people is not unusual, though. If I were going into a new place, I’d want some of my own people around me. Dad will officially be retired by then. Living permanently in Texas. He’s the one ready to bring in new blood. You think he hasn’t realized the ramifications to the people who’ve worked for him all along?”

“I can’t believe that your father wouldn’t have some plan for that. I’ve met him. He’s a very caring person!”

“He’s a man who has made it plain that he is starting his new life, no matter how it affects everyone else, including his own family,” Drew said flatly, and his dimple was nowhere in evidence.

Her knees suddenly felt wobbly and she closed her hands over the back of the chair where she’d been sitting.

She needed her job. Now, more than ever.

And while she felt certain that she’d be able to find alternate work if she had to, she knew that she’d never be able to start out at the pay level that she’d risen to at Fortune Forecasting.

She wasn’t getting rich by any means, but she made enough to keep her head above water … and until Gigi’s latest spending jag … hers, too.

“Nobody would believe that you and I … That we … well, that we—”

“—were in love? “

She could practically see the calculating wheels turning in his mind when he picked up a pen and began drumming the end of it on his desk.

“Why not?” he asked. “I think it’ll make perfect sense to anyone who bothers to think about it. My whole family knows that you’re the only female who has been in my life for longer than a twelve-week stretch.”

“Sure. Because you pay me well and usually leave me alone to do my job!” She shook her head. “I’m not even your type.”

He looked amused and the dimple was definitely back. “And what type would that be?”

“Six feet tall, blonde and big-chested.”

“Sounds like you’re describing the guy who runs the magazine stand down in the lobby.”

She grimaced. “Hilarious. You know exactly the kind of woman I mean. The only kind you ever date more than twice.” She could count on one hand the number of women he’d seen who’d had more interest in him than the size of his bank account or what they could get out of being on Drew Fortune’s arm for a while.

None of those women had ever made it past a second date with him; he’d made certain of that.

His pen was still tapping. “I do know what you mean. And you’re right. You are not a gold digger,” he said smoothly. “Nobody could ever make the mistake of thinking that. You’ve worked by my side for four years now. You’re the soul of discretion, you’re calm and sensible. Hell, if we’re honest here, my father will probably think you’re too good for me.”

He made her sound like a lap dog.

She shook off the unwanted shard of pique as she shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m even standing here discussing this with you. It’s insane. And I have friends still waiting for me. So am I supposed to distribute your article or was that whole episode just an exercise on your part to exert your power one last time before you take to the road?”

He ignored that. “One year of your time, Deanna, for a simple business deal. A marriage of convenience. Hands-strictly-off, right? So what’s that worth to you? A raise? A promotion? A new title?”

“No! I don’t want any of those things! Not when it’s a simple business deal that involves getting married to you—however you want to describe it—and lying to your own father about the real reason for it!”

“And you think what he’s demanding is all that reasonable?” he shot back.

She pressed her lips together. Because, if everything that Drew said was true, then of course she didn’t think it was reasonable at all.

Yes, Drew played hard.

But he worked even harder.

And she’d worked for him long enough to know that there was nothing he valued more than the company that his father had founded.

She raked her hands through her hair and turned away from the chair to pace across the office. Her knees were still shaking, but that was nothing compared to the quivering going on inside her belly.

Marry Drew Fortune?

Her?

Nerves skittered through her.

She paced back. “How do I even know that you’re not exaggerating the situation? “

He gave her a look. “For what purpose? To get myself a wife? Come on, Dee.”

She flushed. All right. So that was pretty unlikely, given Drew’s opinion about marriage. And if he weren’t practically allergic to the very idea of it, he’d have had ample opportunity to find a wife among the scores of women he’d dated. Just because she’d considered the majority of them to be shallow twits didn’t mean that he had to think of them the same way.

He got up and rounded his desk and her nerves reached a screaming pitch when he dropped his arm over her shoulder.

The warmth of him seared her right through the lightweight wool of her suit and she felt like she might scream right out loud to match those nerves, note for note.

“You always play fair, Deanna,” he coaxed smoothly. “Think about all the people who’re going to be affected by this.”

“Don’t try to schmooze me, Drew Fortune. I’m immune, remember?”

If only.

She shrugged out from beneath his easy, buddy-to-buddy arm, putting some much-needed space between them. “I’ve seen you in action too many times before.”

“Fair enough.” He exhaled and sat on the edge of his desk. “I need you, Deanna. Trust me. We can make this work.”

His words sounded so sincere that he could have been trying to persuade her to marry him for real. Forever.

Her throat felt infuriatingly tight. “For a year,” she reminded.

He gave a brief nod in acknowledgment. “Don’t make it sound so horrible. Since the dawn of time, people have been making marriages of convenience.”

She almost laughed. “Somehow I never thought that term would ever pass your lips.”

He grimaced. “True enough. But my point is that plenty of people have married for reasons that had nothing to do with love.”

“Well, pardon me, but I never figured that I would be one of them!”

“I never figured I’d be forced to barter for the company that I’ve earned the right to run with a marriage license, either. S … tuff happens.”

How well she knew that.

She had only to think about her mother if she wanted proof.

He flipped off his hat and tossed it unerringly onto the iron-armed coat stand that he’d once told her had been a gift from his mother and watched her. “I don’t expect you to get nothing out of this, either,” he said seriously.

Which made her all the more nervous.

She had defenses against Drew the Schmoozer and Drew the Charmer. She could trade insincere banter with him until the cows came home.

But when he dropped the tactics? When he was just Drew Fortune, straight talking and perfectly sincere?

That’s when she knew she was wading in waters much too deep for her peace of mind.

“I told you. There’s nothing I want,” she insisted.

He stood again and closed the distance between them. It took all of her willpower not to nervously back away. And when he reached out an arm toward her, she positively froze.

But all he did was reach into her pocket and withdraw her cell phone that had been buzzing almost constantly since she’d stuck it there. He held it up so that she could see the display.

Gigi, it read.

“Not even to send your mother on a vacation of her own?”

She grabbed the phone, and this time, she did power it off. Her mother could call the office line all she wanted. At the moment, Deanna considered that a lesser problem than Drew. “It would take more than a vacation to solve the matter of Gigi.”

“What would it take?”

She huffed and threw out her hands. “About fifty grand.” Which might as well be fifty million because it was just as unattainable. And the admission was just proof that his so-called proposal had sent her sense of discretion right into orbit and no matter what it looked like to him, she took a step backward. Then another. “So, I still need an answer about your article,” she reminded, feeling almost desperate to get them back on track. Work track.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “If it’s ready to send, then send it,” he said after a moment.

Surprise had her feeling uneasy.

She nodded anyway, taking him at face value and returned to her desk. Within minutes she’d sent the article off into the magical cosmos of electronic mail as well as to the newspaper editor who was printing it.

Her work done, she shut down the computer, pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet and locked up her desk.

Drew hadn’t come out of his office. She could see him sitting in his chair again, but he’d swiveled it around so that he was facing the windows.

She told herself that she didn’t want to be a part of his charade, but she also couldn’t just walk out of the office as if nothing at all had happened. He’d been a good and fair—if sometimes challenging—boss to her. To everyone who worked in the San Diego office, for that matter.

Which was exactly the reason why they’d all been willing to give up even a portion of their holiday evening when he’d asked.

She sighed and dropped her purse next to the baseball bat on the chair he’d beat before going back into his office. She could see him reflected in the dark windows. “What are you going to do?”

He looked at the window as if it were a mirror, meeting her gaze there. “What are you going to do?” He turned in his chair until he was facing her again, and he set his own cell phone down on the center of his leather desk blotter. “Your mother lost her job again.”

She looked from his phone to his face. Horror warred with anger. “What’d you do? Call her?”

“I called Joe Winston. Remember, he’s the HR head over at Blake & Philips?”

Her mouth went dry. Blake & Philips was the law firm her mother had worked for … until a few months ago when she’d been fired. And the only reason that Drew knew that Gigi had worked there was because he was the one who’d told Deanna a year ago that his college buddy, Joe, was looking for legal secretaries and he knew that her mother—between jobs, again—had been worried about losing her house if she didn’t find work soon.

More like Deanna was worried about her mother losing her house, because she’d been the one trying to pay Gigi’s mortgage as well as her own rent.

“That was none of your business,” she said stiffly.

“We’re supposed to be golfing next week,” he went on. “He thinks I called to tell him our tee time.”

Embarrassment burned inside her. “And you just happened to mention my mother’s name?”

“I didn’t bring her up at all.”

“Right. How else would you know?”

His gaze was steady. “You’ve worked for me for a while, Dee. Just because you don’t go around airing your personal business as much as most of the people do around here, doesn’t mean I haven’t picked up some things. And your mother goes through jobs like I go through—”

“—women?” she inserted caustically.

“I was going to say shirts.” He sat back in his chair, his hand slowly turning his cell phone end over end. “Joe didn’t have to mention your mother. All I had to do was make an educated guess and watch your face.”

Which she could feel burning now. “Fine. Yes, my mother lost her job. Again. Story of our lives.” But only part of the story. “She’ll find another one.” She always did.

Another job. Another unattainable man to make a play for that always ended in a dramatic parting of employment when it didn’t work out. Another reason to go off the financial deep end and expect Deanna to “save” her.

“Your article is sent.” She pulled back her sleeve and looked at her watch. “And you’re supposed to be at the airport soon. Try not to grimace all through your father’s wedding tomorrow.” She turned on her heel. “It’ll ruin the family pictures.”

“I’ll give you the fifty grand.” His low voice followed her.

Her feet dragged in the carpet, coming to a stop. She didn’t look at him. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

He was silent, but her nape prickled and she knew he’d left his desk and was walking up behind her. “You wouldn’t have if you weren’t upset about it.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. On one hand, it was unnerving to think that he knew her that well. On the other hand, was she really surprised? There was a reason why they worked well together and she was realistic enough to know that that wasn’t only because of her understanding of him. “I don’t want your money.”

“But do you need it?” He touched her arm, moving around until he was in front of her. “Hey.” He nudged her chin until she couldn’t avoid looking at him. His faint smile was crooked. And sympathetic. “I don’t want to get married. But I need to.”

She could feel a burning deep behind her eyes and because she couldn’t will it away, hoped to heaven that it would just stay where it was because she’d be darned if she’d cry in front of her boss. “Even if I … agreed … the money would just be a quick-fix for Gigi’s problem.”

“Which is what?”

She looked up at him and found her gaze trapped in his. “She has a shopping addiction.”

His brows twitched together. “What?”

At least he hadn’t laughed.

She sighed and moved the bat and her purse from the chair, sinking down onto it.

“A shopping addiction. And not the kind of thing people are often teasing women about, either. She doesn’t just like to go out shopping for shoes or … whatever.” She waved her hand. “When Gigi’s … between jobs—” which in Gigi-speak really meant between the men with whom she inevitably got unwisely involved “—she gets depressed. And when she gets depressed, she shops. Online or on the home shopping networks. It doesn’t matter which and it doesn’t matter what. She orders stuff that she neither needs nor can afford. And it doesn’t matter what I say or what I do, she won’t stop and she won’t get help.”

She pressed her palms together, staring at her bare fingers. “She’s behind on her mortgage again, she’s managed to open new credit cards that I didn’t even know she had and she figures that I ought to be able to solve it all for her.”

“Why you?”

“Because I’ve been paying things off for her since I got my first job when I was fifteen.” The year her father had left. The year that Gigi started blaming Deanna for her very existence. “As long as I continue bailing her out, she’s never going to get the help she needs.” Deanna had finally faced that truth because she had sought the counseling that her mother refused to believe she needed.

“At least you realize that.”

“Realizing it and being able to stick to it are two different things.” She swallowed the knot in her throat. “It’s not easy to say no to your own mother.”

“It’s not all that easy to say no to your father, either.” He crouched down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “We can help each other here, you know.”

His hands were warm and steady and nearly dwarfed hers. “It’s not a, uh, a good idea. Getting involved at the workplace never is.” She felt that threatening burn get even hotter. “That’s what my mother does, and it never leads to anything but disaster.” Certainly not the fairytale wedding Gigi kept hoping for.

“People have been marrying the boss for centuries. There doesn’t have to be anything wrong with that.”

“Right. When the two people are actually in love.” She realized her fingers had slid through his until they were twined together. She pulled her hands free and wrapped them over the arms of the chair. “And, like I said, throwing money on the situation doesn’t solve the ultimate problem.”

“Then we’ll get your mother into counseling. For as long as it takes. Even after our arrangement is ended.”

She pressed her fingers harder into the upholstery to keep them from trembling. “She’ll refuse. She always does.”

“We’ll make sure she doesn’t. We’ll find a way.”

“We?”

He covered her hands with his. “Yeah, we.”

Her heart was climbing in her chest. She felt lightheaded. She hadn’t had any support where her mother was concerned since her father walked out the door and never came back.

It had been just her.

Drew was watching her with that steady gaze and his voice, so quietly assured, was ringing in her head.

We.

The lure of that word alone seemed impossible to resist. “Okay,” she whispered and felt a shudder work down her spine.

His gaze sharpened. “You’ll marry me?”

She swallowed hard and had to clear her throat. “Yes.”

His smile was sudden and nearly blinding. “I’ve always said you are the perfect assistant!” He straightened and leaned over her, pressing a fast kiss to her forehead before turning away. “This is going to work out perfectly,” he was saying as he strode back into his office. “You’ll come with me to Red Rock. We’ll announce it there.”

Deanna could hear his raised voice. Could understand his words even.

But she couldn’t do much of anything but stare at her tidy desk across from her and feel the imprint of his lips as if they were still grazing her skin.

“Dee, how fast can you pack?”

She scrubbed her hands down her cheeks, attempting to drag her utterly rattled self back together. “C-couldn’t you just tell your dad about us? I’d feel like I’m intruding if I go with you to Texas.”

He reappeared in his doorway. The ball cap was back on his head—backward—and the dimple was back in his cheek.

He was also holding up a bottle of champagne that had been delivered that afternoon from one of his clients.

“I’m pretty sure my fiancée would be welcome at a family event,” he said drily. “More than that, she’ll be expected.” He waved the end of the bottle in front of her. “Call the pilot again. Tell him we’ll be an hour later than I planned.”

Deanna felt a ridiculous surge of laughter. Or maybe it was simply that she was on the verge of hysteria.

Had she really agreed to marry him?

“I already built in an hour cushion when I rescheduled your flight the last time I talked to him,” she admitted.

His eyebrows shot up. “Sounds like you were handling me.” Then he grinned again. “Well done.”

She managed a weak smile.

“Come on. We’ll pop open this baby and celebrate. Get a few glasses, would you?” He went back into his office. “And you should let your girlfriends know you won’t be making it to the spa after all.”

She very nearly slapped her hand against her forehead. She’d completely forgotten about her friends. She pulled out her cell phone and turned it on again. Ignoring the little indicator that told her she had messages waiting, she quickly called Susan, the one who’d arranged the weekend, and left her own message when her friend didn’t answer.

And then, holding the phone, she debated whether to call Gigi. Her mother already expected her to be gone for the long weekend. That hadn’t changed, even if Deanna’s destination had.

And what would she tell her mother when she did call?

That she was marrying the boss?

Gigi would probably think she’d died and gone to heaven. If she couldn’t achieve that status, then at least her daughter had.

Deanna heard the distinctive sound of the champagne cork popping, and ignoring the sense of guilt she felt, she turned off her cell phone again. The only harmful thing that Gigi would do over the weekend would be to order more needless items. Items that Deanna would ensure were returned, along with all the other things she’d expected to have to deal with.

No, she’d call her mother after the holiday when she was back in town.

Maybe by then, Deanna would have figured out a way to couch her news so that Gigi wouldn’t start flying over the moon.

She hurried into the small employee break room, pulled out two plastic cups from the cupboard and returned to Drew’s office.

He was pulling off his linen, button-down shirt.

She nearly dropped the cups. “What are you doing?”

The shirt came off his shoulders and he balled it up, pitching it aside. The white T-shirt he was wearing beneath it clung to every centimeter of his wide chest.

“Champagne bubbled over.” He picked up the bottle and she could see a ring of shimmering liquid on his desk where the bottle had been sitting. “Here.” He grabbed her hand with one of the cups in it and filled it more than halfway.

“That’s too much.” She had to force herself not to stare at his chest. It wasn’t as if she had never seen it before, and even completely, gloriously bare. When he was playing beach volleyball at their branch picnic every year, for one. But she’d never been his convenient fiancée and been faced with him less than fully dressed …

She could feel hysteria rising and ruthlessly tramped it down.

“Live a little.” He was grinning as he took the second cup from her. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

She was glad to surrender the cup, because that meant that she could wrap both hands around her own, and maybe stop shaking like she was some schoolgirl faced with her first crush.

He filled his own cup, then held it out. “Here’s to marriage.”

Her stomach dipped and swayed, but she managed to give him a stern glare. “You shouldn’t joke about it.”

“Who’s joking?” He nudged the side of his cup against hers in the toast. “At least we both know exactly what we’ll be getting out of the deal. No illusions. No surprises.”

“Right.” She dipped her nose toward the cup. The first taste of champagne was as bitter as the nerves tightening her stomach. She swallowed it anyway.

“A ring,” he said suddenly.

She looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

“We need an engagement ring.” He snatched his phone off his desk again and scrolled through the phone numbers stored in it.

“You’re not going to find a jeweler open on New Year’s Eve,” she warned. “Not even Zondervan’s.”

He grinned as he punched a number and held the phone to his ear. “As much business as I’ve given Bob Zondervan over the years? Want to bet?”

“Um … no, thanks,” she managed with at least a little wisdom considering the number of orders she’d made on his behalf.

“Smart girl.”

Feeling strangely weak, she sat down and shook her head.

Her mother had always told Deanna that a smart girl could catch herself the boss. Deanna had always said that would never, ever be her way.

And yet … here she was.

Her mother’s daughter after all.

Chapter Three

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Up and at ‘em.” Drew nudged Deanna’s shoulder.

But she just sighed and shifted, and instead of her sleeping head resting against the backseat of the limousine that had been waiting for them when they’d landed in San Antonio, it slid sideways until it was resting on his shoulder.

Her hair smelled like green apples.

He closed his eyes for a minute, reminding himself that this was Deanna. His young assistant who was, once again, smoothing out the kinks in his life.

Yeah, okay, so she was going to get something out of it. Namely, getting some help with her crazy mother.

But as far as Drew was concerned, that was a drop in the bucket compared to what he was going to get out of it.

The right to head up Fortune Forecasting once and for all.

“Deanna.” He started to reach for her hand where it was resting on her lap, but hesitated.

The diamond solitaire that he’d chosen from the two-dozen rings that Bob had brought by the office less than an hour after Drew had called him was on her ring finger. Even in the dim light in the back of the limo, the ring gleamed.

How many times had he said that a wedding ring was just a noose in disguise?

Yet now, he had a his-and-her pair of the damned things—platinum to match the band on the engagement ring—in his pocket. All ready to go for the big day.

Whenever they decided that would be.

Given the way his father was harping on the subject, it wouldn’t be soon enough for William.

Drew ignored her slender fingers and jiggled her narrow wrist with the oversize watch on it instead. “Rise and shine, Dee,” he said more loudly.

Her head shifted again and her eyes slowly opened. She stared at him drowsily. “Hmm?”

She’d have that expression in bed, he thought, and abruptly went hard.

An oath zipped around inside his head and he stared over her head out the window, focusing on the lines of the fencing that marked off his brother’s property.

Deanna was his assistant. His fiancée for convenience’s sake. Not a woman he needed to be envisioning—way too easily envisioning, at that—in his bed. Or pressed back against the deep limo seat …

“We’re almost at Molly’s Pride.” He cleared his throat. “My brother’s ranch.”

She blinked a little, then seemed to realize that she was all but sprawled over the side of him, and straightened like she’d been stung by a bee.

Her hand went to her hair, smoothing it back from her face. “I fell asleep.” She grimaced. “How embarrassing. I hope I wasn’t drooling.”

She hadn’t been, but knew he was damnably on the verge of it. “Snoring, maybe,” he said blandly.

She gave him a narrow look, then rolled her eyes. “I was not.”

No, she hadn’t been. She’d been soft and warm and the desire had hit him nearly out of the blue. He’d thought he’d conquered it a long time ago when she first started working for him. And he’d made a monumental ass out of himself by kissing her at one of the lowest points in his life.

Good assistants were hard to find.

Sexual partners weren’t.

Fortunately, she’d turned her attention out the windows and he ran his hand around the back of his neck, feeling like he was ready to boil over.

“Oh, my. Is that your brother’s ranch?” She was practically pressing her nose against the window like a little girl.

Only thanks to the way she’d slept for the past hour with her body snuggled up against his, he knew that beneath the shapeless green sweater she’d changed into at her apartment before they’d gone to the airport, the little girl was all woman.

“It’s so beautiful.” Fortunately, she was oblivious to his failure to comment. “It looks like it should be in an old movie. A Western.” She looked at him over her shoulder, her smile flashing. “With John Wayne striding over to the old hacienda. I can’t wait to see it when the sun is up.”

Deanna was an excellent assistant and extremely good with marketing. Was it any wonder her imagination had gone into overdrive at the sight of his brother’s place? “Clearly, you need more sleep.”

She turned up her nose and looked out the window again. The limousine halted in front of the house with its stone entrance and Moorish-style arch and without waiting for the driver, he pushed open the door and climbed out of the car. The drive from San Antonio hadn’t taken all that long, but he still felt stiff and cramped from being on the plane in the first place.

Drew liked space.

It was one of the reasons he liked living in San Diego so well. Whenever he wanted space around him, he just headed for the beach. How much more space could a man need when he was staring out at the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean?

Still, his gaze ran over the house that his oldest brother had bought, pretty much out of the clear blue sky a few years ago, when he’d transplanted himself lock, stock and barrel from Los Angeles to Texas. J.R. had given up his position at the headquarters of Fortune Forecasting, as well as his designer suits and cars and coffee, in favor of jeans and cattle and pickups. He’d also quickly turned around and married Isabella Mendoza, who’d helped him decorate the place.

It had been a year since Drew had last seen Molly’s Pride and even though it was well past midnight, he could see the property and the two-hundred-year-old hacienda gleamed with care.

He pulled open Deanna’s door and she climbed out, her somewhat-awed gaze still focused on the house rather than Drew. Which was a good thing because he still felt like he was about ready to bust out of his jeans.

Maybe it would’ve helped if she hadn’t changed. If she’d just stayed in that boxy, matronly looking suit that she’d worn to the office.

All her suits were the same. They all disguised the fact that her rear was pretty much made for filling out a snug pair of soft blue denims.

Annoyed with his thoughts, he left her to gather her tote and jacket and grabbed their few bags from the trunk when the driver opened it. “I’ve got ‘em. Thanks.” He gave the guy a generous tip that earned him an enthusiastic smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Fortune. Happy New Year. You, too, ma’am.” The driver slammed the trunk shut and quickly climbed back behind the wheel, no doubt anxious to get on with his own celebrating. A moment later, the long vehicle was driving off, leaving him and Deanna standing there alone in the moonlight.

It felt intensely … intimate. And despite the chill in the air, he felt hotter than ever.

At any other time, he would have probably found the situation ironically humorous.

Right now, he just felt like he was ready to put his head in a noose, and was almost—almost—glad to do it.

She was watching him, her eyes looking dark and mysterious, though the way she moistened her lips warned him that she was more likely just nervous as hell. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

The only thing he was sure of right then was that he was having a heck of a time remembering why he should not be wanting her the way he was.

He freshened his grip on her suitcase—one of those hard-sided kind of things invented long before rollers had come along—and turned toward the arched entrance, gesturing with his chin. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

She moistened her lips again, leaving them even more softly shiny, and walked ahead of him through the arch that led to a massive wood door.

“Better knock,” he advised. It was hours past the time he’d warned J.R. that he’d be arriving, and he figured walking in might not be such a good idea. God only knew if J.R. had taken to keeping loaded weapons at the ready along with his other Texas rancher ways …

She reached out and knocked tentatively on the door.

“Come on, Dee. They’re never gonna hear that.”

She gave him a look, then curled her fist and knocked harder. “Satisfied?”

Since he heard the slide of a lock a moment later, he just smiled at her. Then the door was swinging open and his brother appeared.

“About damn time,” J.R. greeted, but there was still a faint smile on his face.

“Good to see you, too,” Drew returned and then, because he wasn’t much one for putting off the inevitable, he slid his free hand around Deanna’s shoulder and felt the little start she gave. They’d have to work on that. “You remember my assistant, Deanna,” he began. J.R. nodded. “We’re late because just tonight, she agreed to marry me.”

A full heartbeat of silence followed his abrupt announcement.

Then J.R.’s smile became a little more broad, though Drew recognized the disbelief in his brother’s hazel eyes, as he turned his focus on Deanna. “Well, then,” J.R. said smoothly, “that sure does make up for the pipsqueak’s tardiness.” He reached out and took the tote bag that was slung over Deanna’s shoulder and wrapped his hand around her elbow, drawing her inside.

“Pip-squeak?” Deanna laughed a little and looked over her shoulder at Drew.

“Better than runt,” he muttered. “That’s what he used to call Darr.” Two years younger than Drew, Darr was the baby of the family. He was also a firefighter and could probably take them all down without breaking a sweat.

“You’re all still on the easy side of forty,” J.R. was saying, as he chuckled and wrapped an arm around Drew’s neck, hugging him hard. “So I’ll call you whatever the heck I want. Damn, it’s good to see you.” Just as abruptly, he was pushing Drew away and taking Deanna’s cumbersome suitcase. “Even if I was beginning to wonder if you were going to get here before dawn or not.”

He turned and headed barefoot along the distressed wood floor through the silent house. “Isabella stayed up for a while but finally bit the dust a few hours ago.” He looked over his shoulder at Deanna. “My wife.”

Deanna nodded. “Drew’s told me about her. I hope I’m not putting you out too badly. I warned Drew that he should have called ahead to let you know I was coming with him.”

“Don’t you worry any about that,” J.R. assured. “We’re glad to have you.” He grinned. “Particularly when you’re brave enough to take on our Andrew, there. And what’s better to have around for a wedding than more family? “

Drew could see the color come into her cheeks.

“You’re very gracious.”

“My wife would kick me otherwise,” J.R. assured. He turned down a hall. “Jeremy’s out for the count, too.” He jerked his chin. “He’s in that room there at the end of the hall. Got in yesterday.”

Deanna’s wide gaze was taking in the white plaster walls around them, which Drew knew were relatively fresh even if they did look authentic to the old house. “Is that one of your wife’s tapestries?” She pointed to a colorful weaving on one wall as they passed it. “Drew’s told me what a talented artist she is.”

J.R. nodded and the look of pride on his face was plain to see. “There’s not a corner of this place where she hasn’t made her mark,” he said before pushing open a door. “You’ll be in here.” He stepped aside and hopefully missed the panicked glance that Deanna threw in Drew’s direction as she entered the bedroom.

The most notable feature was the wide bed that took up a good portion of the space.

His damnable body stirred again and he felt heat start to climb up his neck when his gaze ran into J.R.’s. “Looks comfortable,” he said, ignoring the heat both in his neck and in his gut, and went into the room behind her.

He dropped his duffel and suit bag on the white comforter covering the bed and watched Deanna’s fingertips gently graze the petals of one of the roses clustered in a vase on the chest of drawers next to one of the windows. Her reflection jumped back at him from the big, heavily framed mirror that sat on the floor against the wall across from the bed. Next to that was a fireplace where logs were already placed, just waiting for a match.

Her auburn hair was tousled around her shoulders and her expression was almost unbearably soft as she touched the flowers.

He felt a bead of sweat angling down his spine. He shrugged out of the leather bomber jacket and pitched it across a chair in the corner that sat next to a small table with a reading lamp.

His brother had a faint smile on his lips as he ambled into the room after them. He set Deanna’s suitcase on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Bathroom’s attached through there,” he gestured. “Extra blankets and pillows are in the closet, there. If you need anything else, just yell.”

Drew figured that what Deanna needed was a separate bedroom, and was grateful as all get-out when she only smiled and quietly told his brother that everything was lovely and she was certain they’d be just fine.

“Right, then. See you at breakfast.” J.R. stepped out of the room. He grinned. “Or not.” He reached for the door and pulled it closed.

Alone, Deanna turned away from the pink roses and looked at Drew.

“I can’t help it,” he said in a low voice. “What do you want me to do? Tell him we don’t sleep together?”

She made a face. “He’d never believe you weren’t sleeping with any woman you brought with you, much less your own fiancée.”

He almost felt himself flush, which was stupid. He was no kid. Of course he had sex with the women he saw.

That was pretty much all he had with the women he saw. It wasn’t as if he was looking for a partner in life after all.

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor if it makes you feel better.”

“Not exactly comfy.” She tapped her soft-soled boot on the hardwood floor and let out a huge breath. “We’ll just have to make do with the bed.” She shook her head and looked away. “At least it’s huge,” she added. “You could sleep a family of five in that thing.”

It was definitely an exaggeration, but he let it pass. Because whatever she wanted to think, there would still only be the two of them on that soft-looking mattress.

And his imagination was becoming increasingly fertile.

Her hair would look like burning embers against that white, white comforter …

He cleared his throat a lot more easily than he did the images from his head. “It’s been a long night. You go ahead and—” he waved toward the bed “—you know, go to sleep. I’m still too keyed up anyway. I’m going to go find J.R.’s whiskey.”

The relief that filled her eyes would have been comical if it weren’t so deflating. Just because—at the moment—he was having a hard time remembering the purpose of their engagement didn’t mean that she was having the same problem.

“If you’re sure …” She left the words hanging and he made himself nod.

He needed to be remembering how she’d acted the last time he’d been uncontrolled enough to kiss her and not how she’d felt, pressed against him in the limo.

Then she’d been clearly appalled, and he knew to this day that the only reason she hadn’t quit on the spot was that she’d felt sorry for him because his mother had just died. That, and the fact that he’d sworn to her it would never happen again.

“Yeah,” he lied. “I’m sure. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

She looked at her watch. “Today will be a busy day, actually.”

“Right. Today.” He reached for the doorknob and quietly turned it. “Happy New Year, Dee.”

Deanna’s smile felt almost as shaky as her knees.

She knew it was best if he left for a little while, but a strong part of her wanted to ask him not to.

And that fact alone was reason enough to need some distance from her boss-slash-fiancé, even if it were only for a few minutes. So she kept the words to herself. “Happy New Year, Drew.”

And then he was stepping out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Once he was gone, Deanna’s smile died and she drew in a deep breath.

Without his intoxicating presence, the room felt as spacious as her common sense told her it actually was. It was only when she was closed in with him that it seemed as if the walls were only two inches from that big … wide … bed.

She caught her reflection in the oversize mirror. “This is what you get for making rash decisions,” she whispered to herself.

The only response she got was her own glazed-looking expression staring back at her.

The silence of the house seemed to tick like the hands of a clock, and she grabbed her suitcase, hefting it onto the foot of the bed. Drew had given her a reprieve of sorts and she knew she’d better darn well use it wisely. The last thing she wanted was for him to come back and find her still standing around like some ninny who was afraid to climb into bed for what was left of a night’s sleep.

She unfastened the stiff latches and flipped open the case, taking out the dress that she’d added on top of her other clothing. When they’d stopped at her apartment on the way to the airport, she’d done her level best to discourage Drew from accompanying her inside. But the man simply hadn’t taken the hint and she hadn’t exactly known how to tell him flat-out to stay in the car when she couldn’t even come up with a plausible excuse.

So he’d walked up the iron-and-cement flight of stairs to her door and had braced herself for his comments when she’d let them in.

But all he’d done was silently glance over the stacks of shipping boxes that were crammed into her dining room, covering the floor and the small table and even the end of the couch. Boxes containing every item imaginable from small travel-size baby-food mills to closet organizers and exercise equipment that she’d taken from her mother’s home to send back to the companies from which Gigi had ordered them.

He hadn’t gaped. He hadn’t even raised his eyebrows.

She’d been so grateful for that that she hadn’t even thought to protest when he’d followed her down the short hallway to stand in the doorway of her bedroom while she’d opened her ancient suitcase that had already been packed for her spa weekend.

He’d told her that they would be in Texas for four days—through the weekend, and returning to San Diego on Wednesday. That didn’t necessitate a lot of clothing, fortunately, because she didn’t have much in her wardrobe that wasn’t either kick-around-the house casual, or wear-to-work professional. She had sweats that she wore to the gym where she coached girls’ volleyball in exchange for her membership fee, and she had jeans and shorts and suits.

But there wasn’t much call for her to own dresses suitable for an afternoon wedding, and when she’d scooted through her assortment of hangers for the second time without finding anything she could imagine wearing, she’d looked over her shoulder at him and told him that he would be better off going to Texas alone. He could announce their engagement without her being there, couldn’t he?

But he’d just given her that Drew look, the one that saw right through her excuses, and told her to pack one of her suits and to stop worrying about it.

“I’m not wearing something like this to a wedding.” She’d shrugged out of her blazer and shook it at him. “This is for work.”

“Well, even that might be debatable,” he’d drawled, and had joined her in front of her tight closet. He’d reached in and pulled out a frothy thing shoved far to the side. “Wear this, then.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he’d held the hanger up against her shoulders. “It doesn’t look like something you’d wear to work. So? Good for a wedding or not?”

She hadn’t been thinking about the dress. She’d been thinking about his comment about her suits. They fit and they were professional-looking and the complete opposite of the short skirts and clingy blouses that her fashionista mother preferred.

But knowing that the jet was waiting for them and not wanting to be the cause of their being any later than they already were, she hadn’t pursued the matter.

And now, she held the dress up to her shoulders in much the same way that Drew had, and turned to look at herself in the mirror.

It was a vivid, bright pink for one thing, and with her hair, that wasn’t a color she ever wore.

For another, it was ruffled.

Well, not exactly ruffled. The skirt was just made of dozens of pieces of fabric that all seemed to float independently of each other, making it look like it rippled even when she was holding it still. And the narrow, halter-style bodice was snug. And low.

She’d never worn it before.

For that matter, she hadn’t bought it.

Gigi had. She’d given it to Deanna for her last birthday, and when Deanna had protested that it was too expensive—a more tolerable excuse than that the dress simply wasn’t to Deanna’s taste—her mother had produced the receipt to prove that the clearance-priced dress wasn’t returnable. She’d lamented how her little Deedee just thrived on thwarting her and in the end, rather than go to battle over what was supposed to be a birthday gift, Deanna had taken the dress and put it in the back of her closet.

Where it had stayed. Lurking, as if it had been biding its time, waiting for Drew Fortune to find there.

Even as tired as she was, Deanna recognized the ridiculousness of the notion and she rubbed her eyes. At least the dress had come with a matching wrap. It was thin and almost translucent, but it would cover up her bare shoulders.

And as much as she didn’t want to wear a dress chosen by her mother, she did have to admit that it was more suitable for the occasion than anything else her closet had contained. So she hung up the dress and its wrap behind the door that J.R. had indicated, and she made quick work of unpacking the rest of her items, most of which she left folded and tucked in one of the empty chest drawers. When the suitcase was empty, she wedged it out of the way in one corner of the closet on the floor, hung Drew’s garment bag on the rack as far from her dress as was physically possible, and then turned to ponder his well-used duffel bag that was still sitting on the bed.

As his assistant, she really shouldn’t have had any issue with simply unpacking his things for him. And as his fiancée, if she were one of the true variety, she wouldn’t have had any issue, either.

Instead, she stared at the thing as if it would singe her fingers raw if she dared to unzip it.

In the end, she chickened out of dealing with it entirely, and transferred it from the foot of the bed to the chair in the corner.

Then she carried her small tote bag into the attached bathroom where she quickly washed her face and cleaned her teeth, changed into her cotton tank top and flannel pajama pants, and padded barefoot back to the bed.

Which side of the bed did Drew like?

She felt her skin flush just from having the question enter her mind and chewing on her lip, she jerked back the downy-light comforter to reveal crisp white sheets with a lovely embroidered edge.

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