Heated Rush
Leslie Kelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Copyright

A two-time RWA RITA® Award nominee, nine-time Romantic Times BOOKreviews Award nominee and 2006 Romantic Times BOOKreviews Award winner, LESLIE KELLY has become known for her delightful characters, sparkling dialogue and outrageous humour. Since the publication of her first book in 1999, Leslie has gone on to pen more than two dozen sassy, sexy romances.

Keep up with Leslie’s releases by visiting her website, www.lesliekelly.com, or her blog site www.plotmonkeys.com.

To Caitlin.

One of the greatest accomplishments of

my life is having given the world a soul as kind

and beautiful as yours.

1

GIVEN THE CHOICE between sticking flaming skewers up her nose and attending her own parents’ thirty-fifth anniversary party without a date, Annie Davis would, without hesitation, reach for the lighter fluid and a match. Instead, she was reaching for her checkbook. Wondering just how far she could go—how much she could spend—to ensure she avoided a fate worse than burned nostrils.

“Twenty-five hundred, that’s all I can swing,” she murmured, reminding both herself, and her friend Tara, who sat beside her at an empty table near the back of the hotel ballroom. Twenty-five hundred was about as much as she could stretch it and still make her bills, as well as eat next month.

Tara, who occasionally helped out at Baby Daze, Annie’s successful day care center, had come only to this charity bachelor auction for moral support. Her aspiring actress’s checkbook wouldn’t allow room for a guy auctioned off in a Salvation Army parking lot, much less one at Chicago’s glamorous Inter-Continental Hotel.

If she were honest, Annie’s couldn’t bear the strain, either, and her savings account was strictly for emergencies only. Sheer desperation had driven her here tonight. Desperation caused by the thought of a weekend back home—sans a guy—being pitied and clucked over by all the women in her family, teased by all the men, especially her brothers, and set up by everyone else in her small hometown. Not to mention answering the inevitable questions about why she was alone when her entire family knew she’d been dating a nice, handsome man for the past several weeks.

Looking into her parents faces and admitting that nice, handsome man she’d been seeing had been a married jerk? She’d sooner add raw meat to those flaming skewers and call herself shish kebab. Wiping out her checking account seemed a small price to pay to avoid the agony. Maybe the savings, too.

No. Not a chance. Not unless Johnny Depp and Josh Duhamel both appeared on that stage, offering a weekend of pure carnal exploitation to the high bidder.

“Nobody has gone for less than three thousand so far,” Tara reminded her. The petite brunette, usually bubbly and sassy, sounded uncharacteristically pessimistic. “Not even the wimpy-looking blond dude who made a complete dork of himself doing that pretend striptease.”

Annie cringed, wishing she had a bar of soap to wash away the mental image of the pale twenty-something doing a white-men-can’t-dance bump-and-grind that had women near the front pretending to swoon. Ick. Bringing someone like that home to meet her family? She’d probably do better picking up a homeless person who wanted to make a few bucks for a weekend holiday in small-town U.S.A.

Now there’s an idea….

It would definitely be cheaper than this ritzy charity auction. “Maybe I should just check out the park benches near the El. There’s bound to be some guy who will do it for a whole lot less than twenty-five hundred.”

“You’re desperate,” Tara reminded her. “Not suicidal.”

“Is that any riskier than what I’m doing now? These guys are all strangers, too.”

The only difference was they were being paraded and hawked in front of a crowd of rich, half-past-tipsy-and-well-on-their-way-to-being-drunk women in a hotel ballroom. Yes, they were offering legitimate dates—romantic dinners, beach walks, afternoon cruises and picnics—to the highest bidder. But these men were still complete strangers to her.

Besides, she wasn’t even certain she’d be able to talk any bachelor she won into going along with her visit-the-folks date rather than whatever he’d offered.

So why was she doing this again?

Tara seemed to read her mind. “Desperate times call for…”

“An escort service?”

Tara snorted. “Sure, show up at your folks’ with a male hooker. That’ll go over real well.”

“He wouldn’t necessarily be skeevy. He could be nice, normal, handsome.”

“Stop channeling that movie The Wedding Date.” Tara smacked Annie on the arm with her rolled-up auction brochure. “Professionals like that one don’t really exist.”

“But I need a Plan B,” she mumbled, knowing time was running out. Maybe some decent-looking young man coming out of the unemployment office? As long as he had all his teeth and four limbs, how would her family know he wasn’t the one she’d been dating?

Or even three limbs…he could be a noble accident survivor.

Noble was good. Very good. Which was why she’d immediately scanned tonight’s program looking for firefighter, rescue worker or policeman types. Her dad would totally be into that.

Her family didn’t know what her ex-boyfriend, Blake, did for a living. They knew almost nothing about her relationship with him at all. Just that she’d been swept off her feet by someone tall, dark and handsome. They didn’t know specifically what he looked like. So she could introduce practically anybody and say he was the wonderful guy she’d been telling her family about.

Well, anybody except the real wonderful guy, who’d turned out to be nothing more than a wonderful liar.

“Stop thinking about Blake the Snake.”

“Are you a mind reader?”

“No, you’re just incredibly easy to figure out, Miss wholesome, blond, always-smiling girl-next-door. Whenever you think about him, your face scrunches up, your lips disappear into your mouth and you look like you want to hit somebody.” Shrugging and sipping from her beer, Tara added, “Of course, you look that way when you fight with one of the über-mamas, too, but none of them are here.”

Über-mamas. That was the name she and Tara had come up with to describe some of Annie’s more difficult clients. There weren’t many, but a few ultraorganized, ambitious, arrogant mothers of the children cared for at Baby Daze seemed to view day care providers as overpaid dog walkers. As if there was no more to watching a toddler than changing his diaper.

“You weren’t in love with him, you’ve admitted that much. And you hadn’t even slept with him.”

“Thank God.” Something had held her back, some intuition. She’d blessed that intuition when she’d found out her Divorced Mr. Wonderful was, despite his claims to the contrary, Married Mr. Cheating Pig.

“So forget him.”

“I have. Almost. I just have to get through this weekend and then I can pretend I never knew the man.”

“Tell me again why you can’t just tell your family what happened? It’s not like any of it was your fault.”

“You met my folks when they came to visit me last spring. Do you really need to ask that question?”

Tara pursed her lips and slowly shook her head. She’d had a firsthand glimpse at Annie’s life as the only daughter in an overprotective, small-town family who wanted her back home, married, and pushing out babies—now, if not six months ago. If they found out their “little girl” had had a bad affair with a married man, they’d harass her endlessly to give up her dreams of big-city success and come home where she could meet a decent local boy and settle down.

“Forget I asked.”

“I’ll get someone to play boyfriend, let them all see I’m blissfully happy and fine, then gradually stage a breakup over a series of weekly phone calls.”

Satisfied with at least that much of the plan, she reached for her drink, still musing over a possible Plan B. The man she showed up with didn’t have to be really handsome just because she’d told her family he was. Somebody much more plain and normal-looking than any of these sexy bachelors being auctioned off to support a kid’s Christmas charity would do.

Beauty was, as she knew, in the eye of the beholder, and her family understood that. Just last year her brother, Jed, had convinced them all he’d met a future Miss America. His fiancée, however—a sweetheart whom the family adored—more resembled a Miss Pillsbury Dough Girl.

So maybe they’d think she’d simply exaggerated about how handsome her new guy was. Or that she was wildly in love, just as her brother had been. She didn’t have to bring home a guy who looked like…like…

Oh, my God, like him.

Once again, as it had been doing all night, her gaze drifted toward the table, and the auction program lying open upon it. About two minutes had elapsed since her previous covetous glance, which was the longest she’d gone all evening without at least a peek at Bachelor Number Twenty, described as a good-natured rescue worker. An all-out hero. Absolutely perfect.

In addition, the man was an all-out hunk-a-holic.

As she stared at those midnight blue eyes, Annie’s heart again played a quick game of hopscotch in her chest. Just as it had the moment she’d spotted him, this complete stranger, whose name she didn’t know but whose face and body were as familiar as her last erotic dream.

Those cheekbones were high and prominent, the nose strong, the jaw carved from granite. Visible on one earlobe was a tiny stud of gold. His lips were slightly pursed in a sexy, come-hither smile that no real man could pull off and still look so damned masculine. The sleekness of his thick, nearly jet black hair—long, silky and tied back in a sexy ponytail—and the violet glint in those fathomless blue eyes simply had to be the product of a photographer with the latest Photoshop software.

Who cares? You’re not going to win him. Not a chance. Not with what that last guy went for.

And suddenly, she couldn’t stand to see who did win him. Nor did she really want to see the man in the flesh, because, honestly, the picture had to have been majorly touched up. No man was really that good-looking in person.

Before she could move, however, Tara pointed at the stage, where the announcer was milking the audience, building things up to the final moment of the night. The big finish. Bachelor Number Twenty.

“This auction was your best chance, and this next guy is your last chance. So don’t blow it.”

“We should just go.” Annie put her hands flat on the table to push her chair back. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Come on, what’s money for if not to blow? We both know this last guy’s the one you’ve had your eye on all night.”

Had she really been that obvious? Maybe only to Tara, who had been the first friend she’d made when she’d moved to Chicago five years ago. Then again, her family had always told her that she should never play poker because she wore her emotions the way rich women wore their jewelry: blatantly.

“Have you noticed how much emptier the room is?” Tara leaned close, trying to convince her as much with her calm tone as with her words. “Half the women in the place got up and left after that last guy went, the international businessman.”

Annie had noticed, though she didn’t understand it. “Still can’t quite figure out why though,” she mumbled.

Ten minutes ago, when Bachelor Number Nineteen had gone for an unbelievable sum—twenty-five thousand dollars—the crowd had begun to rapidly disperse. As if some of the bejeweled, fur-wearing women had come only for that one man. Entire groups of women had flounced out, thinning the room considerably and emptying a dozen tables near the front.

The brown-eyed bachelor had been good-looking. But, in Annie’s opinion, he couldn’t hold a candle to the last man of the night. “I bet the high price scared everyone away because it means this next guy’s going to go for fifty thousand.”

“I don’t think so.” Tara leaned even closer. “The Junior League set is gone. Look who’s left…Just rowdy blue-collar chicks like us.”

Annie cast a quick look around, noting the laughter and easy, laid-back atmosphere in the room. And she began to wonder if Tara was right. These looked more like two-for-one happy hour girls instead of the Dom Perignon types who’d been involved in the bidding frenzy for Bachelor Number Nineteen.

Tara tapped the tip of a red-painted nail on the face of the sexy bachelor. “You can win him, Annie. And you deserve to.”

Maybe….

“Look at his picture,” Tara snapped. “Talk about saving the best for last. Go for it or I’ll never speak to you again!”

On some days, that would probably be a blessing, but Annie was too caught up in the moment to think about it.

As the auctioneer began reading the last bachelor’s bio, the remaining women quieted. Annie’s pulse, which had accelerated throughout the evening as she pretended interest in some of the other men—even halfheartedly bidding on a few of them—picked up its pace. Her blood began a steady gallop through her veins, her quick, shallow breaths leaving her a little light-headed.

“You can go higher than twenty-five hundred. You know you can squeeze out a few more bucks,” Tara whispered.

“You’re pretty quick to empty my bank account,” she muttered. How much do I have in savings?

“Raid the penny jar in the playroom. The kids won’t miss one more alphabet puzzle. They hate those stupid educational toys, anyway.”

“Shh!”

Willing the announcer to hurry up, she watched for a movement behind the black curtain, half wanting to flee to avoid disappointment, but wanting even more to catch a firsthand glimpse of that man in the flesh. Just to find out if he could possibly be real.

“I’ll share my PB and J’s every day next month if you end up on the verge of starvation.” Grinning impishly, Tara added, “But hopefully you’ll be so satisfied by your purchase that you won’t be hungry at all.”

Annie shook her head, denying that possibility to both of them. “This is a business arrangement. A weekend to get my family off my back, without them ever finding out about…”

“Blake the Snake.”

Exactly.

“There’s nothing personal about it. I’ve learned my lesson about hooking up with handsome, sweet-talking men. You’re looking at a woman in complete control of her libido.”

She meant it. Every word. She was confident, strong, secure, and certain she could handle just about anything.

But then the curtain opened and a black-haired god stepped out. Even from here, Annie could see the glint of something wicked and suggestive in his expression. The photo hadn’t conveyed the broadness of his shoulders, the leanness of that tall male body. He was wrapped in a black tux that looked as if it had been sewn around him, it fit so perfectly.

She told herself to be calm. Rational. To proceed cautiously. A low initial bid, don’t tip your hand.

Then he flashed the audience a sexy, knowing smile, making those blue eyes glimmer under the spotlights. The sultry curve of his eminently kissable lips promised throaty whispers and complete seduction to every woman in the room. Especially Annie.

And suddenly her libido took control of her entire body and she sprang to her feet, an exuberant stranger’s voice emerging from her vocal cords.

“Five thousand dollars!”

ONE BID. He’d been “purchased” after only a single shouted bid that had emerged from the mouth of a blonde standing at the back of the ballroom.

Sean Murphy hadn’t been the most expensive man of the evening—the bloke before him, a rescue worker named Jake, he believed, had claimed that distinction. But he felt fairly certain nobody else had earned a five thousand dollar offer before the auctioneer had even opened the floor for bidding.

That had been the only silver lining of this ridiculous night. That and the fact that he’d at least not “sold” for less than a few of the wankers who had gone earlier in the evening.

“Thank you again, Mr. Murphy, for agreeing to help us out tonight. We’ve raised a very large sum of money. There are a lot of kids in shelters throughout Chicago who will have a much merrier Christmas this winter.”

Sean nodded at the woman who ran the charity benefiting from tonight’s event. She was a frazzled-looking, but pretty, dark-haired woman called Noelle something or other. She’d been trying to keep things professional, courteous and polite, mostly preventing the melee he’d envisioned, given the activities scheduled for this evening. “It was my pleasure.”

Sold before a crowd of women. The realization that he’d gone through with it—and his name and photograph had probably been circulated because of it—was enough to make him sigh, knowing the response he was bound to get from his father. The old man always surfed the major newspaper Web sites, watching the financial markets from his home in Ireland. So if this showed up in the social pages, Sean was in for another round of “You’re a disgrace, come home, bow down, be forgiven and do exactly what I want you to do,” messages and e-mails.

“Who is it I have to thank for getting you to agree to participate?” Noelle asked.

Hmm. He wondered what the woman would say if she knew he’d been asked to participate by one of the rich, bored Chicago wives he occasionally visited when he was stateside. Now just a friend, she’d been his very first “client,” who Sean had met six years ago in Singapore. Her husband had hired Sean to escort her around and keep her safe and…occupied.

He hadn’t quite understood what that meant until the woman had seduced him.

In the end, they’d all been very happy with the arrangement. The businessman got his wife off his back so he could spin his financial webs. The wife got the sexual services of a rather inexperienced—but very interested in learning—twenty-two-year-old who fell madly in love with her. Sean gained invaluable experience, both sexually and emotionally, given the gentle way she’d let him down at the end.

And he’d walked away with money. A lot of it.

“Mr. Murphy?” The busy auction worker was still waiting for his answer.

Would she, as many women did, immediately understand—or think she did? Would she sneer at him? Proposition him? Grope him? Or freeze him out? He’d dealt with all of the above.

In the years he’d spent traveling out and about in the world, meeting people—meeting women—he’d met with all kinds of responses to his lifestyle. Not that many people really knew the truth about his lifestyle. Or about him. But he couldn’t deny there was a certain prejudice, a preconception about what he did.

Sometimes he corrected it. Sometimes not.

In general, he didn’t bother explaining. Least of all to a complete stranger. So he kept things simple. “I just heard about it from a friend and wanted to help if I could.”

She smiled, readily accepting the explanation. “That’s great. Some of our bachelors got their arms twisted by their sisters, coworkers, that sort of thing.”

He sensed the fellow who’d sold before him, the rescue worker, had been one of them. He’d looked as uncomfortable in his tux as Sean would have in a pair of coveralls and a straw hat. Or, worse, in a classroom surrounded by squalling children.

Tuxedos? Well, those he could handle just fine. Given his family, he suspected he’d had one of them put on over his nappies before he’d learned to crawl.

“We’re hosting a small reception down the hall for the winning bidders and their bachelors to meet and exchange information.”

Uh-huh. Schedules. Phone numbers.

Birth control preferences.

Hell, maybe he was just jaded. There was no maybe about it, he was definitely jaded. Still, he supposed some of the women who’d come here tonight really did expect nothing more than a nice evening out in exchange for their support of a worthy charity.

But not all of them. Not a chance.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work,” the organizer said, her attention drawn to a confusedlooking volunteer counting piles of cash into a lockbox. Before her, tapping her fingers impatiently, was the petite—but curvy—brunette who’d paid such an exorbitant sum for the bachelor who’d sold before him.

She was attractive. Very. And young, too. Which gave him hope for his own prospects. Not much, unfortunately, given the glimpses he’d caught of the audience from backstage, made up mainly of women who’d appeared much older…and much harder.

“Have a good evening,” Noelle said as she stepped away.

Sean murmured his thanks and headed in the direction she’d indicated. Might as well get this over with. He wanted a real look at the woman he’d be spending an evening with this weekend, rather than merely the shadowy glimpse he’d had of her blond head from up on that brightly lit stage.

Figuring out what kind of evening she expected him to provide shouldn’t be too difficult. If he had to guess, he’d say it would take no more than thirty seconds to determine whether she’d known who she was bidding on, or not.

Given the way she’d called out such a large sum without any prodding from the auctioneer, he suspected he knew the answer. He got the feeling that was why nobody else had bid after her. Considering what had happened with the preceding bachelor, she’d simply scared off the competition, who had probably recognized the same note of determination in her voice that Sean had.

So the woman probably had heard some rumors about him. Who he really was, where he really came from and what he really did.

He doubted, however, that those rumors in any way resembled the truth. So he hoped that the woman hadn’t given away a small fortune because she thought it would guarantee her a spot on his pillow tomorrow morning.

Nothing guaranteed that. Not unless Sean was well and truly aroused. It didn’t matter who the woman was or what kind of balance she carried in her checking account. If he wasn’t attracted to her, his services only went as far as being arm candy, tour guide, interpreter, or even, on occasion, bodyguard. Despite what anybody thought. The spoiled women. Their wealthy, older husbands who wanted them kept “occupied.”

Or even Sean’s own father.

Deliberately putting up his defenses, he entered the smaller room, where couples chatted quietly in shadowy corners and near the portable bar. A few of the women were laughing too brightly, a few of the guys were squirming under the attention. A quarter of the “winners” were probably two decades older than their dates but had had enough surgery to look merely one.

Only a handful of couples actually appeared to be having a normal conversation—i.e. one that didn’t involve the rich auction winner trying to get her date, who’d offered a picnic in the park, to take her upstairs to one of the lush suites in the hotel instead.

He let his gaze travel the room, knowing he’d recognize the shade of his winner’s hair, even if it had been lent a more golden glow under the overhead lights in the ballroom.

Then he saw her. One woman, standing alone.

She was blond. She was young. Truly young, not just faking it. And, as he approached her, he realized she was pretty. Very pretty, in a fresh-faced, wide-eyed, all-American girl way, right down to the freckles he suspected were dribbled across her pert nose beneath her makeup.

She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, and didn’t have that predatory look of a rich piranha, which meant she might actually have a personality.

This could work. Unless she opened her mouth and sounded like one of those brainless twits whose idea of fashion and taste came right from the tabloid princesses currently littering Hollywood.

But he doubted that would happen. Judging by her soft, silky yellow dress, the simple hairstyle—short, pulled back and held with a glittery headband at her nape—and her minimal jewelry, he suspected she was much more natural than that.

Then she spotted him. Those pink lips parted on a gasp, and her soft blue eyes—the shade of the cornflowers that grew wild back home in Wicklow—locked with his, and he knew he was right.

Because she was nervous. And absolutely not the predator he’d half expected to meet.

And he found her very—very—attractive.

Which suddenly had him suspecting this whole crazy auction scheme might not have been such a bad idea after all.

2

“GOOD EVENING,” SEAN murmured as he reached the side of the woman who’d bought him for a night. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“You have an accent!”

He laughed softly. “Maybe you’re the one with the accent.”

“Oh, God, that was incredibly rude, wasn’t it?” She stuck her hand out, which was so small, it practically disappeared inside his when he reached out and clasped it for a formal shake. “I’m Annie Davis. And you’re…”

“Sean. Sean Murphy.”

“Like Bond,” she mumbled, “James Bond.”

“Not exactly,” he said, chuckling, “I didn’t say ‘Murphy. Sean Murphy. Besides, Bond was a Brit.”

“You’re not?”

“God, no.”

As if realizing she’d insulted him, she nibbled her lip. “Sorry. I only like the older movies and you sound like Sean Connery.”

So she had good taste, in Bonds at least, but obviously no ear for accents. “Connery’s a Scot. It’s not even the same island.”

She appeared so flustered, he knew he shouldn’t tease her, but he couldn’t help himself. The woman, who he figured to be in her midtwenties, a few years younger than him, was too adorable. Especially when trying to come up with something to say without putting her foot in her mouth.

“What are you?”

“A man, so I’ve been told. An Irish one. Also your date.”

She tugged her hand free of his, as if just realizing he still held it, and lifted it to her face, rubbing lightly at her temple. “I’m not very good at this.”

“And I’m teasing you,” he admitted with a soft laugh.

“I don’t respond well to being teased,” she warned him, frowning. “My oldest brother woke up with raw catfish in his mouth one morning because he’d started calling me Little Miss America after I got my first period.”

Her face, pretty and creamy-skinned, flooded with color. Her hand flew up again to cover her lips as her own words repeated in her ears. “I didn’t just say that, did I?”

Sean couldn’t help bursting into a peal of laughter. “You did, yes.”

“Get me out of here.”

He stepped in her path to prevent her from heading for the door, liking her more and more by the minute. How could he have thought her merely pretty? When her blue eyes sparkled like that, the woman was breathtaking.

“I prefer swordfish. Just so we’re clear. And while I enjoy sushi, I generally like my seafood grilled.”

“Will you excuse me while I go hide under a table?”

“No, I won’t, céadsearc,” he murmured, taking her arm. Noting the softness of her skin, he caught the faintest scent of peaches and smiled a little. Not musk. Not cloying gardenia.

Peaches.

Unwilling to let her out of his sight, he steered her to a shadowy corner near the bar. He had the feeling she’d bolt if he didn’t handle this right. Though why any woman would plunk down five thousand dollars to spend an evening with him, and then run away, he had no idea.

“What did you call me?”

A slip of the tongue. “I called you sweetheart,” he admitted.

“That’s sexist.”

“You American women…you mustn’t be so on guard. ‘Twas only an endearment.”

“How can I be your sweetheart when we just met?”

“Not my sweetheart,” he admitted. “But I must say, judging by how many times I’ve wanted to smile since the moment you opened your mouth, I think you must be very sweet and very funny and very good-hearted.” He grinned. “Stealth catfish attacks notwithstanding.” Letting go of her arm—the silky skinned, soft arm—he added in a half whisper, “I’m looking forward to knowing you, Annie Davis.”

He meant it. But the fact that he’d said it to her almost surprised him. Sean didn’t usually let his guard down so quickly. Something about this young woman, however, had him dropping the smooth veneer and the jaded mannerisms that suited him so well in his daily life.

He wasn’t flirting, or charming his way into her good graces. He was merely speaking honestly to her, something he wasn’t often free to do with women. Usually he was paid to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear.

Except “no.” They never liked hearing that. Sean, however, had no compunction about saying it.

“We are supposed to be getting to know each other, aren’t we?” he asked. “So tell me about yourself.”

He waited, wondering how she’d respond, this sweet-smelling blonde, who watched him with uncertain eyes.

“That word you said…what language was that?”

“Irish…some call it Gaelic.”

She frowned. “Can you speak without the accent?”

“We still haven’t established that I’ve got one,” he murmured, for some reason enjoying teasing her, even if it might someday cost him a mouthful of raw fish. Cute, that.

She looked away a frown tugging at her pretty mouth. “Well, I don’t think I ever said he didn’t have an accent.”

“Who?”

“You.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean him.”

“I ask again. Who?”

“It doesn’t matter. I was talking about you…the you I want you to be, if you’ll agree to it.”

He sighed. “I think I need a drink. Want one?”

When she declined, he gestured toward the bartender. He pointed to a bottle of whiskey and motioned first for a finger full, then widened his fingers to make it a double.

The drink was in his hand a few moments later, brought by an attentive waitress in a short black skirt. She smiled coyly and brushed her hand against his for a moment longer than was technically necessary to pass him the napkin-nested glass. Then she sauntered away, a definite flounce in her step.

“Boy, talk about rude.”

“What?”

“That waitress totally ignored me, not offering me a drink or even a glance. Like I wasn’t even here.” She rolled her eyes. “She might as well have ripped off her uniform and scrawled her phone number on those fake double-D’s of hers.”

“How did you know they were fake?”

“Oh, puh-lease…” Then, obviously having noted his inflection, asked him the same thing. “How did you?”

He responded the same way. “Oh, puh-lease.”

A tiny twinkle appeared in those eyes and her lips quirked up a bit at the edges.

Liking that glint of humor, Sean cast a leisurely gaze over her, taking in every inch of the woman standing before him, beyond just the attractive face, understated hairstyle, simple jewelry and clothes. He noted the delicate swell of her breasts beneath the silk of her dress. There was no question of how perfect, how natural, her curves were.

He sipped his drink. Slowly.

Her shoulders appeared capable, yet somehow fragile, her bare arms strong, yet pale and slim. Her body was in perfect proportion, her height an ideal match for his. She could easily tilt her head back to meet his kiss.

And Sean suddenly found himself wanting that kiss. A lot.

“You obviously know something about women,” she said, not sounding entirely pleased at the observation.

He knew enough to know she was one-hundred-percent female. And that she was instinctively messing with his head.

What, he wondered, would she do if he bent slightly to brush his lips across hers, as he suddenly wanted to do? Would she pull away if he cupped her waist in his hands, rested the tips of his fingers on her hips and tugged her close? Would everyone else in the room see the brush of their bodies as an innocent hug, or as the carnal invitation he knew he would be extending?

“I should thank that waitress, you know. She helped me confirm just how stupid this is,” she said, any hint of a smile disappearing.

Her tone chased away his sensual mood. He couldn’t believe she had truly been jealous about the ridiculous cocktail waitress, whose overblown charms had nothing on the more understated ones of this woman. “She was rude to you, but it’s cute that you’re jealous.”

The way she tilted her head to one side—puzzled—told him he’d misread her. Now he realized she hadn’t been jealous. In fact, she looked almost…deflated. Morose. “That’s not it. I mean this whole situation is stupid. I give up. Nobody’s going to buy us as a couple.”

Ignoring the obvious question—why anyone would have to—he asked the more interesting one. “Why not?”

Frowning, she gestured toward him—his face, his shoulders, his tux—then glanced down at herself. “We’re not what I’d call a match made in heaven.”

“We are a match made at an auction,” he pointed out. “And that’s all that matters.”

“No, it’s not,” she murmured, those amazingly expressive eyes shifting away again, as if she had something she didn’t yet want to tell him.

“What exactly is it you’re worried about?”

“Somebody meeting us would take me for your secretary.”

He snorted at the thought of him having a secretary. What? To keep track of his…appointments?

She ignored him. “Or your dental hygienist. Not your girlfriend.”

Girlfriend? He didn’t have those. Ever.

This auction was strictly for a one-date relationship, which was about Sean’s max when it came to his personal life, anyway. Or, at least, it had been for the past several years, since he’d told his old man to shove his estate and his plans for Sean’s future—including an appropriate marriage—and had hit the road, determined to find his mother and the other side of his history.

But he didn’t argue, still wanting to get to whatever point she was trying to make. “Or they might take me for your mechanic. Who gives a damn what anybody else thinks?”

At that, a rumble of soft laughter escaped from her mouth, sounding so genuinely merry, he couldn’t prevent himself from echoing it with a chuckle of his own.

“Yeah, right. Remington Steel showing up to fix my minivan. That’s exactly what people will see.”

A minivan…horrendous. “Who is Remington Steel?”

“He was a character on a TV show. My mom’s favorite when I was a kid.” Her brow scrunched in concentration. “Wait, Pierce Brosnan is Irish, right?”

“Oh, that show,” he replied. “Yes, he is.”

Sounding triumphant, she said, “And he’s Bond, too! So I wasn’t so far off.”

He nodded to concede the point. “But Connery’s still the best.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.” She looked away. “My mother would be easy to win over,” Annie whispered, as if working things out in her own head. “She wouldn’t question the details once she saw your face and heard that voice.”

“Are we getting closer to the subject now?”

She shook her head, realizing she’d been overheard. “No. Not really. It’s still crazy and would never work, no way would anybody look at us and see what they expect to see, given the way I’ve been talking about you.”

“Me?”

“Him,” she said, her face flushing again. “Sorry.” Then, under her breath, she added, “I can’t believe I spent all that money. At least it’s tax deductible.” Nibbling her lip, she added, “I hope.”

“I wish I had some idea what the bloody hell you’re talkin’ about.”

“Come on,” she snapped. “Not only would you never fit in my world, but anybody looking at us would realize we are absolutely nothing alike. We have no common interests, no emotional connection.” She swallowed visibly. “Zero chemistry.”

There she was wrong. Very wrong. He knew it, instinctively, just as he knew he’d be replaying their unusual conversation over in his mind long after they parted company this evening. And that he’d be remembering the echo of that joyous, uninhibited laugh tonight as he tried to fall asleep.

They had chemistry. So much chemistry he could feel it pulsing between their bodies, like brightly colored fireworks, flashing red and gold in bursts of heat and light. When he wasn’t trying his damndest to decipher what the hell she was saying, he was forcing himself not to grab her and kiss the prattle right off her lips.

“Annie,” he murmured, lifting a hand so he could touch a strand of that golden hair, “we most definitely do have chemistry. I suspect we could set off an explosion without ever going near a laboratory, you and I.”

There hadn’t been many such explosions in Sean’s life. Physical gratification? Oh, to be sure, on occasion. But it had been years since he’d met a woman and wanted her on sight, for no other reason than the pleasure they would both gain from their physical connection. Especially one who had no idea who she was dealing with.

As Annie most assuredly did not. He knew that as well as he knew his own recent history. Which was much better than he knew his future.

I’ll get around to figuring that out.

“You’re still teasing…”

“No, I’m not. You feel it, too. Admit it.”

The friction rolling off her body and reverberating back off his underscored his claim and gave her no chance to deny it. They were close enough to share the same inch of airspace, to feel the light rasp of cloth on cloth as their bodies brushed against each other, sending the tension, the awareness, into the stratosphere.

For the first time since he’d arrived here tonight, he began to wonder if he was going to be inside this building until the sun came up tomorrow. They were in a beautiful hotel. Upstairs were hundreds of rooms waiting to be filled with lovers hungry to spend the hot summer night in a heated, carnal embrace.

What would she say if he made such a suggestion? Would he scare her off, or finally pierce through that self-deprecating wall of chatter she’d been using to keep him at bay?

“I feel it,” she finally admitted, dropping all pretenses. She said nothing else, just watched him, trying, as he was, to figure out what was happening here.

Something, that was for sure.

Annie’s lips trembled and her pulse fluttered rapidly in her throat. Ravenous for a taste of her, for a sample of that smooth skin, he settled for a kiss—just a brief one—on her pink lips.

“Sweet Annie,” he murmured before eliminating the inch between them and covering her lips with his. He didn’t press for more, didn’t demand entry into her soft mouth. Instead, he merely tasted her, shared a quick breath, inhaled the fragrance wafting off her hair—peaches, with the silky scent of her skin providing the cream. Then he forced himself to end it and back away a single step.

“Nice,” she whispered.

“Very nice.” His voice was just as low.

Much too nice to go too fast, despite how much he wanted to. While quick, hot affairs were nothing new to him, he knew from experience that if he made himself wait, the experience would be that much more pleasurable.

Besides, he didn’t want to be one of those couples slipping out of the room, exchanging keys, heading for the elevators. He didn’t want her to be one of them, either.

Regaining control, he cleared his throat. “That’s enough for now. When we go out on our date, we’ll talk a little more about this connection between us.”

“Connection…”

“Don’t make me prove it to you again.”

She suddenly reached up, brushing the tips of her fingers across the tiny gold stud in his ear, twisting it carefully in a move that was entirely innocent yet incredibly personal just the same. He could read the fascination in her face.

“Would you, if I said please?” She still sounded dazed, her stare locked on his mouth as she licked her lips in such blatant invitation it drew a groan from his throat.

“Annie…”

“More,” she demanded, swaying toward him in unspoken demand that he step forward to catch her body against his own or else watch her fall to the floor.

This time, the kiss wasn’t as sweet. Wasn’t as soft. And certainly wasn’t innocent.

This time, when his mouth touched hers, she immediately licked against his lips, demanding a deeper intimacy. As their tongues came together in a quick, hard thrusting, her hands went around his shoulders, her fingers twining in his hair. Quickly forgetting the others in the shadowy room, he allowed himself to enjoy it—to savor the taste of her, the smells, the incredible softness of her body pressed against his.

Finally, though, a loud, shrill feminine laugh from a nearby corner intruded. Annie seemed to realize what she was doing—practically wrapping herself around him in a silent invitation to carnal pleasure—and tugged her hands, her mouth, her body away.

“Nice,” he muttered, repeating her earlier description, which fit perfectly.

She nodded. “Very nice.” Then she fell silent, staring up at him, as if wondering what to do, where to go, how to proceed from here.

Those hotel rooms beckoned again. And he sensed he could have her up in one with the merest invitation. It was so tempting.

No. This was the first time in ages he’d wanted a woman purely for his own desires, separate from his life, his job, his past, his family.

He wanted her for himself. Which meant he was willing to wait for her, to ignore the primal, heated demand of his body, which was unaccustomed to having to wait for anything these days. “Tell me where to pick you up Saturday night.”

She blinked twice, her mouth falling open as she stared at him, still looking dazed, shocked into silence.

He sensed it was not a common occurrence. He pressed his advantage, not wanting to argue with her anymore about whether they would be seeing each other again. They would. Period.

“Don’t even try to say we have no chemistry. Not after that.”

She hesitated, then slowly shook her head back and forth. “No, I…”

“No is not an option.”

“God, you’re bossy,” she snapped, finally emerging from the sensual confusion she seemed to have been experiencing.

“No, I’m quite charming once you get to know me,” he replied with a cocky grin. “Come on, give it up. What time shall I pick you up for our date?”

Annie crossed her arms in front of her chest. His gaze dropped, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the tender cleavage so temptingly displayed. God, did the woman have no idea how attractive she was?

Perhaps not. He’d thought her merely pretty at first sight. He now knew she was beautiful enough to have him rethinking his decision to let her leave here without him tonight. Especially given the uncomfortable fit of his perfectly tailored trousers. So he imagined she might not understand her own soft, quietly seductive appeal.

It was immense.

She tried one last time to resist, sounding anything but determined. “This can’t work.”

“Yes it can. We have an agreement. I gave my promise to the people running this show and you paid a lot of money to get what you want. We’re doing this. If you don’t like what I suggested for our date, feel free to choose something else. But we will be going out together.”

With a disgruntled sigh, she finally gave up. “All right. You win.”

As if there had ever been any doubt.

Annie stared into his face, her lips slightly pursed, eyeing him as if to see how far she could push.

Then she pushed.

“You can pick me up this Saturday morning at nine. Our date will last until Sunday night at six. Bring something casual, something dressy, and at least two spare pairs of shoes in case you…step in something.”

It was Sean’s turn to drop his jaw in shock. “Wha…”

She tilted her head back, challenge shining from those baby blues, dripping off her posture, and ringing clearly in her voice. “You said I could choose. And I have. We’re going to my parents’ farm for the weekend.”

Her smile wicked, she concluded, “Hope you like big families…And cows.”

“HE’LL NEVER GO through with it. He’ll find a reason and bow out,” Annie mumbled as she and Tara made their way out of the hotel, heading for the nearby parking garage and Annie’s minivan—the spit-up and apple juice stained one that she used to transport kids to various field trips. The one somebody like Sean Murphy wouldn’t be caught decapitated in, much less alive and a willing passenger.

Tara didn’t seem to even hear her. “Are his eyes really that violet-blue shade from the picture? They’re not, like, colored contacts, right?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Annie snapped. Her friend had been jabbering nonstop for five minutes, ever since Annie had strode out of the cocktail party, leaving a bemused-looking Sean Murphy behind her. Tara had been full of questions about the man’s looks. Heaven help Annie if she let it slip that he’d actually kissed her. Twice.

Such a simple, normal thing, to kiss a man. And yet Sean’s kisses had been a complicated mess of pleasure and confusion and yearning and surprise.

His mouth was as fabulous as the rest of him. Any woman with an ounce of estrogen would want a much deeper taste.

She doubted, however, that she was going to get it. Not after the way she’d responded, practically backing him into a corner to get what she wanted—his company at her parents’ farm this weekend.

“Does he smell good? Guys like that usually smell good. Not like actors. They only smell like sweat, coffee and cigarettes.”

Annie merely grunted. How could Tara continue to yank her chain—which she was, with these intentionally ridiculous questions—when Annie was so anxious?

She still couldn’t believe the way it had gone down. She’d practically ordered a stranger to spend a weekend with a bunch of other strangers at a real farm a few hours outside of the city. Even more shocking, he hadn’t laughed in her face or run in the opposite direction.

Sure, one of his brows had shot up somewhere in the vicinity of his black hairline, and he’d been speechless for a few moments. Then, with a twinkle in those beautiful blue eyes—yes, they were really that amazing violet-blue reflected in the picture—he’d simply murmured, “Very well,” taken the business card she offered him and bid her goodnight.

As if it was all set. Easy breezy.

And completely freaking insane.

“He’ll stand me up.”

“Could you tell if that tux was designer-made? It sure looked like it from the back of the room.”

“He’s booking a trip to Siberia as we speak.”

“He’s tall, right? He looked tall.”

“Rather than giving me the rest of this week to prepare myself to show up alone, he’s going to leave me hanging—hoping—then stand me up on Saturday. I’ll be brain-dead from stressing out about it and won’t be able to invent a single excuse, like that my guy is on a top secret military mission to Hungary or something.”

“Are we at war with Hungary?”

“I hate that you’re laughing at me,” Annie said, shooting Tara a glare, fully aware that her friend had been tormenting her intentionally.

Tara finally grinned and stopped harassing her. “For heaven’s sake, will you stop it already? He said he’d be there. He’ll be there. Why would he stand you up?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because he looks like he’s never heard the word farm in his life and doesn’t have a clue that the filet mignon he enjoyed for dinner last night once wore a cowbell?”

Tara, the vegetarian—this month—threw a hand up in protest and made a retching sound.

“Sorry.”

Reaching the garage, they got on the elevator to go up to the fourth level. As they ascended, Annie continued to imagine all the excuses Sean Murphy would make for not showing up. She couldn’t think of a single reason he would show—despite how nice his kisses had been. And despite those sensual words and his even more sensual expression when he’d talked about their chemistry. She was almost swearing by the time they reached level two.

“I should have just seduced him. Got a night of good sex out of it, rather than expecting him to come meet the family.”

“Heck, yes!”

Annie glared at her friend. “Do I look that easy?”

“No, you don’t look it, but for a man like that, honey, the Pope’s mama would be easy.”

“I blew it,” Annie murmured, not wanting to get into a how-sexy-he-is conversation with Tara, knowing it would surely lead to an oh-the-man-has-a-great-kiss conversation, which she really didn’t want to have right now.

Those two kisses belonged to her and her alone.

Tara put a hand on her arm, lightly. “Stop, Annie. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’d go back on his word.”

“Neither did Blake.”

If Tara’s green eyes could have spewed flames at will, they would have been firing at the very mention of Annie’s ex’s name. “I have never even met this auction guy, but I’m insulted on his behalf that you’d even consider comparing him with that lying, cheating, womanizing slime bucket.”

Sighing in remorse, Annie nodded. “You’re right. Sean seemed like a decent guy.” An incredibly handsome—almost magnetic—decent guy. And, judging from his bio, a heroic one, too. He was a paramedic. Saving people’s lives—not trying to recklessly destroy them, as Blake had done to her.

Frankly, the man seemed like no one she’d ever known. “I shouldn’t cast judgments. Maybe I’m just borrowing trouble.”

“I’m sure you are. Now, tell me everything else about him.” Tara wasn’t teasing this time. She wanted the scoop.

“You saw him.”

“From a distance. They wouldn’t let us losers enter the cocktail party.” Tara wrinkled her nose. “Junior League Nazis.”

“Well, he is tall.”

“Figured that much, honey. Give me something good.”

“He’s got a pierced ear and it’s totally sexy.” Even though she’d never imagined one would be.

Tara shrugged, unimpressed. Then again, she didn’t read romance novels like Annie did, so she probably wouldn’t get the instant gold-earring-long-black-hair pirate fantasy that had immediately gone through Annie’s mind when she’d seen him up close.

“More.”

“He has an amazing voice.”

“Throaty? Like, talk-dirty-to-me voice?”

She shook her head as they exited the elevator and approached her minivan, parked halfway down the center aisle on this almost-deserted level. Annie tugged her small evening bag tighter against her side, sweeping a thorough, assessing stare around the shadowy recesses of the garage.

Despite what her family might think about her being unsafe in the “big bad city” after being raised in a nursery-rhyme town come to life, Annie knew how to handle herself. She clenched her keys in her hands, the longest, sharpest ones between her fingers, and suspected Tara’s fingers were resting lightly on the small can of mace she always carried.

What a couple of Charlie’s Angels. If a thug with a knife approached, they’d probably both toss him their purses and run like hell back toward the elevator. Frankly, that was the smart thing to do.

But for some sicko who wanted more than a purse? Well, the keys-as-spikes and mace were basic necessities when living in the city. Besides, she liked to at least think she was tough, if only to avoid letting her family’s constant worries that she wasn’t get her down.

They’d predicted robbery, rape, mugging…nearly everything except mutilation when she’d informed them she was heading for Chicago, fresh off the farm, after four years of commuting to a small, local college. In the five years since she’d arrived, she’d had her purse snatched, and her first apartment burglarized. Twice.

But otherwise, she’d managed to avoid getting herself murdered and proving them all right, which would have prompted the ultimate—if tearful—“I told you so” from her mother.

Her mother was going to like Sean Murphy. If he showed up.

Her father would like that he was a rescue worker. Albeit, the most elegant, well-dressed rescue worker any of them had ever seen. Again, if he showed up.

And her brothers would like that he was big and strong, and probably knew all about sports—even if it was Irish sports like rugby rather than football. If he showed up.

Her three annoying siblings would definitely consider him a step-up from one guy Annie had dated in high school. That had been back when she thought she wanted to marry the current-day version of Lord Byron, someone soft, soulful, vulnerable and emotional. Blech.

Although Sean Murphy was a gentleman—her instincts told her that—there wasn’t one soft spot on that incredible body, nor an ounce of vulnerability in his cocky smile.

He was all mouthwatering, turn-your-insides-to-mush man.

“Earth to Annie?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled as they reached her minivan.

“Tell me about his voice.”

Remembering the question Tara had asked, she admitted, “He has an accent. The program didn’t mention it—” which she found odd “—but he’s foreign.”

“Oooh, sexy. French?”

“Irish.”

“Even better! Like James Bond.”

Remembering her conversation with Sean, Annie had to chuckle. “Nope, Bond is English. Or Scottish. We never quite nailed that down. Sean’s one of those black-haired, blue-eyed Irishmen who rolls his R’s and sounds like he’s taking a soft bite out of each one of his words as he utters it.”

Tara’s mouth fell open. “Good God, woman, did you spend twenty minutes with him or the entire night? You sound like he’s been taking soft, sexy bites out of you.”

Feeling her heart thump in her chest at that visual, Annie purposefully ignored her friend. And she managed to continue ignoring her as they got in the van and left the garage, heading toward Lincoln Park, where they both lived.

But once she’d dropped her friend off, watching to ensure she got up into her apartment safely, Annie could no longer ignore the voice in her head that had been echoing Tara’s. She had felt like Sean Murphy had been taking sexy little bites out of her.

Removing bits of her self-control, morsels of her insecurity, and big, huge chunks of her resistance.

“I want him,” she whispered as she entered her own quiet apartment.

Her four-year-old tabby, Wally, heard her and deigned to come to the door for a quick greeting, if only to see whether she had anything interesting to eat. Given her carryout lifestyle, she usually did.

Bending to pet him, she repeated, “I really want him.”

And not just as a cover for this weekend’s family gettogether. She wanted him physically, as she hadn’t wanted anyone in a long time. Including her creepazoid ex.

Given her recent track record, she had no business wanting anybody, or trusting her own faulty judgment. But that didn’t change the way her thighs quivered and her panties tightened against her sex at the mere thought of Murphy nibbling her from top to bottom. Especially since she knew just how soft and warm his lips were. How delicious his tongue.

It was dangerous, unexpected, outrageous. But she couldn’t help wondering if that chemistry he’d mentioned would be enough to spark something physical between them this weekend.

And whether she’d let it.

3

“OWNER AND MANAGER OF Baby Daze. Saints preserve us, she runs a nursery school.”

Sean stared in disbelief at the small white business card in his hand. He hadn’t read it carefully last night when Annie Davis, his pretty “winner” had slipped it to him after the auction. Now, though, since he’d decided he couldn’t possibly wait until Saturday to see her again, and had dug it out searching for her phone number, he’d noticed what the woman did for a living.

Day care.

On Sean’s personal list of things to be avoided at all costs, babies were two steps below jealous husbands and three above yappy dogs that piddled themselves the moment you bent to pet them.

“And she works with them. On purpose.”

All the more reason for him to call the woman and tell her she’d been out of line insisting he spend an entire weekend with her—on a farm, for God’s sake—rather than just the dinner date he’d offered for the auction.

To be honest though, calling her to discuss the matter was only the excuse. Calling her was his main objective. He had thought of nothing else but the way she’d felt in his arms since they’d parted company last night.

But…babies?

He didn’t do that.

Something inside him forgot that fact, however, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in Annie Davis’s cell number. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. The little buggers usually took naps around this time.

He hoped.

When she answered on the third ring and he heard the crying in the background, he realized he’d guessed wrong.

“Yes?” she snapped, sounding out of breath. “Hello?”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

“Sean?” she yelped, sounding shocked. “I mean, Mr. Murphy?”

“Sean’ll do.”

“It is you. Wow.”

Screech, whimper, yowl…He heard all of the above in the background as he said, “I should call back.”

“Probably. Yes. I mean, I don’t usually even answer this phone during the day, but I happened to have it in my pocket and heard it ringing. No, honey.”

Honey? “What?”

“Sorry. I’m holding a squirming bundle of male energy and he’s trying to bite my ear.”

He’d like to bite her ear. And he had a lot of male energy. Sean suddenly found himself envying that squirming child, though that didn’t, of course, mean he’d ever want to hold one himself. His younger half sister was perfectly capable of filling their ancestral home with little Murphys. He felt quite sure their father would be able to pay off any future husband to allow the tykes to carry on the family name.

“I, uh, didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“I figured we ought to talk about this weekend.”

She sucked in an audible breath, and he could almost feel her panic through the phone. “You are backing out.”

So pessimistic for such a sweet-faced young woman. “Of course I’m not backing out. I just want a little more information about what I’m up against. Other than cows.”

“You won’t be up against them.You won’t have to set foot anywhere near them. I didn’t mean that crack about the shoes. You won’t have to go anywhere near the milking barns. And we don’t have much other livestock except for a few horses. Do you like to ride? Oh, and there are some sheep, too, but they’ll be down in the pasture.”

Barn. Good God. And sheep? He’d seen enough of those creatures in the first twenty-one years of his life to last him until the end of time. Why had he agreed to do this again?

Her eyes, fool. Her eyes and her throat and her golden hair and her soft lips and her feminine body and her honesty and the incredible way she’d felt in his arms.

Well, all right then.

“Listen, things are kind of crazy here,” she said, sounding as if she was about to drop the phone even as she mumbled something to the baby. “Can you call me back after six?”

“Why don’t I pick you up after six so we can go have a drink somewhere.”

There was more yowling, plus a bit of tiny purring like a kitten being petted. He didn’t suspect that was coming from Annie, though he most definitely wouldn’t mind doing a little stroking.

As he’d expected, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head all night long. He’d tried to capture the memory of her smell, thought about the taste of her, had replayed their conversation in his mind, envisioned her pretty face, the pert nose, the amazing eyes. Not to mention the feminine body beneath the butter yellow silk.

Oh, yes, he’d absolutely like to touch her until she purred. Whenever and wherever she liked.

Feeling that way about a woman he barely knew—being so vulnerable to her and wanting her so badly after such a brief acquaintance—should have been enough to make him avoid her. Reason told him to stay away from her until he had to fulfill his promise.

Instead, here he stood, phone in hand, waiting to see if she’d agree to see him again tonight. Almost holding his breath, unsure about her, as he’d never been about a woman.

Sean wasn’t accustomed to being vulnerable to anyone. He never let himself get involved with anyone who didn’t know the score and the rules of the game up front.

Those types of relationships he understood. Real ones hadn’t been part of his vocabulary for a very long time.

A real one though, was the only type that could possibly happen with someone like Annie Davis. But that couldn’t coexist with who he was, with what he did.

He wasn’t usually a selfish enough bastard to take a chance, anyway, and damn the consequences. So why was he so willing to do it now? To risk hurting her—or himself—by getting personally involved with a normal, attractive woman who would never understand the choices he’d made in his life?

He didn’t know. He just knew he was helpless to resist. He was so anxious to see her, he almost held his breath waiting for her to answer.

Finally, she spoke. “It’s probably a good idea for us to get together and talk.” She hesitated for a second before adding, “I did back you into a corner about this trip.”

“True.”

“Sorry.” Then, sounding disgruntled, she admitted, “Well, no, I’m not really sorry. I needed you, you see.”

Needed him. Not just wanted. Why the word should make Sean’s pulse accelerate, he had no idea. But indeed it did.

Women were always wanting him. But needing? That was different. And at this point in his life, he welcomed anything different.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, “but I have a feeling you’ll paint me quite a picture tonight.”

“Yes. I will. Let’s meet somewhere, okay? Then I’ll lay it all out for you and you can tell me whether or not you’ll really go through with it.”

Conceding the single-woman-safety-clause that required them to meet for their first date, instead of him picking her up, he murmured his agreement and waited while she named the place. Then he added, “You should know, Annie, I don’t think there’s much you could say that would make me give up the chance to spend a weekend with you. Cows and sheep notwithstanding.”

He’d go through a lot for the chance to explore the attraction that had been so strong between them. Not to mention, finding out just how much she needed him.

“You might want to wait until you hear what you’re in for before you say that.”

“All right, then. Tonight, you can tell me what I’m in for and we’ll go from there.”

And with any luck, what he was in for included a few highly sensual moments with Annie.

ANNIE HAD NO intention of telling Sean Murphy the whole story. She’d tell him enough—in fact, most of it. She’d make it clear that she couldn’t show up at the family party without a man on her arm, and she’d even try to explain why. Though, honestly, until he met her family, he probably wouldn’t understand how serious the situation was.

She would not, however, go into details on the whole Blake-the-snake thing. Because that episode in her life was so humiliating, she couldn’t bring herself to speak about it.

Thankfully, only Tara had any idea that Annie had been dating the father of one of the kids from the center. That was a blessing, because she’d been breaking her own rule against fraternizing with the clients.

Annie knew from experience that some young, pretty day care workers could easily get swept away by the handsome, wealthy dads who occasionally picked up the children. At the first child care center she’d worked at in Chicago, one of her coworkers had landed in the middle of a nasty divorce scandal that had nearly destroyed the reputation of the business. So the No Fraternization policy had been a top-ten rule when she’d buried herself in debt in order to open her own place three years ago.

And she’d broken it.

That she’d done it unwittingly was not a good enough excuse. She should have known better, should have seen through Blake’s charm and his lies.

He’d just been so damned convincing and his lifestyle so convenient a backup to his story. His wife, who, Annie later learned, was an E.R. nurse with a demanding schedule, had never once visited the center. Not for an initial interview, not for a drop-off, a pickup or even one of the children’s programs. So it had been easy to believe Blake when he said his wife had divorced him and he was raising his precious two-year-old son alone.

Imagine Annie’s surprise when one month ago—six weeks after Blake had started bringing the boy to Baby Daze—his not-so-ex-wife had confronted Annie in her own office, accusing her of sleeping with her husband. God, of all the moments in her life she’d like to forget, that was the worst. Thankfully, it had been late in the day. No other parents had been around and all her staff had gone home, except Tara.

Beyond that, the only saving grace was that she’d been able to truthfully deny having had sex with Blake. It was small comfort, considering they had been dating and had shared certain intimacies. But it was something.

“Enough,” she whispered, the memories making her head ache. Forcing the awful images out of her head, she tried to focus on exactly what she’d say to Sean, who should be showing up at the bar any minute. She’d arrived at five-fifty, so anxious about the meeting that she’d actually taken off from work early, leaving her assistant manager in charge of shutting the center down.

It was very unlike her. But then, so was blowing an absolute fortune—including the bulk of her savings account—on one date with a stranger.

“Not just one date,” she reminded herself. The price she’d paid would prove well worth it if Sean could help her keep her family from learning the truth about Annie’s rather sordid love life. As a bonus, it should also keep them off her back for another few months about her true single status.

“Talking to yourself?”

Wondering if she’d broken a hundred mirrors over the past seven years to inspire such bad luck, she glanced up to see Sean Murphy standing beside her table. God, could this meeting have started off any worse? He’d caught her muttering to herself as she nursed a glass of wine in a dark corner of a shadowy bar.

Plus, oh, joy, she’d just noticed that her bright blue Baby Daze uniform shirt had what appeared to be a spit-up stain on the sleeve and a smear of red finger paint on the hem. Pathetic.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” He looked amused, as if he’d read her thoughts.

He’d probably read her next one, too, as she studied him, top to bottom, wondering how on earth she was going to convince anyone she’d landed someone this good-looking. Guys like Sean didn’t know places like Green Springs existed, and they most assuredly never hooked up with girls from them.

That fact was made more obvious by his appearance. Even without his evening wear, he still looked too hot for her, no matter what his resume said about his profession. Although, in terms of his clothes, he couldn’t look much more different than he had last night.

Sean wore soft, faded jeans that clung to his lean hips and rode every lump and angle of his body. Some lumps were incredibly obvious, given her position, seated and looking almost directly at his middle.

Lord have mercy, could the man fill out a pair of jeans. She shifted slightly on the hard wooden bench, suddenly very aware of the pressure against her bottom and her thighs. And the very tender spot between them.

Taking in a slow, shaky breath, she forced herself to lift her eyes, noting the crisp white dress shirt. It was unbuttoned at the throat and folded up at the sleeves to reveal thickly flexing forearms. They were roped with muscle, lightly covered with dark, wiry hair, hinting at strength and power that hadn’t been as obvious beneath the tuxedo. She imagined he’d have to be powerfully built, if he spent most of his time responding to accident scenes, saving people’s lives.

Tonight he seemed the antithesis of the tux-wearing sophisticate she’d met at the auction, but the attitude, the half smile, the gleam in his eyes revealed the innately sexy, confident man inside. No matter what he was wearing.

She grabbed her wineglass and sipped deeply as he sat down across from her.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, I don’t often get ‘round to this area when I’m in Chicago.”

Her brow went up. “You don’t live here?”

“Not usually.”

Interesting answer.

“Where do you live? Usually.”

He waved a noncommittal hand in the air, evading a question that most people would consider extremely simple. The reaction was confirmed by his words. “That’s complicated.”

“For escaped cons on the run, maybe. Not normal people.”

“I’m not exactly normal people.”

Undoubtedly.

“But my mailing address doesn’t really matter, does it? All that matters is that I’ll be around this weekend.”

“Just this weekend…” she murmured, before she could think better of it.

Sean nodded once. Though his voice remained friendly, his smile diminished the tiniest bit. “Yes, Annie. One weekend. I’ll be leaving Chicago on Monday.”

Annie heard what he was saying, and what he wasn’t. She had to give the man credit—at least he wasn’t making empty promises. He was laying it out on the table, what he could offer her, what she might expect from him. His terms.

He didn’t say “Take it or leave it.” He didn’t have to.

She’d take it. How much of it, she wasn’t sure yet. But, at least, she knew the rules going in and could decide whether or not that weekend would end at her front door when they returned from her family’s place, on Sunday afternoon.

Or in her bed, much later that night.

“I understand,” she finally replied, forcing herself to sound casual, completely unaffected by the unspoken agreement they’d just made. “Through this weekend.”

“Okay,” he said, though, surprisingly, he didn’t sound entirely comfortable about her ready agreement. “Now we have to decide how we’re going to spend it.”

They were going to spend it perpetrating a fraud. But that seemed a little too honest to start out the conversation.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“That’s not complicated. I have an apartment in Lincoln Park. Not far from my day care center.”

“And you live alone? No roommates?”

She knew he was trying to get more information, possibly even open the door to discuss her romantic past. But no way was she going there. “Just me and Wally.”

His jaw stiffened. “Who’s Wally?”

“My cat,” she explained with a soft laugh. Remembering something she hadn’t cleared with him, Annie added, “He’ll be coming with us on Saturday. I hope that’s all right.”

“I’m allergic.”

Oh, no.

“Kidding,” he said, holding a hand up, palm out, as he saw her panic. “Lord, girl, but you’re easy to get a rise out of.”

“I warned you about that catfish,” she said, unable to keep herself from laughing. He was…charming, that was all. Even when he was trying to get her back up, he was entirely charming. Easy to talk to, amusing, flirtatious but also courteous, his teasing sounding even more lighthearted with his lyrical accent.

She’d never met another man like him. And she wanted him with a kind of desperation that she’d never experienced before. The lust bubbling up inside her almost made her shake with its intensity.

Lust. She, little Annie Davis, whose brothers had put out a bounty on any guy who dared even think about relieving her of her virginity in high school, was seriously in lust.

The things she wanted to do with this man probably hadn’t even entered the heated imaginations of the guys she’d gone to school with.

“Maybe I should meet Wally before we’re stuck in a car together for a few hours on Saturday.” The mischief in his smile negated the seriousness of his suggestion. “Perhaps you ought to invite me to come home with you.”

Oh, yeah, that’d be a great idea. Once she got him inside and shut the door, she’d immediately try to come up with some excuse to tear her clothes off—like, maybe because she got splashed with acid or something. And then she’d find a reason to leap naked into his arms.

That would be easy…she could just tell him the truth. She was so damned attracted to him, she couldn’t help herself.

Too soon. Annie never acted on instant attraction. That had saved her ass with Blake. So she wasn’t about to question her own judgment now by leaping into this man’s bed within twenty-four hours of meeting him.

This Sunday, though? Within six days? Well, she’d give it some serious thought.

Not even bothering to answer his question about coming home with her, she asked, “Want a drink?”

He nodded, letting her change the subject. Signaling the waitress, he ordered a pint, which sounded perfect coming out of his Irish mouth.

His very kissable Irish mouth.

Just the thought of the kisses they’d shared last night was enough to make her want to sink low in her seat and relive it in her mind. Then fantasize about the next one.

“You’re starin’, Annie,” he said, his voice silky smooth.

Shaking her head quickly, Annie mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you wear your every thought on your face?” He definitely seemed capable of reading her mind. “You’ve not got a deceptive bone in that beautiful body.”

Ignoring the flash of pleasure shooting through her so-not-beautiful body, she went for bravado, knowing she was about as good at bluffing as Wally would ever be at roller-skating. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He grinned, but didn’t call her on the lie, since his drink was just being delivered. Drawing a deep sip, he winced as he lowered the glass to the table.

“Not good?”

“It loses its flavor with every mile it’s shipped away from Dublin, and the bartender drew it far too quickly.”

“So you are from Ireland. Not just of Irish descent.”

“I was born in San Francisco, actually. My mother’s American. But after their divorce, when I was just a tot, my father took me back to Ireland.” Though his tone remained easy, his body had stiffened. She understood why when he added, “And that’s as much as we’re going to talk about that.”

“Sorry,” she said, realizing the subject was a touchy one.

Maybe Sean had family issues, too. She couldn’t be the only person to come from a big, obnoxious, pushy clan. Even if it sometimes felt that way, given the reactions of many of her friends here in Chicago. They generally listened with fond amusement to the stories of her childhood, then treated her like she was the only refugee from the planet of 1950s Small-Town Hell.

Annie reached for the small bowl of nuts the waitress had deposited on their table, carefully picking one up and lifting it to her mouth. “I guess you’d like to know about the weekend now.”

“I would.”

“Then you can decide if you want to back out.”

“I will not. I told you last night I’d accompany you.”

“But I thought we were meeting so I could convince you.”

He reached across the table and stroked the back of her hand with his warm fingertips. “We’re meeting because I couldn’t stand to wait four more days to see you again.”

Wow. Talk about words going straight from one person’s mouth to another person’s heart. Or stomach. Or anywhere else…. Annie’s thighs clenched below the table, and she scooched her legs together, suddenly very aware of the tight seam of her pants.

Because the words—plus that touch, and the intimate look in his eye—had definitely landed there.

“Since we’re here, however, you might as well fill me in.” Smiling slightly, he averted his gaze and let go of her hand. “Though, I think I might be able to venture a guess.”

“Oh, really?” Her tone held unspoken challenge.

He tilted his head, thinking about it. “It’s your highschool reunion and you’re the last unmarried prom princess?”

She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t the prom princess type.”

More the dairy princess. But she didn’t want to mention the cows again until it was absolutely necessary.

Sean tried again. “Your ex-boyfriend’s getting married and you can’t stand to show up alone?”

“Not even close,” she said. “My only ex-boyfriend back in my old hometown can’t get married legally, at least not in this state. Though he and his partner seem very happy anyway.”

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