She made him nervous.

“Stay put,” Maxwell said, holding out a hand to stop her.

“I can’t sit down?” Danielle asked, halting her progress into his office.

His voice dropped to a low growl. “You won’t be staying that long.”

“I’m in no rush,” she replied, proceeding to the chair in front of his desk and sitting down.

Maxwell caught her scent, that gentle, misty fragrance he’d noticed the first time he’d encountered her. He had to get her out of here. “Go harass someone else,” he said.

“I’d rather fight with you.”

He glanced her way sharply. A mistake. She recrossed her legs slowly. Was she doing that on purpose? It wasn’t possible, he decided. She wasn’t that cruel.

But his mouth went dry all the same, and something kicked at his chest from the inside.

He thought it might be his heart….

Dear Reader,

We’ve been trying to capture what Silhouette Romance means to our readers, our authors and ourselves. In canvassing some authors, I’ve heard wonderful words about the characteristics of a Silhouette Romance novel—innate tenderness, lively, thoughtful, fun, emotional, hopeful, satisfying, warm, sparkling, genuine and affirming.

It pleases me immensely that our writers are proud of their line and their readers! And I hope you’re equally delighted with their offerings. Be sure to drop a line or visit our Web site and let us know what we’re doing right—and any particular favorite topics you want to revisit.

This month we have another fantastic lineup filled with variety and strong writing. We have a new continuity—HAVING THE BOSS’S BABY! Judy Christenberry’s When the Lights Went Out… starts off the series about a powerful executive’s discovery that one woman in his office is pregnant with his child. But who could it be? Next month Elizabeth Harbison continues the series with A Pregnant Proposal.

Other stories for this month include Stella Bagwell’s conclusion to our MAITLAND MATERNITY spin-off. Go find The Missing Maitland. Raye Morgan’s popular office novels continue with Working Overtime. And popular Intimate Moments author Beverly Bird delights us with an amusing tale about Ten Ways To Win Her Man.

Two more emotional titles round out the month. With her writing partner, Debrah Morris wrote nearly fifteen titles for Silhouette Books as Pepper Adams. Now she’s on her own with A Girl, a Guy and a Lullaby. And Martha Shields’s dramatic stories always move me. Her Born To Be a Dad opens with an unusual, powerful twist and continues to a highly satisfying ending!

Enjoy these stories, and keep in touch.

Mary-Theresa Hussey,

Senior Editor

Ten Ways To Win Her Man
Beverly Bird

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by Beverly Bird

Silhouette Romance

Ten Ways To Win Her Man #1550

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Emeralds in the Dark #3

The Fires of Winter #23

Ride the Wind #139

A Solitary Man #172

*A Man Without Love #630

*A Man Without a Haven #641

*A Man Without a Wife #652

Undercover Cowboy #711

The Marrying Kind #732

Compromising Positions #777

†Loving Mariah #790

†Marrying Jake #802

†Saving Susannah #814

It Had To Be You #970

I’ll Be Seeing You #1030

Out of Nowhere #1090

Silhouette Desire

The Best Reasons #190

Fool’s Gold #209

All the Marbles #227

To Love a Stranger #411

BEVERLY BIRD

has lived in several places in the United States, but she is currently back where her roots began on an island in New Jersey. Her time is devoted to her family and her writing. She is the author of numerous romance novels, both contemporary and historical. Beverly loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 350, Brigantine, NJ 08203.

Ten Ways To Win Her Man

1 Invest in red lace lingerie and make sure he gets a glimpse of it.

2 Give half a million dollars to his favorite charity.

3 Ditch the business suits in favor of skirts…short skirts.

4 Share his interest in sports. Let him take you out to the ball game.

5 Learn to cook. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

6 Spend another half million on the land he wants, to boggle his mind and pique his interest.

7 Be unpredictable and keep him off balance. Never be the same woman

8 Wine and dine him. Bring in violinists to provide romantic music.

9 Give him long, steady come-hither looks that stop his breath.

10 And finally, when all else fails…seduce him. Or try to.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

He entered her life at 6:22 on a Tuesday evening, and suddenly nothing was the same.

The sky outside her office window rolled with gray-black clouds at the time, uncertain if it wanted to weep, or spit late-season ice. Until it made up its mind, Danielle Dempsey Harrington chose to ignore it. She maneuvered a toy car along the miniature driveway that surrounded the elaborate model of the newest Harrington resort and she frowned.

The plans were solid, and construction would begin in twenty-six days, but now she wondered whether the grand entrance loggia should face the sea or the mountains. It was just last-minute jitters, she thought, but she fretted. The sea would be more dramatic. The mountains, dignified and majestic.

“Eeny, meeny, miney, mo,” she murmured aloud. “Front or back? Beach or mountains?” And what would her project supervisor do if she changed her mind now?

“So this is how the movers and shakers get things done.”

Danielle yelped at the unexpected voice behind her. She spun away from the model, and the little car sailed from her hand. It landed on her desk—amazingly, wheels down—and raced across the polished ebony surface. The man caught it in one hand just as it nosedived off the far edge. He looked down at it as it lay nestled in his palm.

“More lives saved,” he murmured. “It’s my calling.”

Then Danielle knew who he was.

She stared at him. She couldn’t breathe, she realized distractedly, then she dragged in air. Nothing—nothing—could have prepared her for Maxwell Padgett in the flesh, if only because that flesh was so incredible.

She’d known of him, of course, though she had never actually met him face-to-face before now. He was the boon of the newly elected Senator Stan Roberson’s recent campaign. She thought they might be related somehow, but she couldn’t remember the details. It didn’t matter. Max Padgett was a force to be reckoned with on his own. She knew. His Coalition for Wildlife, Fields and Streams had been hammering at her for months now, mostly through correspondence and political maneuvering. His effort to have half a million dollars worth of Harrington land taken by eminent domain had been his most brazen bid. He’d lost, but not before costing her a small fortune in legal fees.

For that alone she should have detested him. And she had, for months. But as he stood smiling at her now, her anger and irritation siphoned out of her and left her mind blank.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked.

Danielle opened her mouth to respond. She snapped it shut again and looked from the car, to his face, to the car again. She needed a snappy comeback but she couldn’t dredge one up because, that quickly her gaze got stuck on his hands.

They were get-things-done hands, she thought a little dazedly. Not soft, not pampered, not manicured, but with a force and presence all their own. Suddenly she imagined them on her skin—a searing image that came out of nowhere and couldn’t have been more alien to her nature than pigtails and a pitchfork, yet flashed through her mind nonetheless. Her heart began moving with alarming, unnatural urgency.

Hands? This was happening to her because of his hands? Then again, there was still the matter of the rest of him. His impact wasn’t diminishing despite the amount of time he’d already spent in her office.

“What do you want?” She opened her mouth, and the words fell out, blunt and rattled.

“A few minutes of your time.” He closed the distance between them and placed the car back on the model driveway. He did it the way he might handle one of the birds he was so hell-bent on saving lately—the ones he’d tried to grab her land for. He had gentle, forceful hands, Danielle thought, and she shivered.

She hadn’t shivered in, well, maybe forever. She was losing her mind.

“Here’s the part where you acknowledge my request,” he suggested. “A simple yes or no will suffice.”

Danielle cleared her throat. “You can have fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll use it wisely then.” He slid those hands into his trouser pockets. “You know, I thought you’d be more glib. A wizard with words. A great verbal fencer. That’s what they say about you.”

Danielle recovered a little more. “I am, but you just walked right in.” She frowned. “You startled me, and that put me at a disadvantage.”

“Ah.” He made the word vibrate with pure masculine satisfaction. “I did that, yes.”

“It was rude.” What, she wondered, was that cologne he was wearing?

“Should I go out and come back in? Start all over again and do it right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Danielle tried for her trademark glib charm and waved a hand. “Have a seat. My secretary’s gone for the day. That means there’s no coffee.” She wanted to mention that most people met on matters such as this during regular business hours. But to be fair, he’d requested several appointments with her and she’d declined all of them.

Danielle went to an entertainment center of gleaming black wood built into the wall next to the windows. She stooped to the lower level and opened a small snack bar there, half of it given over to a compact refrigerator. “I can offer you bottled water, a soft drink, papaya juice or scotch.” She straightened again to face him. She had herself together now.

“Good scotch?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re having?”

She heard Richard’s voice whispering in her mind, imparting implacable lessons as he always had. He had been gone for three years now but he could still pop into her head at times like this. Never drink while you’re doing business, my dear. Just pretend you are, in order to be sociable. You don’t want your head to get muddled. She wouldn’t mind Max Padgett’s mind going a little soft for the next fifteen minutes or so, Danielle decided. She didn’t intend for him to stay any longer than that. “Scotch,” she said.

Max Padgett nodded. “I’ll join you.”

She took two crystal glasses from an overhead shelf and began to make the drinks. Max watched her, contemplating this turn of events.

He’d expected her to show him the door, maybe call security to make sure he went on his way, not offer him a drink. Grace under fire, he thought, appreciating it. She wasn’t much like he’d anticipated at all.

He’d seen her picture in the papers a few times. None of them had done her justice. Her hair was inky black and reasonably short, curling gently at her collar. She wore it tucked behind seashell ears that wore large diamond studs. She was surprisingly petite—all the photographs he had seen of her had given the impression of more stature. She couldn’t be more than five foot two. She was slender as a reed and moved like one giving way to the wind. She wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses that kept trying to slide down her nose as she looked into the scotch tumblers. Cute.

She put a bare splash of scotch in her own glass, more than an inch and a half in his, and topped both off with water at the wet bar. Max grinned to himself. Petite or not, she wanted an edge here, and she was enough the corporate warrior to do what she had to do to get it.

When she made a move toward her desk, he settled into the deep leather chair in front of it. He accepted the glass she passed to him and watched her relax into her own chair. She leaned back coolly, one very elegant leg coming up to cross over the other. She held her own glass in her lap with both hands, and her long, manicured fingers wrapped around it with a smooth ease that gave him a moment’s pause and kicked at his pulse.

Damned if the lady didn’t have an effect on him. It would make their war interesting, he thought.

“Where were we?” she asked.

“Hmm, we were about to discuss birds.”

She nodded sagely. “Let me start for you.”

“By all means.” So civilized, he thought.

“You’re here to fight for your little plovers.”

She was too polished to sneer, he realized, but on any other woman, that was what her expression would be called. “Semipalmated,” he added.

“Palm what?” Danielle jolted. She looked back at his hands again, watching one lift his drink to his mouth, suddenly mesmerized, just as she’d begun to get her footing. She drank from her own glass quickly and deeply.

“My little plovers are the semipalmated variety,” Max explained.

“Of course.”

“They’re currently reduced to a population of less than five thousand. But you knew that.”

“You’ve pointed it out to me in your many, many letters.”

“Enterprises such as yours are killing them off.”

“I’m sorry.” What was she saying? He was getting to her. She knew better than to show any edge of weakness. Danielle rallied. “I have one little enterprise. There are obscene gobs of them up and down the California coast. Why don’t you go pick on someone else?”

“Because those resorts are already in existence. That damage is done. You I can stop. You haven’t broken ground yet.”

Her chin came up like a challenge. “We’ll do it on May first.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“That’s my point. You can’t. I’ve met all zoning ordinances and every other requirement. There’s no sense in bickering about this any longer. I won.”

“Oh, I agree. The bickering stage is over. Now it’s time for some hand-to-hand combat.”

Hand-to-hand? Danielle felt the room spin away.

She looked into his eyes, a cool, gentle blue beneath dark hair. They seemed amused now. For a single, gripping moment she wondered if he somehow knew how he was affecting her, what she was thinking.

Her office was unbearably warm. Her secretary must have nudged the thermostat up again. Danielle got to her feet to check. The thermostat was set at sixty-eight.

“I’d appeal to your good will,” he continued, speaking to her over his shoulder, “but you don’t have any.”

“Of course I do.”

“No one has mentioned it.” He leaned forward to place his drink on her desk. “Let me tell you what I know about you, then we can get back to my plovers.”

“Palm plovers.”

“Semipalmated.” He grinned again and got to his feet to pace her office. Danielle went quickly to sit.

“You’re shrewd, calculating and you always land on your feet,” he began. “You married Richard Harrington when you were twenty-six, straight out of Stanford with your M.B.A. He was twenty years your elder. Your mother passed away when you were twelve. Your father—Michael Dempsey—was a labor union leader of some renown. You made the rounds with him. You were his shadow all through your youth. You learned the ropes early on.”

“Thank you.”

Max raised a brow at that, not sure if she was appreciative of his comments regarding her father or herself. Something happened briefly to her eyes. He thought a shadow moved there. “Richard—your husband—taught you everything he knew,” he continued, watching her closely.

“I only wish.”

“He died three years ago and you inherited from him obscene business assets.”

“His daughter got a portion.”

“But you bought her out.”

She engaged his eyes, then took another quick sip of scotch. “True.”

“Now you’re the uncontroverted CEO of Harrington Resorts and Enterprises, Ltd., something you’ve been groomed for all your life.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Danielle agreed. She didn’t tell him that she’d absorbed her father’s teachings almost by osmosis. She’d been by his side mostly for photo opportunities.

“They say all you care about is the bottom line,” Maxwell said.

That stung a little. “Close, but not quite.”

“And you’re alone now.”

She jumped in her chair as though he had touched her, but when she looked at him, he was studying the model of the resort. Her heart kicked. Had he said that—or had she imagined it? Again she had the panicky feeling that he could somehow see inside her head. Alone had been a cold place inside her through too many years of her life to count.

That had definitely gotten a reaction out of her, Max thought, watching her through his peripheral vision. “The Gold Beach resort is the first you’ve done entirely by yourself.”

“Insofar as from start to finish, that’s correct.” But she spoke with less than her usual force, he noticed.

“What a shame. It would have been spectacular.”

“It’s going to be a doozy.”

He laughed aloud. “What do your friends call you?”

“Why?” she asked, startled.

“Danielle? Sir? M’lady?”

“Danielle.”

“Ah.”

This time that single word slid over her skin like warm velvet. “Ah, what?” she asked suspiciously.

“Just, ah. May I call you Dani? I think it suits you more.” Danielle was the woman he’d just described, he thought. Dani would volley about words like doozy.

“No!”

Maxwell laughed again. “Then, m’lady, I will tell you this. Assuming your new resort was actually to come into being, you’d want the entrance to face the sea.”

“I would?” Danielle sat up straighter in her chair, eyeing him.

“Imagine the view during a good storm that keeps people inside.”

He had a point and she liked it.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “this resort cannot possibly come into being because if it does, it will destroy untold unborn semipalmated plovers. The birds are indigenous to Alaska and western Canada, but they migrate twice yearly to South America and back again. And Gold Beach is one of their very favorite places to stop and nest along the way. Particularly, your section of Gold Beach.”

“They’ll be welcome, of course.” Danielle sat back in her chair again. “Our low-end rooms will start at $175 a night.”

He brought the bottle of scotch back to her desk and topped hers off without adding water. Danielle nudged it away carefully, her hands a little unsteady as he leaned across her desk toward her.

“I think that’s out of their price range,” he murmured.

She forced a shrug. He was too close. “I’m sorry. I can’t help them then.”

“Where else will they go?”

“Jonas Patterson’s place in Monterey?”

He grinned, but this time it was a fast look, gone almost before it started. It showed teeth. “The birds only visit in the spring and fall. They should return to that beach any day now. When you break ground on May first, you’re going to destroy every egg they put down. Don’t kill them off, Dani. Have a heart.”

She shot to her feet. Maybe it was because he had called her Dani. Maybe it was the fact that he’d remained close enough to her to breathe her air. Or maybe it was only because his suggestion was outrageous. “You honestly expect me to scrap a thirty-million-dollar project because of some birds?”

“Honestly,” he agreed.

“You’re crazy!”

“As a loon.”

“How did that species get into this?”

“Actually, I saved them, too, at a lake atop Junipero Sierra Peak five years ago.”

“You’re a regular Birdman of California, aren’t you?”

“I’m an environmental lobbyist.”

“And environmental issues are Stanley J. Roberson’s platform. What a coincidence.”

“Not really.”

That surprised her. He was honest. She liked it. “Maybe you should tell him to stick to the state budget.”

“I can’t save that for him and I never promised I would.” Maxwell finally left her desk and strode across the room, back to the model.

Danielle looked down into her glass. Somehow it had gotten into her hand again and now it was empty. She had probably consumed more scotch in the last half hour than she had in the previous three years combined.

And Max Padgett was looking better by the mouthful.

“This is absurd,” she muttered, not sure if she was speaking of the birds or the way his grin softened his mouth, the way he had her reacting.

“You won’t end up thinking so.”

She looked up again quickly. “Is that a threat?”

“More or less.”

“With what? I’m legal! That sight is clean, totally permitted, ready to go!”

“But it won’t go because deep in your heart you know I’m right about this.” He paused and looked at her steadily. “Take a step back, Dani. Think it over. If you proceed, you’ll have a substantial fight on your hands. This was a courtesy call. After this, things get ugly.”

“You can’t seriously think I’ll accommodate you on this. It makes absolutely no fiscal sense, and I have board members to report to!”

“It was worth a try.”

“So was looking for life on Mars but no one seriously thought they’d find it there.”

“Call me a dreamer.”

And wouldn’t that go with those blue eyes. Danielle shook her head as something soft tried to fill it. “My answer is no.”

“So it’s on to round two then. But Dani.” He trailed off and moved to the door, opened it and looked back at her. “Don’t take anything that happens from here on in personally. Just for the record, it turns out that I like you.”

“That’s m’lady to you.” Her intelligent, calculating, CEO knees nearly buckled.

He chuckled, a sound that was rich and warm and golden, then he stepped through the door again and was gone.

Danielle’s stomach jittered. It felt as if it had suddenly filled with a hundred fluttering…well, plovers. She’d read somewhere—probably in all that literature he’d sent her—that they darted after their food when they were hungry. Her nerves were darting. She sank back down into her chair again, dazed.

What had just happened here? Pure, sizzling, instant chemical attraction, she answered herself. It scared her to death. She didn’t know quite what to do with it.

But she liked it.

Chapter Two

“He wants you to call off the resort because of those birds?”

Danielle’s secretary stood openmouthed in the center of her office early the next morning. Angelique was a stunning, statuesque and shrewd blonde who proved that looks didn’t necessarily preclude brains or vice versa. When Richard had first hired her, Danielle had felt the requisite kick of wifely alarm. Then she had gotten to know her.

Three years ago, when Richard had passed on, Danielle had moved her own lackluster secretary into the PR department and had kept Angelique on to work for her. Over time, they’d become friends, eschewing all Richard’s whispered warnings in Danielle’s head that it wasn’t wise to become overly intimate with the staff. The business was all Danielle had. There was no one outside it for her to confide in, worry with, to clap for her victories. Without Angelique, Danielle knew she would be isolated in her ivory tower.

Maxwell Padgett’s words shot back to her. And you’re alone now. She shook them off.

“Actually, I think it’s all political.” Danielle sipped papaya juice. Twelve hours after the scotch, she still had a headache. Twelve hours after Maxwell Padgett had made his departure, her insides still hummed.

Angelique thought about that and nodded. “Senator Roberson promised something during his campaign about preserving that area of coastline.”

“Yes.” And the public knew that with Maxwell Padgett and his coalition in his corner, Roberson could deliver on such promises. It had gotten Roberson elected by a narrow margin. What he’d had over his opponent was his close relationship with the powerful lobbyist who could be trusted to push through the legislation Roberson wrote.

Still, Danielle had stood tough against both of them for months. But now she had actually met Maxwell Padgett and that put a different spin on things. Her blood shivered again.

“How do you do it?” she asked suddenly. “How do you draw men like bees to honey?” It was one of Angelique’s gifts. Longevity in relationships was not.

Angelique poured herself a mug of coffee and frowned at her. “Why do you want to know?”

Just for the record, it turns out that I like you. Remembering Max’s words, she recalled the skitter of excitement that had gone through her. She wanted to feel more of that, Danielle thought, whatever had been going through her blood since twenty past six last night. “I’ve decided I want one.”

Angelique went still. “But you were married to Richard.” Angelique rarely made such inane observations which, Danielle supposed, only showed how much she’d surprised her. And what did that say for the state of her life?

“Of course I was,” Danielle said. “Three years ago. You’re the one who keeps telling me that you think I need to get out more.”

“I know. I did. I do.” Angelique drank from her mug. “I guess I meant…with friends. I seem to have this image of you and Richard still welded together, in the back of my brain.”

“He’s gone now,” Danielle said quietly. And, she thought, she had never felt like this with Richard. Not once, not for a second or a minute or an hour. She’d met him during her last year in graduate school when he’d lectured to one of her classes. He’d invited her for a cup of coffee afterward, and they’d eased into a comfortable, steady courtship that had turned into a comfortable, steady marriage. It had lasted for seven quiet years until he had died. He’d taught her, praised her, admired her…and yes, in many ways he’d welded her to his side where nothing or no one could do her harm or touch her too closely.

This was different.

This was…lust, Danielle thought. It was chemistry, with a zing here and a wallop there. It was fireworks on the Fourth of July going off in her brain. It was possibility—open, endless possibility—a feeling of being utterly alive. Maxwell’s hands! And that grin. His eyes! Her heart rolled over.

She’d been in awe of Richard from the first moment she’d met him, but he had never once made her forget herself and drink two scotch and waters. Their marriage had been a placid pond compared to a churning ocean. Max Padgett was tidal waves, and she had only just realized that she didn’t know how to swim.

“Okay, I can deal with this,” Angelique mused. “You are, after all, still a young woman.”

Danielle glanced at her. “Well, thank you for that.” She was only thirty-six.

“Are we talking about any specific man here?”

“Maxwell Padgett.”

Angelique’s jaw dropped all over again. “This is about the bird man?”

“Who did you think I was talking about? Will you help me?”

“To do what exactly?”

“I don’t know…to acquire his interest.”

Angelique was instantly alarmed. “Acquire? A man isn’t some property you can buy! If you want him, you have to lure him.”

“Lure?” Danielle paused, frowning. “Okay. But I need a plan.”

“A plan is exactly what you don’t need.”

“I want to set my goals and figure out how best to effectuate them.”

“No! With men, you just have to sort of…you know, feel your way along. A plan would scare the death out of 90 percent of them. If Max even smells a plan—” Angelique broke off and snapped her fingers. “Gone.”

“No plan?” Danielle repeated faintly. She was definitely out of her depth here.

“No, just a few minor adjustments to start with. The first thing you need to do is plunk down a million or so into some kind of sanctuary for those little feathered friends of his.”

“A million?” She was shocked. “That’s ridiculous! They’re plovers!”

“It will look sincere. And he feels strongly about them. Besides, Richard left you with more money than you could spend in a lifetime even if you weren’t raking in your own huge salary.”

That was true. Danielle hesitated, then she nodded. It seemed like a lot, but Angelique knew about such things. She was never without a man.

“It will make him happy,” Angelique continued, “and it will buy us some time to get rid of these suits you always wear.”

“Richard loved my suits!”

“What do you want here, Danielle? Another solid marriage or scintillating passion?”

“Passion,” she said quickly. But she thought both. Then again, she’d already been blessed with the first, had never enjoyed the second, so maybe this wasn’t the time to split hairs.

“Go shopping this weekend,” Angelique advised. “If you want to catch his attention, you’ll need to drop the professional ice a little. Until then, stall him. That’s my best advice for now.” Angelique went to the office door in a swirl of blond curls. Danielle studied her electric-blue skirt and the clever white sweater that stopped just at her waist. “By the way, what are you going to do about the groundbreaking?”

“I’m going ahead with it,” Danielle said quickly.

“Good.”

“If I back down too soon he won’t have any excuse to try to talk me into changing my mind.”

Angelique rolled her eyes and went outside to her desk in the little anteroom just outside the office. Danielle sat at her own desk. She picked up a pen, then put it down again. She hugged herself and sighed.

“Danielle Harrington has established some kind of plover fund to the tune of a half million dollars,” Roger Kimmelman said. “She says you can use it to buy them different land.”

Max looked up at his aide then he sat back, laced his fingers behind his head and put his feet up on his desk. “They don’t want different land. They want Gold Beach.”

Roger nodded. He was all squeaky-clean professionalism, with blond hair perfectly coiffed. His white shirt and dark trousers were pressed razor-sharp. Roger wanted Max’s job.

That was fine with Max. At thirty-nine, he fully acknowledged that he wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He cared about the environment, about the earth that his generation would leave to the next. He thought he could do some good for California during Stan Roberson’s term. But politics was not particularly what he wanted to do for a lifetime.

He finally shrugged and dropped his hands. “We can’t blame her for trying.”

“She’s weaseling,” Roger said firmly.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“She hasn’t announced a delay in her groundbreaking ceremonies.”

“She wouldn’t. Not yet.” Somehow, though he barely knew her, he was sure of that. It would be too easy and not her style. Then Max smiled.

It was Friday. Three days had passed since his unannounced visit to her. It was time to step things up a notch. “Start making those phone calls and we’ll implement Plan B. Let’s see what we can do by five o’clock.”

“That’s excellent, sir! We’ll get in the last coup with the press before the weekend.”

Max honestly didn’t care too much about coups. He cared about the plovers. And, he realized, he was looking forward to seeing Dani Harrington again.

She was a captivating woman. She had a quick wit, an amusing charm. This would certainly bring her down to Gold Beach in a hurry, he thought. Max rose from his desk, still grinning.

Danielle was on the telephone with the head of her advertising department when Angelique burst into the room, then slammed the door behind her hard.

“What is it?” Danielle asked, alarmed.

“There are 432 people out there protesting!”

Danielle hung up quickly and came to her feet. “Out where?”

“At the site! At Gold Beach. They’re protesting for the plovers. They’re carrying placards!”

“But I gave him half a million dollars until I could go shopping!”

“Five hundred thousand?” Angelique pressed her hands to the sides of her head. “I told you to humor him! I told you a million! Now all you’ve done is wave a red flag in front of a bull!”

“Well, it’s too late now.” Danielle spun away from her desk. What had gone wrong here?

“Channel 3 is covering it,” Angelique reported, “but I’m sure the other networks will be jumping in shortly.”

“Channel 3 interrupted regular programming for this? They’re just birds!” Danielle was shocked. She rushed to the entertainment center. Obviously, Maxwell was accelerating the game, she thought. But she wasn’t prepared!

Just for the record, it turns out that I like you. Was it possible that he just wanted to see her again? There were simpler ways to go about it!

Danielle punched on the television. She switched to Channel 3, and his wonderful, enticing face filled the screen. It was windy out at the site today. One lock of dark hair fell forward over his brow. The gusts lifted it, kicked it, put it back again. She wanted to touch it.

“What are you going to do?” Angelique fretted.

Danielle brought herself back and looked at her secretary. “I have to put in an appearance before the rest of the television stations get there, but let’s see what he has to say first.” She reached and turned up the volume.

“Ms. Harrington must be made to understand that money does not buy lives!” Max Padgett announced—passionately, she thought. “The earth is our precious commodity! When the plovers return to this site, what will they possibly spend Harrington money on? All they’ll want is their nests, their chicks!”

“Ouch,” Danielle muttered. Then she narrowed her eyes and glared at the television screen. He was turning things all around! That money would buy his birds plenty of land to lay their nests on!

“Scrap the project! Scrap the project!” chanted the placard-carrying crowd behind him.

Still, there was a moral element at play here, Danielle realized. She pressed her hand to her heart. She wished desperately for some of Richard’s advice right now, but the memory of his voice was silent.

“Okay,” she muttered. “I can fix this. Call the other networks. Tell them that if they wait half an hour they’ll get some real footage, because I’ll be there to confront him. I can’t let him have all those cameras to himself.”

“Right.” Angelique yanked the door open again.

“And get Research and Development to do some fast—very fast—digging. I need to know everything there is to know about that stretch of beach by the time I get out there. I need some ammunition now that he’s taking this public.”

Her secretary went out. Danielle headed after her, then she froze in midstride. She was—of course—wearing a suit.

This wouldn’t do.

She could save the site. She was good at that. But she wasn’t dressed—according to Angelique’s advice—for getting her man, to boot. She left her office and stopped at Angelique’s desk.

“I need clothes.”

Angelique replaced the telephone she had just picked up. “There’s no time.” She paused. “You just need cleavage.”

Danielle ripped away the patterned silk scarf she had tucked in at her throat.

“Okay, good. If we can get rid of the slacks, we might have something.”

“I have some clothes here!”

“Is there a skirt? Change the pants for a skirt, then you’ll just have to go for it.”

Danielle hurried back to her office, to the closet tucked into a discreet corner. She pawed through the clothing there. Black, she decided. Her suit jacket was crimson. At least it would make a dramatic contrast. She yanked a skirt off its hanger, then she peeled out of her slacks. She dragged the skirt back up again. She had ankle-high boots on, she realized, and the skirt was as short as an octogenarian’s memory. Now she remembered why she had left it here. She’d considered it inappropriate and had gone out to buy a more suitable one just before a board meeting a few months ago. She’d never taken this one home again because it just wasn’t her style.

But that had been before Maxwell Padgett had crusaded his way into her life.

Danielle left her office again and ran to the elevator. “No, wait!” she heard Angelique cry behind her. “Those boots!”

“I’ll take care of it.”

She jogged down the hallway. At the elevator, the head of her R&D department caught her. “Keep your cell phone on. I think we might have some interesting information on the senator.”

Danielle nodded jerkily and stepped into the elevator rushing out when it landed at the subterranean garage floor. Her keys were already in her hand. She fumbled blindly for the remote to raise the top of her convertible because there would be no place at Gold Beach for her to comb her hair before she faced the television cameras.

Before she reached the vehicle, the ragtop rose overhead and settled nicely into place. She didn’t bother to slap the locks shut. She dove into the driver’s seat and unzipped the ankle-high boots, using her toes to pry them off her feet. Then she jammed the key into the ignition and hit the gas. As she maneuvered her way down the coastal highway, she tossed the boots over her shoulder into the little well of space behind the seats. What the hell? Cameras never caught anything below the waist anyway.

Now she was ready for him.

Channels 4 and 10 were still down at the street, angling their cameras toward town in big, panoramic shots. She’d probably gotten through to the networks and told them she was going to make an appearance, Max decided. That was only fair.

Behind him, his protestors continued to chant and march. And here came an emerald-green BMW Roadster. Maxwell knew before it reached the site and stopped that it would be her. The car suited her—it was different, rich and smart looking. An image filled his head of the top down, that black hair of hers dancing in the wind. Her clear blue eyes would come alive. In his imagination, Max switched her gold-rimmed spectacles for sporty sunglasses. He wondered if she liked the speed of the car or just its lines and the open air.

Then the car’s brakes gave an indignant squeal and its convertible top blew up jerkily. She emerged from the vehicle like a female Poseidon rising from the sea…angry, magnificent, glorious.

Something punched solidly into Max’s gut, taking his air. He loved women—the tastes of them, their scents, their quicksilver moods. He most especially loved to enjoy them, then go home alone to run the good parts through his mind a second time. Then he let go. He kept things light and friendly. He never let himself get too attracted to any of them. It was something he had long accepted and understood about himself. At least, he thought he had…until Danielle Harrington came out of her car.

She wore crimson and black. The neckline of her jacket plunged deeply. As she drew closer, he saw something peeking out at the V. It was fire-engine red, a shade deeper than the jacket.

Lace? She wore fire-engine red underwear.

His eyes roved down. Her skirt was short and narrow. And below that, she was barefoot. This was a new side of the woman he’d read about and had finally met three days ago. Max dropped his own placard at his feet as she reached his side and glared up at him.

“This was sneaky and underhanded!” she charged.

He tried to gather his thoughts. “That’s not true. I warned you up-front that things were about to get ugly.”

“You could have bought those birds gold-plated nests with all the money I donated!”

“The plovers don’t want gold. They want the same land they’ve been squatting on for generations.”

“Ha! There! You see? That is precisely my point. They’re squatting. This is my land. I bought it fair and square.”

“Bottom line again, Dani?”

It hurt. She sucked in her breath. “Go to hell. And don’t call me Dani.”

She was definitely riled, he thought. Temper crackled about her like electricity. She snatched her glasses from her eyes and turned to wave a hand at the news cameras down at the street. The mob rolled toward them.

“My resort will provide jobs, revenue, tax dollars to this county,” she said when they reached them. “Mr. Padgett is being fanatical. He certainly doesn’t have the people’s best interest at heart if he attempts to stall this project!”

All eyes—and all the cameras—swivelled to him. Max pulled his gaze from the red bra showing at the swell of her breasts. What had happened here? Suddenly she was absolute, outrageous, mouth-watering sex.

On television?

It didn’t matter where they were or who was watching. He had never wanted anything more in his life than to topple her here, now, into the sand and steep himself in her. And with her cheeks flushed like that, she looked as if he’d just done exactly that. He very nearly had a visible reaction to that little fantasy right on network news.

“Mr. Padgett?” someone called out.

“What?” He looked quickly back at the cameras.

“Can you give us a reaction to Ms. Harrington’s suggestion?”

Ms. Harrington had made a suggestion?

She turned to face him and cocked one hip. Max leaned closer to her. “You’re practically naked,” he said in an undertone.

“I am not!” But her hand fluttered up as though tug at her neckline before she dropped it again quickly. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

“It’s called leveling the playing field.” It was also called stalling. What the hell had she said to the press?

“I don’t want it level. I want to win.”

“You told me on Tuesday that you already had.”

“That was before I realized you wouldn’t concede graciously.”

“I never led you to believe I would.”

They were nearly nose to nose. The scent she wore made him think of ocean mist, gentle and clinging. It filled his head. Her eyes snapped with blue fire now. For the longest while not one member of the media said a word. Max realized suddenly that the cameras were soaking this up, and he took a quick, precise step back to put distance between them again.

And even so, he could still see a peek of that lace.

He waited for her to say something else. He needed some kind of clue as to what had transpired while he’d been fantasizing about making love to her in the sand. But she only crossed her arms beneath her breasts. The pressure puffed the edges of her lapels out a bit, giving him a good view of some very nice swells and contours. His blood started hammering all over again.

“I dare you to deny it,” she challenged.

He would…if he had any clue at all what it was that he was supposed to be denying.

Danielle swung back to the cameras. Her arms dropped to her sides again and that was a shame. Then she threw a look back at him over her shoulder. Her mouth curved in a clever little smile. And was that an invitation in her eyes?

“The ball’s in your court, Mr. Padgett,” she murmured.

What ball? What court? Where? She turned and began picking her way across the dunes again, toward her car. If there was anything more provocative than the way a woman moved when walking barefoot in sand, Max thought, then he didn’t know what it was. He missed three or four more questions shot at him by the media as he watched her.

“Is it true?” someone from Channel 4 asked.

Max looked back at the cameramen and reporters, feeling dazed. “I’m certainly going to, uh, look into it.”

Satisfied, ready to move on to other, beefier news, the media began to pack up and depart. Even as Danielle’s emerald-green Roadster revved and sped off, Max saw Roger Kimmelman’s sedate gray Chrysler pull into the spot she had vacated. Max jogged over to meet his aide halfway when Roger got out of the car.

“What did she say?” Max demanded.

“Who?” Roger looked at him oddly.

“Danielle Harrington. Here. Just now. To the cameras.”

“You were standing right next to her.”

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

Max opened his mouth and closed it again firmly.

Roger’s frown deepened. “She says your birds can nest on the senator’s land. You could even use her donated half million to buy it.”

Max felt his heart fall hard and fast. It landed in his gut with a thud. “What land?”

“That land over there.”

Roger pointed. Max’s gaze moved reluctantly in that direction.

“You’re telling me that that stretch of beach belongs to Stan?” he asked.

“It’s not something that would have come to the coalition’s attention unless the owner decided to build on it,” Roger said indignantly, as though Max had somehow implied that this nightmare was his fault. “We can’t be expected to police the ownership of every scrap of beach, every field and stream in California, just in case someone might decide to do something with it. There are too many battles to fight without inviting ones that aren’t even an issue yet!”

It was true, Max thought. His lobby rushed in when nature was in danger of being spoiled, raped and ruined by the cancerous spread of civilization. Along this coastline, only Harrington Resorts was threatening that.

Then he had another thought. His heart chugged in alarm. “Did she tell the cameras that Stan was going to build here?”

“She certainly implied it.”

Of course she would, Max thought. This part of the beach was outside the city limits, and anyone planning to develop it needed the power companies to extend their services out this far. The companies would demand an astronomical price for the favor. That was what had protected the land from development for so long. But now Dani Harrington had footed the worst of the bills, and it was logical to infer that other owners would jump in and start building also.

Max rubbed at a headache growing behind his forehead. It was time to have a talk with the man who was the closest thing to a brother he would ever know. But Max looked the way Danielle’s car had gone instead.

Damned if he hadn’t just been sucker punched by a woman in red underwear.

Chapter Three

Was that her? She looked like a…a harlot!

Danielle stood rooted in the middle of her bedroom, clutching the VCR remote in both hands. She shuddered in her thin silk robe, more from shock than the fact that, with usual April capriciousness, the weather had taken a turn back into winter by the time she’d gotten home from the site.

Angelique had dropped off a video tape she’d made of the broadcast. Now, right there on television, Danielle watched her own neckline plunge and her lapels gape. Then the camera pulled back for a wide-angle shot and the public saw more of her legs than her husband probably had in the seven years they’d been married.

What had she done?

When the telephone rang, Danielle jumped and pivoted to the night table. She reached for it, then her hand went still. What if it was a board member? She pressed her fingers to her temples as the phone kept shrilling.

She had a responsibility to so many people and she had always projected a cool, capable image to all of them. Now she’d been caught on all three networks parading around in her underwear.

Danielle took in a deep breath and finally picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Did you watch it yet?” Angelique demanded.

Danielle let her air out. “Half of it.”

“You were perfect.”

“I was—” She broke off, stunned. “What?”

“Watch his eyes!”

Danielle spun back to the television and aimed the remote to freeze the screen. Her own image was nose-to-nose with Maxwell’s in the frame. She remembered this part. It was when she had accused him of not conceding. She’d thought—then—that he’d been staring her right in the eyes—and his hadn’t been cool and clever and amused in that moment. They had been so intent she’d felt the impact of them like a physical touch. But she’d thought it was his temper that had changed them. Now—here, in this frame—she realized that he wasn’t looking into her eyes at all.

He was looking…downward. At her breasts. And the smoke in his gaze had nothing whatsoever to do with plovers.

A steady quaking started inside her. It had worked. Angelique’s advice had worked!

“You’ll be hearing from him soon,” Angelique promised. “I give it forty-eight hours at the outside. Just look at him. He can’t even breathe.”

She couldn’t breathe. Danielle pounded a fist against her chest to jumpstart her heart.

In that moment, if only for that moment, Max Padgett had definitely been interested in what he was seeing. Excitement leaped in her, hot and expectant, then it shredded apart. There was still the matter of her board members. And the plovers. She had a mess on her hands, and for the first time in her entire thirty-six years, her hormones were in overdrive. She could barely even think coherently. Danielle hung up numbly, then the line rang again.

Her heart vaulted. Was it him? Already? No, of course not. He didn’t have her home phone number. She picked up anyway. “Yes?”

“A truly inspired approach!” came the robust voice of Albert Tresca, one of the board members. “You never gave him a chance to build up any steam at all! Is it true? Does Senator Roberson own that land?”

“So says our R & D department.” Would he mention the way she had looked?

“I wonder if Richard ever really knew what he had in you.”

She winced. Did he mean professionally or—she cringed away from the thought—personally?

“What’s next?” Tresca asked. “What else have you got up your sleeve?”

Danielle reached for her usual businesslike tone. Then the words she’d been about to say got jammed in her throat.

An idea leaped into her mind. Her gaze flew back to the television, to the video shot that remained frozen there. Max Padgett was still looking downward. His gaze was still smoky. Danielle’s heart slammed against her chest.

This attraction between them could be useful.

What if she used that angle? Could she keep that awareness going and keep his mind off the plovers? Was it possible?

“Are you still there?” Tresca asked.

“I’m here,” she answered a little hoarsely. “I…I have a thought but I’m not ready to share it yet.” She said goodbye quickly and dropped the phone back into its cradle. Then she picked it up again to leave it off the hook.

Was she actually thinking of seducing him? No, she decided quickly, of course not. But she could certainly sidetrack him a little with…well, with feminine wiles. Why not? He certainly hadn’t been his usual forceful and confident self in front of those cameras this afternoon. Except…

Except it was outrageous. It was the kind of thing that gave women entrepreneurs a bad name. And it definitely wasn’t her usual method. What would Richard think? That—and the fact that she had no other brilliant ideas about how to proceed with the plover problem from here—finally sobered her.

Danielle went unsteadily to the central staircase of the echoing old home she had shared with Richard. She thought for the thousandth time that she really ought to sell the place and find a smaller home. She’d simply been too busy with Harrington Resorts these past three years to do anything about it. All her life she’d craved a tidy home with a neat lawn and window boxes full of flowers instead of these lavish and ornate gardens. In her heart she saw something white with green shutters, maybe with an elm and a few bicycles in the yard. Richard had never made any bones about the fact that he’d already raised his family. They had never planned to have children. They’d had the business together; that was their baby.

It had only made sense, but sometimes lately it left her feeling hollow. If there had been a child, she wouldn’t be so alone now. If there had been one, these halls wouldn’t echo with silence but with laughter.

Danielle found her way into the parlor. She inhaled deeply, and for the first time realized that the lingering aroma of Richard’s pipe had finally faded, just as the scent of her father’s cologne had finally left his favorite shirt after he’d died, just as she’d finally stopped smelling her mother’s Irish stew in the kitchen long after Carolyn Dempsey had departed this earth. She curled up in Richard’s favorite chair and propped her chin in her hand.

She wondered exactly how one went about wooing a man once his attention was caught.

The cue ball cracked into the eight ball with a sound that split the quiet of the room. Max watched the billiard drop into a pocket. “My game,” he said.

“It was close, though,” Stan Roberson replied. They’d grown up together on some of the worst streets of Sacramento and had amused themselves in more pool halls than either of them could count. They were evenly matched.

Max had wanted to annihilate him tonight just on general principle. He was angry.

“You should have told me,” he said again, his gaze moving to the television perched in a corner of Stan’s rec room ceiling. Stan’s staff had—of course—taped the news. Now they were playing the video. Max watched Dani Harrington approach the cameras, all legs, bare feet and hot eyes. It had the same effect on him that it had had earlier in the evening. It felt like something solid, hard and hot hit him in the solar plexus.

Who was this woman that she could go from tycoon to siren in the space of three days? What was it about her that she could wipe his mind blank of the business—the important business—at hand?

This changed everything.

Stan snapped his fingers in front of Max’s gaze. “Come back to me.”

“I’m here.”

“No, you’re not. You’re getting all worked up over the woman who’s going to make me look like a fool.”

Max’s temper spiked all over again. “Some might say the fool is the one who sicced me on Gold Beach without telling me he was an owner out there.”

“It’s not germane to the issue. I don’t intend to uproot the plovers, at least not until long after my term is over.”

Max’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “That’s good. Spoken like a true politician.”

“I am what I am. And I’ll be damned if I’m going back to poor obscurity. I’m telling you, my land isn’t an issue here.”

“She’s making it an issue.”

“She won’t be able to. I haven’t applied for any permits to bulldoze plover eggs. I promised to preserve that coastline, and I haven’t done anything to fly in the face of that. Ownership isn’t a crime, especially if I leave the land wide open for the birds.” Stan shook his head. “I’m going to retire out there, Max. I just turned forty. Retirement is a long way off. Besides, Danielle Harrington only found out that I own one of those plots. She doesn’t seem to realize that I bought two.”

“You did what?” This was getting worse by the minute, Max thought. Gold Beach was an elliptical area maybe a mile long. He thought the whole of it might be comprised of all of four parcels. “You’ve got to unload all of it!”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Stan said. “I’m thinking that maybe I could cough up one—the one she unearthed the paperwork on—and keep the other.”

Max barely heard him. He was watching the television again. On the screen Danielle drew in a breath to snap something back at him, and he glimpsed that red lace. He rubbed his eyes, pulling his gaze from the TV.

Stan began to rack the balls again. “Meanwhile, we’ll probably need an injunction now. We’ll have to stop her in her tracks so we have time to reconnoiter from this. I’ll have my staff get on it first thing Monday morning.”

Max picked up his pool stick, then her voice drifted from the television, low and sultry. “The ball’s in your court, Mr. Padgett.” He looked at the TV and there it was again, that look in her eyes.

It was come-hither if he’d ever seen one.

He felt things tighten inside him in response. She was spectacular. She did things to him. He wanted to see more—a lot more—of that red lace. And that scared the hell out of him. It scared him enough that—as much as she’d intrigued him—he sure as hell didn’t plan to cross paths with her again. A woman like this was lethal.

He’d spent fifteen of his first seventeen years being shuffled from foster home to foster home. Most people could reflect their opinions of relationships back on one or two sets of parents. Max could base his opinions on six separate couples who had raised him after his mother had died and his father could not be found. He’d learned that people fall out of love—not just occasionally, but commonly. What he knew of love was that two people entered into it with stars in their eyes and the best of intentions. Then there were differences of opinion, one or the other put on a few pounds over the years, and the gloss wore off and self-interest emerged. Everything went to hell in a handbasket. There was fighting and vicious, nasty hurt. And finally, when it was over, there was emptiness, the unique emptiness of finding oneself alone and unloved.

He’d never wanted any part of it. That was why—doggedly and determinedly—he had never in his life gone out with the same woman more than twice. None of them, however, had quite the impact of Dani Dempsey Harrington.

Stan was watching him with thoughtful eyes, Max realized. “What?” he asked suspiciously.

“I guess there’s something else I should tell you,” Stan said.

“You own land on Junipero Sierra Peak, too?”

“It wouldn’t matter. You’ve already preserved that area. I’m marrying Marcy.”

The pool stick dropped from Max’s hand and rolled on Stan’s thick carpeting. Max stared at him.

“It’s time,” Stan continued. “We’ve been together eight years now. She wants it.”

“So you’re just going to roll over and play dead?” Max was panicked. His pulse started pistoning. The world as he knew it was crumbling at his feet. A woman had turned up on the beach to make every drop of blood in his veins race and burn with a kind of hunger that had wanted to be assuaged now. And his best friend was getting married.

Stan grinned. “It will be a sweet death.”

“It’s a career move, right?”

“It’s a life move, Max. I want you to be my best man.”

Max opened his mouth and found he couldn’t answer. He replaced his stick in the rack.

Stan grinned. “Take it easy. You’ll recover from the shock by morning. And as soon as you do, you’ve got to call Danielle Harrington and start unraveling this mess.”

His stomach somersaulted. “I don’t want to call Danielle Harrington.”

“We have to meet with her and cool her down.” Stan cracked the balls whether Max wanted to play or not.

Then the door opened and Marcy Leeds poked her head into the room. “Stan? Are you almost through in here?”

Max watched his best friend grin like a besotted puppy. “In a minute, hon.” And then she gave a come-hither smile before she retreated, Max thought.

He had to get out of here.

“All right,” Max muttered. “I’ll call Dani Harrington tomorrow.” But he damned well wasn’t going to like it.

Danielle was in the middle of a meeting at ten-thirty on Monday morning, recapping the current status of the war between Harrington Resorts and the Coalition for Wildlife, Fields and Streams, when Angelique knocked on the conference room door and stepped into the room. “You told me to interrupt you.”

“I did?” Danielle remembered nothing of the sort.

“This morning. If he called.”

“He—oh!” Danielle’s heart stood still for a moment. She looked quickly at the faces surrounding the table. “Max Padgett is on the phone.”

She pushed past Angelique and hurried down the hall to her own office. By the time she reached it, her knees were liquid. She looked down at the blinking light on the phone. Angelique had almost been right, she thought. It had taken him seventy-two hours to call…but then, he couldn’t have reached her over the weekend even if he had tried. Her home number was unlisted, a well-guarded secret. Richard had been emphatic about business not following them home. She’d never thought to change that. There was no reason to. There wasn’t anyone she particularly cared about being able to reach her during nonbusiness hours.

Until now. She made a mental note to ask Angelique to call the telephone company.

Danielle took one, two, then three deep breaths and finally grabbed the receiver. “Hi,” she said. Then she covered her eyes with one hand, fighting a moan. She sounded breathless and hormonal and flirtatious, exactly like a woman who would run around on television in her underwear.

“Hi, yourself,” Max said, his voice vaguely rough. And she thought he sounded as thought he had just come up for air after a long, slow, heated kiss.

Her knees gave out. Danielle sank into her chair.

“Have you come to your senses yet?” he asked.

“And here I thought you were calling to tell me you’re giving up.”

“It will never happen.”

No, she thought, he wouldn’t be a quitter. “We have a problem then. I’m not planning to back off, either.”

“What are you saying, Dani? That we’re evenly matched?”

Something unseen snatched the air from her lungs. “Maybe.”

“Let’s talk about it.”

“Talk.” She couldn’t breathe. “When?”

“Tomorrow night? Are you free?”

She hadn’t had anything but a free evening since Richard had died. “Let me check.” She put him back on hold.

She inhaled carefully, deliberately, trying to get oxygen to her brain. Then she stabbed the blinking button on her phone again. “I can manage it. I’ll have to move a few things around, but this is important.”

“That’s progress,” he said in that low, intimate voice.

“It is?” Her heart hammered.

“A week ago you wouldn’t answer my mail or take my phone calls. Could it be I’m gaining ground?”

Not in the way you think. Danielle closed her eyes as the words tumbled to her lips. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep them trapped. “I’ll let you think so.”

He laughed that warm whisky-edged chuckle. It came through the wire and touched her skin. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, shivering again. “Could you hold another moment?”

Danielle slammed her palm down on the hold button again. She dragged a shaky hand across her brow. What was going on here? She wasn’t any good at this…at this flirting business! Were they flirting? She didn’t know! She’d barely even dated before she’d met Richard—she’d been too busy getting her M.B.A. And she hadn’t dated since he’d died. He’d been the sum total of her experience with men. And there had been no perspiring brows or weak knees or irregular heartbeats with Richard. So when it came to Max Padgett, she was lost.

All she had were her instincts.

They were definitely flirting, she decided. She thought again of her resolve to use that to keep his mind off the birds, at least long enough for her to break ground. She picked up the phone again. “Where would you like to meet tomorrow night?”

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