At Megan’s touch, feelings exploded inside Rafe, feelings he’d thought were dead and gone

He felt Megan’s breasts against his side, her hand touching his, her breath fanning his skin and her scent filling him. Shaken and trying to recover, he moved to disentangle himself.

Rafe wanted her in the most basic way. She was a total stranger, a woman who was opinionated and infuriating…and incredibly desirable. A woman who made his whole body ache with need, whose presence warmed his soul.

But being with Megan, no matter how good it would feel, was wrong. He needed to stop thinking of her as anything more than someone he’d just caught rifling through her boss’s desk. That was his job. But as she stood and increased some of the space between them, he knew he’d never stop thinking about her. It was impossible.

As impossible as wanting a woman like her…

Dear Reader,

When Megan Smiles is the next story in my JUST FOR KIDS series, and comes with a special heroine. Megan Gallagher has everything in her life in place: a perfect, fast-track career and an equally perfect fiancé. But what she hasn’t counted on is meeting a security guard named Rafe, and realizing that there can be totally different versions of a “perfect” life.

Rafe Dagget is a widower with twins who has decided he’s loved once and completely. And he continues to believe that until he meets Megan and sees her smile. Both Megan and Rafe are in for big surprises in this story—life-changing surprises. And there’s a surprise for you, too, at the end of the book, which I hope proves it’s never too late to find that one special person in this life, and to truly fall in love…again.

When Megan Smiles

Mary Anne Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Beulah Wilson

A great mother-in-law and an even better friend.

Thanks for being part of my life.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Prologue

Fort Worth, Texas

Rafe Dagget looked at the “perfect” woman across the table from him at one of the best and most intimate restaurants in the city. He wasn’t so sure she was perfect, or even close. But Dave Lang, his friend who had talked him into this blind date, had been adamant.

“She’s pretty, smart, and she loves kids. She’s perfect, Rafe, just perfect.”

Rafe had tried to get out of the date, but Dave hadn’t given him a chance. “We all loved Gabriella, you know that, and there won’t be another woman like her, Rafe.” Dave’s slightly florid face had gone from intently concerned to being touched by a sad but knowing smile. “But, buddy, it’s time. It’s been two years. You need to get out and meet people. You have to move on with your life, for your sake and the sake of the twins.”

Rafe watched the woman talking to him, and part of him reluctantly agreed with Dave’s assessment. His blind date was pretty, in a girlish sort of way, with an upturned nose, dark eyes, full lips and red hair cut into a stylish feathery cap. But perfect? He doubted that. As much as he doubted Dave’s pronouncement that it was “time to move on.” Why did everyone believe that two years was the magic amount of time to get over a death that left rubble behind and a gaping hole in a life?

“I always thought four children would be perfect,” his blind date was saying earnestly, leaning toward him across the table, making intent eye contact with him. “Just perfect.”

Rafe reached for his wineglass, breaking the contact when he realized how freely people tossed around the word perfect. On top of that, he couldn’t remember the woman’s name. Felicia, Fanny? He swallowed a good half of the smooth merlot before he put the goblet back down on the white linen cloth.

“Two boys, two girls,” she rattled. “Two years apart.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, because he was thinking that the restaurant, with its dim lights and soft mood music, suddenly seemed claustrophobic. He’d been here before, in another life when the world had been right. Then it might have been perfect.

He drained the rest of his wine as his nameless date leaned closer to him across the table. Now he didn’t know what she’d been saying and tried to pick up the threads of her conversation. She tapped her bare wrist. “And my biological clock is ticking. If I want to have children, I need to get started. Francine, I said to myself a few weeks ago, you’re thirty years old, and you’d better get on with things.”

Francine. That was it. And Francine was dead serious about what she was saying. “Absolutely,” he said, buying time while he tried to figure out how to end this date as quickly as possible.

“Absolutely,” she echoed with an emphatic shake of her head. “As soon as I know that I’m having a child, I’m going to apply at the Briar School. Fantastic school. Do you know they vet everyone who applies? Quite hard to get your child into it.”

Rafe casually glanced at his watch. They’d been at the restaurant for only half an hour, but it seemed like a lifetime. “A good school is important,” he murmured, just to say something.

She grinned a toothy smile, as if she’d won a jackpot, and reached over to tap the back of his hand that held the wine goblet. “From what David told me about you, I knew you’d understand, that we’d be on the same page.”

Understand what, and what page? Then she answered without him having to actually ask the question. “David said you are a terrific father to your two little boys, so I knew you’d be up on the schools. So, what school do they attend?”

He shrugged. “They aren’t in school yet.”

“But I thought David said they were around five?”

“They’re four. They’ll be five in a few months.”

“But at that age…” She shrugged, obviously bothered. “Surely they’re on the list?”

“They’re on the list for kindergarten in the fall,” he said. “And they’re pretty excited about it, at least Greg is. Gabe isn’t so sure he wants to go, but if his brother goes, he’ll tag along.”

“Oh, what school?” she asked, her interest piqued again.

“The elementary school near where we live.”

“Public school?” she gasped, as if he’d said they were going into a labor camp. “Why would you do that?”

He drank more of the wine that the waiter had just poured for him. “It’s the school my wife and I planned on for them.”

Francine sat back, looking a bit flustered. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. David explained about your loss, how your wife was…taken, and you were left with the two boys.” She reached out and patted his hand again. An action he knew was an attempt to show sympathy, but it felt intrusive and wrong to him, the way her words did. “I’m sure things would be different if she was still…here.”

If Gabriella was here, the boys would still be going to that school, and he wouldn’t be enduring this stupid conversation with a woman who was looking for a sperm donor. He moved his hand away and sipped more wine before he said, “Yes, things would be very different.”

“How long has it been since she…she passed?”

Passed? Was taken? “Since she died?” he asked bluntly, and wished he had more to drink.

“Yes,” Francine murmured somberly.

“Almost two years,” he said. Then his cell phone rang, and he took it out of the pocket of his dark suit coat as if he’d been thrown a lifeline. He glanced at the LED readout and saw a Houston number he recognized. That of Zane Holden, the CEO at LynTech Corporation, and a man who had proved to be a good friend to him when he needed one.

“Excuse me for a minute,” he said to Francine. “I need to take this.” He flipped the phone open and answered it. “Zane?”

“Yes, it’s me, Rafael.”

Zane was the only person who ever called Rafe by his given name, except for his mother. He’d said it fit, with Rafe’s naturally bronzed skin, the ebony hair, black eyes and high cheekbones. Rafe didn’t know if it fit or not, but it felt right coming from a friend he’d known since the very early days of his career in corporate security. They hadn’t seen each other recently, not since Zane had gotten married, but they kept in touch.

“What’s going on?” he asked, ignoring the waiter setting plates of food before them on the table.

There was no friendly small talk. “I need to speak with you as soon as possible. When can we get together?”

“What’s going on? You and Lindsey—”

“No, it’s business, and I need your help.”

It was a given Rafe would do anything for Zane personally or on a business level. Zane had been the one to drag him back into the land of the living when he’d needed it the most. He glanced at Francine, who was picking at her meal and trying to appear not to be listening to his conversation. He wasn’t about to feel guilty, only relieved that he had the perfect excuse to leave. “I’ll call you back in five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” Zane said.

Rafe flipped the phone shut and smiled apologetically at Francine. At least he hoped he pulled that off. “I’m so sorry, but a business emergency just came up. I need to go.”

“Oh, yes, okay,” she said, and would have stood, but he motioned for her to remain where she was.

“No, you stay and enjoy your dinner.” They’d come in their own cars, so that wasn’t a problem. “Please, it’s paid for.”

She hesitated, then sank back in the chair, obviously not happy, but not about to make a scene. “Okay, but call me?”

He nodded, not about to agree to a lie out loud, then left. He settled the bill on the way out, and exited into the softness of the Fort Worth night. He gave the valet his parking ticket, then stood off to one side of the entry door. The night was balmy and clear, with a huge moon hanging over the city. He was obscenely relieved to be done with his first and last blind date, and actually felt as if he could breathe again. Then he flipped open his phone and hit Zane’s number on speed dial. The CEO answered on the first ring.

“It’s me,” Rafe stated.

“Thanks for calling back,” Zane said, while Rafe watched a black Jaguar pull up to the restaurant.

“No problem. Now what’s wrong?”

Two women got out of the sleek black car, handed their keys to the valet, then walked toward the entry. One was tall and leggy, the other shorter and more compact. Both were blond and dressed to kill.

“A security leak at LynTech,” Zane was saying in his ear.

“Let me give you Hal Simmons’s private number and he can take care of things.”

“No, I need you on it,” Zane said.

Rafe had been watching the blondes, and was taken aback when the tall one stopped about three feet from him and very deliberately gave him the once-over. Her eyes roamed every inch of his six-foot-two-inch frame, skimming over his dark suit, the white, collarless silk shirt, then met his gaze. She didn’t even blink.

“I don’t get involved,” he said into the phone to Zane, but realized he meant it with the woman, too. And she was waiting for him to say something to her directly, anything so she could come closer. But she’d have to wait until it snowed in July for that to happen. Not because she wasn’t beautiful, but because he really wasn’t interested in dating.

“I know you gave up working on the front line years ago, but I need you to come on down here and take a personal look at the situation,” Rafe was saying through the phone. “I need your input. Nothing against your people, but you’re the best, and I need you to do this.”

“My people are good,” he said, and realized his SUV was being brought up to the curb right then.

“Of course they are. That’s why you’re our security company at LynTech.” Rafe listened as he straightened, then moved toward the blonde. She actually started to smile, but that didn’t last when he walked right past her to get to his car. He thought he heard her mutter, “Whatever,” but he didn’t bother to check.

“Then let my crew deal with it,” he said into the phone.

“No, no,” Zane exclaimed as Rafe slipped into his black SUV and handed the valet a tip before the man closed his door for him. “I’d come up there to go over it with you, but Lindsey’s pretty sick with this pregnancy.”

Maybe if Zane hadn’t mentioned Lindsey’s sickness, Rafe would have tried to talk him into contacting Simmons. His friend’s words stopped him. Rafe drove away from the restaurant into light traffic, remembering how sick Gabriella had been during her whole pregnancy with the twins, and how important it had been for him to be there for her. Despite being the head of Dagget Security, Inc., he’d stepped away from the hands-on operations of the company and started delegating and supervising so he could be with Gabriella. He’d never gone back to the day-to-day work and had never regretted his decision.

“It’s that bad?” he asked as he headed west for home.

“Looks that way. We ducked the last disaster, but there’s more coming. I can feel it. I’d hoped you could cover it yourself, maybe work out of this office for a few weeks.”

Rafe hesitated, knowing that at any other time he would have rejected that idea out of hand. But he didn’t this time. The fact was, he didn’t need to get out and date and meet women to get on with his life. He needed to get out, period. Out of Fort Worth and out of the office. He’d go to Houston, and he’d take a break. The boys weren’t in school yet, and it wouldn’t be too hard to take them with him once he opened the house he had down there. They could even have their horses if they wanted to.

“I’ll have to make arrangements for the boys and—”

“If you bring them along, why not use our day care center at the head office? It’s top-notch and right in the building. Walker loves it there, and you’d be close if the boys needed you.”

Rafe had met Walker, Zane’s two-year-old son, shortly after Zane and Lindsey had married. Now Zane was going to be a father again. Strange how people you never thought of as parent material took to having kids like ducks to water.

The traffic slowed a lot and Rafe eased along the street at a snail’s crawl, then made his decision. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot. I’m not sure when I can get there.”

“Just let me know. I’ll set up a board meeting and—”

“No, don’t do that.” If he was going to handle this, he knew exactly how he’d work it. “I think I want to go in quietly and get the lay of the land. My men are already on your payroll for security, so I’ll go in as one of them. No one would know the difference, and no one at LynTech would know me, except you and Lindsey. I can slip in easily.”

Zane didn’t argue. “Okay, when?”

“I’ll get myself hired as soon as I hang up now. I can be in Houston in a couple of days, start working at LynTech and get everything set for Carmella to bring the boys down later.”

He heard Zane exhale with undisguised relief. “Do you need me to do anything on this end?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, but I’ll be in and out. Use my cell number. There’s a huge charity ball LynTech is sponsoring to help the children’s wing at the hospital and to fund the day care center. Lindsey’s in the middle of it, and she’s been so sick that I’m doing some of the footwork for her, anything to ease the burden on her. It’s going to be huge.”

That gave Rafe another idea. “When’s the ball?”

“Next Saturday. It’s at the E. J. Sommers’s estate outside the city.”

“Who’s doing security?”

“As a matter of fact, Dagget Security is donating their services. You’re getting a huge tax write-off.”

Rafe hadn’t been told about this charity donation, but he was glad someone in his company had thought of it. This would work perfectly. “Are your people going to be at it?”

“It’s practically a command performance for all departments and their heads, along with the rich and generous in the city.”

Rafe didn’t know too many people in Houston, and if he was in a guard uniform, even the people who might know him wouldn’t look at him twice. He outlined his idea to go in as one of the security staff and work the ball to get the lay of the land and to see the people firsthand. “But I’ll need personnel files on the top people in each department, along with their clearances, especially in Legal, Contracts, and anyone you think has access to the material that’s being leaked. Throw in any computer gurus, and try to get pictures with each file.”

“It’s done. You’ll have it when you get here.”

“I’ll fly in Monday.”

“That’s great,” Zane said. “How long do you think you can hang out around here?”

Rafe took a breath and slowed as he neared the fork in the road that headed south to Houston or west to his ranch. He swung toward the ranch. “As long as it takes,” he murmured, not sure if he meant as long as it took to figure out what was going on with LynTech or as long as it took him to want to come back to Fort Worth.

Chapter One

Houston, a week later

Megan Gallagher adjusted the earpiece for her cell phone as she drove away from Houston in her rental car. She clicked a button on the microphone and said two words: “Ryan. Home.”

“Calling Ryan home,” a computerized voice said in her ear.

There were two rings, then Ryan Prescott Baron answered the phone in his usual way. “Baron here.”

“Well, hello, Baron. Gallagher here,” she said as she drove up the on-ramp and into freeway traffic heading west.

“You landed okay?”

“Sure. Some security breach held up takeoff for three hours, but I got some work done at the airport, and I finally arrived here.” She settled back in the seat, barely taking in her surroundings as she drove.

“Are you at the hotel?”

“No, I’m on my way to a charity ball.”

“A what?”

“When I got in, I received a message from Wayne Lawrence, the head of Legal for LynTech. A command to appear at this ball, wearing something fancy. It’s black-tie, so I had to get a dress at the boutique at the hotel.” A shimmering silver cocktail dress falling to just above her knees, with a low neck, deep back and narrow straps. The bill would go into her business expense folder when she got back to San Francisco. “The ball’s a big event, and apparently everyone who’s anyone at LynTech is going to be there. From the sound of it, I don’t think anyone was given a choice. Mr. Lawrence didn’t give me a choice, that’s for sure.”

“Did he fix you up with an escort, too?”

Ryan and she had known each other for three years, almost from the time she’d been recruited by LynTech out of law school into their San Francisco branch offices. She and Ryan had been engaged for the past month. They understood each other, and he understood what she had to do. He knew the rules of business. He played by them every day as the vice president of a large import-export company in the city. He knew that if this was a command performance by a superior, chances were she’d be paired up with someone else who was in the same boat. Thank goodness that hadn’t happened.

“No, he didn’t fix me up,” she said, and scanned the signs coming into view.

The last time she’d been “fixed up” had been in law school, when her roommate had decided that she needed a social life and matched her with a recent graduate. Morris, she thought his name had been. No, Norris. And Norris had been divorced with three kids, and after the first excruciatingly boring hour, she’d finally realized that he was frantically looking for a woman to take the pressure off of him with his kids so he could further his career. She hadn’t let herself be talked into a blind date again and never would. “I figure I’ll get there, meet whomever I need to, memorize some names, then plead jet lag and leave.”

“Now, that sounds like a plan,” Ryan murmured. “Too bad I couldn’t get away, or I could be your excuse to leave.”

They played well off of each other at business functions. Another way they were well-matched. “I’ll do this on my own,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.” She’d been “doing” it on her own most of her life. Her parents had been middle-aged by the time Megan made her appearance. And her only brother headed out for college before she even got home from the hospital. She was very used to being on her own. “The jet lag excuse is just fine.”

“Sorry, I’ve got another call coming in. Probably Brandson. I’ve been waiting for his update,” Ryan said suddenly.

“Okay, go take your call.”

“And you go to your ball,” he said.

“Love you,” she stated quickly.

“Same here,” he answered. Then the line went dead.

She pushed the phone’s Off button, then gripped the steering wheel again, the diamond on her ring finger glittering in the low light. She held her hand up in front of her. Ryan’s grandmother’s engagement ring, the Baron diamond, was on her finger now. Four carats, marquise cut. And sometime, somewhere down the road, his grandmother’s wedding band with inset diamonds in platinum would join it.

It had been a good decision to accept his proposal. In a few years, they’d get married, and that would be a good decision, too.

They hadn’t told too many people about the engagement, not even her brother or her parents. Megan told herself she wanted to give them the news in person, but she knew she was hesitant to tell them at all because they’d ask all the wrong questions. Quint especially. He’d had a bad marriage early on, and hadn’t been terribly romantic. But when he’d met his new wife, the man had turned into a moonstruck Romeo. All he did was talk about Amy and the two kids they had.

And their mother would go on and on about “being in love” and how exciting and wonderful it was. Being in love was nice, Megan thought. Nice and sensible. That’s what she and Ryan had. Nice and sensible, and if people found that boring, so be it. It worked for them.

She glanced at the clock on the dash of the rental car and grimaced. Mr. Lawrence had requested her presence at the ball by “no later than nine.” It was already eight-thirty, and she still hadn’t found the right exit to get to the E. J. Sommers’s estate. She’d been born and raised in the Houston area before leaving six years ago, but she hadn’t recognized the name of the road to the estate from the directions she’d been given.

“Meet me on the lower terrace,” had been included in the note, too. She didn’t know where the lower terrace would be. She’d never met Wayne Lawrence. But she’d find both the man and the lower terrace as soon as she found the estate.

She shifted, adjusted the hem of her dress, then glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. She’d chosen simple over fussy, confining her shoulder-length blond hair in a French twist held by diamond clips. She’d brushed color on her lips, put on a hint of mascara, and her only jewelry was the ring.

She looked ahead and saw a sign. The right road. She took the off-ramp onto a narrow, two-lane highway and turned the only way she could, south. As she drove around a curve, she sighed with relief when she saw the glow of lights ahead on the right, at the same moment she noticed a sign by the side of the road: Charity Ball, with an arrow pointing straight ahead.

She followed it, and pulled into an expansive entry space paved with cobble stones and faced by massive wrought-iron gates framed by stone pillars. She stopped by another sign: Check In Here. But she didn’t see anything except a security keypad. She hadn’t been given a code of any type. She looked through the gates and saw the glow from the main house. Even from this distance she could see a lot of activity going on.

She reached for her purse to get out the embossed invitation Mr. Lawrence had sent over for her, figuring there might have been a code on it she’d missed when she’d read it earlier. She skimmed the card, but didn’t see anything that resembled a code. All it said was: “Valet service at the ballroom entrance.”

She pushed it back in the envelope, rolled down her window and heard the faint sounds of music and voices drifting on the evening air. She looked at the security pad and spotted a phone by the keys. She was reaching for it when a deep male voice startled her.

“Good evening.” She turned to see a security guard on the other side of the gates, a tall man in the shadows, moving toward the left pillar. “I’ll be right there,” he said, then disappeared, only to reappear out of a gate set into the fence on the other side of the pillar.

He came toward her, backlit by the lanterns that framed the entry. “Am I glad to see you,” she said as he got within a few feet of the car. She could see now that he was carrying a clipboard in one hand, and there were a gun and two-way radio at his waist.

“Sorry for the wait.”

She had to crook her neck a bit to look up at him. He was probably over six feet, lean, in a tailored uniform, but between the night shadows and his uniform cap, his face was almost indistinguishable. “I just need to get in to the ball.”

He came close enough to touch the frame of her window with one hand, and leaned nearer. “Okay, no problem,” he said as she noticed how strong his hand looked, tanned, with square, short nails and a simple gold wedding band on the ring finger. “What’s the name?”

“Megan Gallagher.”

He pulled back and scanned the clipboard. “Sorry, ma’am, but you’re not on my list.”

“Look again. It’s Gallagher,” she said, then spelled it out for him very slowly.

“There are two Gallaghers on here and you’re not one of them. In fact, they’ve already left.”

She knew the two Gallaghers—her brother, Quint, who’d been doing work for LynTech for a while, and Amy. Megan had thought they were in New York, but they must have come back for the ball. “Look again,” she said, feeling a bit irritated that someone had forgotten to put her name on the list, and that she was now at the mercy of this guard. It was almost nine and she was going to be late.

She wasn’t aware she’d said anything else out loud, but he stated, “If you’re not on the list, you’re not,” as he hunkered down by the door. “Sorry.”

The dim glow from the inside lights of the car touched his face, and she saw she was being assessed by dark, dark eyes under a slash of equally dark eyebrows. His clean-shaven face looked almost ethnic, with high cheekbones, deeply tanned skin and a strong jaw. And it fell just short of being handsome. No, it was more disturbing than handsome, and she didn’t know why. “I need to get inside,” she said with more bluntness than she’d intended.

“Not without your name being on this list.”

“Oh, just let me in,” she said.

“Sorry, I have strict orders not to let anyone in without being on the list.”

He was like a broken record. Then she had an idea. She grabbed the invitation off the seat by her purse and turned to where he still crouched by her door. She thrust the printed card at him. “Here, this proves I’m supposed to be in there.”

He took it from her and read it, while she frantically looked at the clock again and realized she was now officially late for her meeting. Then he held it back out to her. “Your name’s not on this,” he said. “You could have picked it up out of the trash.”

That was it; she’d had enough. She opened the door, not caring if she hit him in the process, and climbed out. Her first realization when she faced him was that he was big. The security guard was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders well defined by the tight, tailored uniform. And he was annoyed. It was obvious by his stance and by the way his right hand clenched at his side. He let the invitation fall to the ground between them, then he crossed his arms on his chest, a power pose if ever she saw one. At least he didn’t pull his gun.

“What’s your name?” she asked, lifting her chin slightly and fighting the urge to cross her arms the way he had.

“Rafe Diaz,” he said, then slowly spelled it out, letter by letter, as she had done with her name earlier. Then he asked, “Is this a standoff?”

“No, it’s a problem,” she said.

“I agree,” he murmured without any sign of hesitation. “It’s your problem.”

“No, it’s yours. You’re being paid to let in guests, to be polite and make life simpler for the people going through these gates tonight, and because of you, I’m late for my date.”

“Late for your date,” he echoed, then quite deliberately let his gaze slide over her.

Her stomach clenched at the action, but she stood very still until he was finished and looked her in the eye again. “Yes, late, and it’s your fault.”

“I don’t think laying blame is the best idea, so why don’t we get past that and you tell me what you think I should do to be polite and make life simpler for you…without losing my job in the process?”

He was so composed that it only made her more annoyed. She frowned at him. “Call someone,” she said. “That won’t jeopardize your job, will it?”

“I don’t know until you tell me who to call.”

Damn him. She crossed her arms on her breasts and kept her gaze level with his. “Your boss.”

He shook his head. “Not on a Saturday night. Not a good idea. That would jeopardize my job. Give me another person to call.”

She was tall, probably five feet ten inches without the flimsy silver heels she was wearing, and she kept her gaze locked with his as she nibbled on her full bottom lip. Damn, she was gorgeous in that shimmery dress, which did nothing to minimize her high breasts and the flare of her hips. Or legs that looked as if they could go on forever. Drop-dead gorgeous, and a royal pain. Whoever had given her the huge diamond flashing on her finger would have his hands full.

“Wayne Lawrence,” she said suddenly. “Call him. He’s the one I’m meeting inside.” She cocked her head to one side, and even in the dim light, he could see the way she arched one finely defined eyebrow. “And don’t tell me he’s not on your list.”

Rafe had never liked women like this, women who felt as if they were entitled to have everyone bow and scrape before them. And he’d had enough of being ordered around by her. He’d make the call and get her out of here, one way or the other. “Okay,” he said, and moved to the call box on the security pad. As he picked up the house phone, he thought he heard her sigh. A soft sound, not one of anger or exasperation, but one that meant she was tired or worried. It touched something in him, and he didn’t want that at all.

He didn’t turn, but grasped the phone and pushed in the number they’d given him for contact with security in the house. He identified himself and said, “Find Wayne Lawrence and ask him to confirm a Megan Gallagher as his guest.”

“Where is he?” the voice on the other end asked.

“How would I know where he is?” Rafe practically snapped.

He felt a touch on his arm at the same time he heard Megan say, “He’s waiting on the lower terrace by the ballroom.”

He looked down at her, at her hand on his sleeve— the hand with the huge diamond on it—then at her. She drew back, breaking the contact quickly. “That’s where he is?”

He saw her put her hand behind her back. “That’s where he said we should meet,” she murmured.

He gave the information to the man on the other end, then waited while he found Wayne Lawrence. Rafe was more than aware that Megan was still close to him, her delicate flowery scent touching the evening air. He knew it was her scent without even checking, but it didn’t match her. The aroma was soft and very feminine, and she was definitely not soft. Feminine? Hell, yes, she was that in spades.

“Yeah, she’s confirmed as his guest,” the other guard said as he came back on the line. “He wants her let in and escorted to the lower terrace right away. So bring her on up.”

“But I’m on the gate.”

“Brad’s coming down. He’ll be there any minute. You come on back here with Miss Gallagher as soon as Brad gets there.” Brad, another guard, had accepted Rafe as a co-worker with no idea who he really was. Only Zane knew Rafe’s true identity and that he was using a fake last name.

Rafe put the phone back in its nook, then turned to Megan and finally put two and two together. Wayne Lawrence and Megan Gallagher? He didn’t like the way that added up at all. He’d seen the photos of Mr. Lawrence. The man was sixty, maybe five-eight or so, almost bald, with a rumpled look about him. But he was high up in LynTech, a mover and a shaker. And you never knew about women. Maybe the power or the money or both were an aphrodisiac. But the idea of Megan Gallagher with this man brought a bitter taste to Rafe’s mouth.

He turned to Megan, who had backed up a few paces while he’d been talking, a slender figure in the darkness. He tried not to notice any more about her, especially not the way the ring sparkled on the hand that held the forgotten invitation, which she’d picked up. “Well?” she asked.

“Wayne Lawrence is waiting,” he murmured.

“So, you’re going to open the gate for me?”

“Sure,” he said. “And that’s not all.”

She hesitated before asking, “What does that mean?”

“You’ve got an armed escort.”

“I what?” He could see her eyes widen. He wondered what color they were, and if it was just the night that made her lashes look so long and lush.

“He requested that you be escorted up to the house and taken to him on the lower terrace.”

“No thanks, I can find it,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

“I wouldn’t bet on that. That house up there is the size of a small country.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she said, then got back in her car. “Now, if you could just open the gates?”

She was making her escape, and he was inclined to let her go and find her way on her own. And he probably would have, but Brad McMillan, his replacement, came through the side gate right then. “Hey, Rafe, you can get going now.”

“Okay,” he said, then pushed the code for the main gates and went around in front of her car to get in on the passenger side. If she took off, she’d have to run him down to do it. Thankfully, she waited until he opened the door, and she even reached out and picked up her purse and cell phone to clear the seat for him. She dropped them on the center console along with the invitation before she put the car in gear.

“You all get going,” Brad said through the open window. “Mr. Lawrence is really anxious for her to get up there.”

“You didn’t have to come with me,” she said, as they eased through the open gates.

“I told you, I don’t want to lose my job, and those were the orders—to deliver you up to Mr. Lawrence.” She darted him an angry glance, and he said quickly, “Sorry, bad choice of words.”

“Sure you’re sorry,” she muttered, and even though she was angry now, it didn’t stop his body tensing when he noticed the way her dress was riding up her thigh. This had been a mistake. But he was in it now and he’d get out as soon as he could.

“I really am sorry,” he said.

“You’re just sorry that I really do have a right to be going to the ball.”

“Well, you’re no Cinderella,” he said.

She cast him a quick look. “I’m not wearing glass slippers, true,” she said before she turned back to the driveway ahead of them.

“Can I make a suggestion?” he asked.

“Could I stop you?”

“No, you couldn’t. I was just going to say that the jewelry doesn’t work with that dress.”

Very casually, she took her left hand off the wheel and rested it on her thigh, effectively hiding the ring from him. “What about my jewelry?”

“That earpiece just doesn’t do anything for you.”

She reached for the device connected to her cell phone and tugged it free, then dropped it on the console with her other things. “I forgot,” she said. “I got distracted.”

He found himself smiling. He was distracted, too, by a woman who was thoroughly stuck-up and bossy. The thing was, he was enjoying it. He hadn’t sparred verbally with a woman for a very long time, and he realized that he’d missed it. Even if she was annoying and what his mother used to call “uppity.” And even if he’d never see her again. Not that he wanted to. But this was a nice distraction for a few minutes.

They were almost up the driveway now, and he pointed ahead to the portico just outside the ballroom entrance. “Pull in there and the valet can park your chariot for you.”

Rafe was shocked when she actually laughed, a soft, sultry sound that seemed to fill the space around him as she pulled up to the nearest valet. That was when he looked at her, and he saw her smiling at him. A simple smile, yet it triggered so many things deep inside him that he found it hard to breathe. “Let me guess. Chariot parking is not part of your job description?”

And responding to this woman on such a basic level wasn’t something he wanted to do. “No,” he said, and the second the car stopped, he got out.

The air was filled with laughter and music and the scent of good cigars, but all he was aware of was Megan coming around the car when the valet let her out, and Megan standing in front of him with her purse clutched to her middle, the shadow of that smile still on her lips. And the gleaming ring on her finger. He looked away out of self-preservation, saw her car being driven off for parking, then said, “Follow me,” without looking at her again. “I’ll take you to Wayne Lawrence. That is in my job description,” he said, and started off without looking to see if she was following.

Actually, he didn’t have to look to know she was there. He could sense her, and he kept going, through the service area, around the side of the mansion, toward the back terraces. They walked along a pathway that cut across grass and through low shrubbery, and as they turned at the back corner of the house, she brushed against him. Rafe moved quickly ahead of her onto the flagstone terrace.

The party had spilled out onto the back lawns, under the draped fairy lights, and with the French doors of the ballroom, the music seemed to be everywhere, mingled with laughter. He stopped at the edge of the terrace, scanning the groups of guests to try and spot Wayne Lawrence. Sensing Megan right beside him, Rafe turned and saw her features softly illuminated in the glow of the lights. Blue. Her eyes were a clear blue, and that damn ring was winking at him. “I can take it from here,” she said. “Thanks for the escort.”

“Sorry for the trouble at the gate.”

“You were doing your job,” was all she said, as loud laughter from the far side of the terrace drew her attention. A group of people stood there—all men, all drinking, he noted—and that was when he spotted Mr. Lawrence. Rafe had only seen him in the picture Zane had provided, but recognized the man immediately. He looked every day of his sixty years, balding as he was, and even though the picture had been head and shoulders, Rafe had guessed right about him being out of shape despite the very expensive tux he was wearing.

“Well, there he is,” he said to Megan, motioning to Mr. Lawrence. “You found him on the lower terrace.”

“Yes, I did,” she murmured.

Right then, another security guard came jogging from the upper terrace, skirting the guests by staying on the lawn. Seeing Rafe, he hurried over and said in a low voice, “A 215 at the Service.”

That was their code for a troublesome drunk—a way of communicating what was going on without the guests knowing. Rafe had started that practice when he’d actually worked the events, the way he was doing tonight. “The Service” meant the problem was at the delivery area.

He nodded to the guard. “I’ll be right there,” he said, and the other man took off while he turned back to say goodbye to Megan.

But she was gone. He looked across the terrace and saw her approaching Mr. Lawrence with her hand out. A big smile was on his face.

There was no backward glance, no hesitation on her part. Rafe was forgotten, a security guard who had bugged her, then escorted her to her date. And that was okay. He didn’t plan on remembering too much of what happened tonight, either. He headed toward the front of the house in a jog to help take care of the drunk.

Chapter Two

Monday

Megan was in her office, one of the dozen or so cubicles just off the main hallway, and right next to the rest rooms for the entire floor. Little more than three partial walls with no door, it was stocked with the usual office equipment, along with a stack of work that had been sent to her that morning. The only good thing about her work area was the window, even if it did look out onto the roof of the building next door.

Not that she had much time to look out the window. She’d been busy since she’d arrived, and was still facing two or three hours of work she’d have to take back to the hotel with her when she left.

“That was certainly a lovely party.”

Megan looked up to find her boss in the doorless entry. The receptionist, Ellen, who sat at a desk directly across from the elevators, had told Megan earlier that Mr. Lawrence liked to keep an eye on “his people.” She’d made a joke about him wearing a bell around his neck so staff would be warned when he was closing in. Megan had thought she’d been kidding, but now she knew the woman had been serious. Megan hadn’t heard the man approach.

“Oh, sir,” she said, pushing back the file she was reading, the details of the day care center incorporation to separate it from LynTech. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She brushed at her hair, which she’d caught in a low knot that morning, and tugged a bit nervously at the cuffs of the simple white shirt she was wearing with beige linen slacks.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he came into the cubicle. But he didn’t sound any sorrier for his actions than Rafe had Saturday night. Now why had she thought of the security guard? “I just wanted to make sure everything was going well for you, and to say it was a pleasure meeting you at the ball.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” She’d left the event as soon as she could, but not before Mr. Lawrence had pulled her from group to group, introducing her to so many people she couldn’t remember any of them. All she really remembered was a glimpse of Rafael Diaz going past the French doors just as Mr. Lawrence had taken her hand to tug her over to yet another group of guests. She’d seen a flash of a frown on the guard’s face, then he’d disappeared for the rest of the evening. “The ball was wonderful.”

Mr. Lawrence, dapper in a solid navy suit, matching tie and gray shirt, came to the front of her desk. “I was very glad you finally showed up.” He hadn’t been annoyed by her tardiness, but seemed to appreciate the guard being so careful with her entry to the ball. “Better safe than sorry,” he murmured soberly.

“Absolutely,” she said, not sure if she should stand or not.

He took that decision out of her hands when he motioned for her to stay sitting, then said, “I just came in to say that we’re glad you’re here, and this month should prove illuminating for everyone.” He tapped at his wristwatch with his forefinger. “It’s seven, and you’re the last one still here. I appreciate dedication, and it will go in your file.”

Was that why he’d come by? Because he’d noticed her light on when the other cubicles were dark? She pressed a hand to the papers in front of her. “I wanted to finish up the first part of the file you gave me before I left.”

“I was hoping I’d catch you and save you a trip to the hotel to get your things.”

She didn’t understand. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh, no. I just wanted to let you know that your belongings from the hotel were moved to the loft this afternoon, to save you the trouble. They should be there when you arrive.”

He’d called her to his office earlier and informed her that she was moving out of the hotel to a loft the company used. He’d explained it was wired directly to the offices, and to the legal department in particular. The rationale for the move was so she could access the database of both the day care center and LynTech anytime she wanted to from there, and the inference was she could work even if she wasn’t at the office. The details of the switch to independent status for the day care center was tedious but necessary work, and the reason she’d been sent to Houston.

She hadn’t thought much about it until that moment, but suddenly felt uneasy that a perfect stranger had gone into her hotel room and packed her things for her. But she forced herself to smile. “Thanks for taking care of that for me,” she said, and hoped she didn’t choke on the words.

“You’re very welcome,” he answered. Then he looked at his watch again. “Oh, my. I need to run. I’m meeting Abe Larson in half an hour.” She had no idea who Abe Larson was, but didn’t have a chance to ask before he said, “I’ll see you back here first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, but found herself speaking to his retreating form as he left.

She sank back in her chair, then swiveled it toward the window and looked out at the starry sky and partial moon that hung over the city below. She’d almost forgotten how beautiful Houston looked. She’d been gone for so long and had only came back when her mother insisted she visit. San Francisco was her home now, and Megan had hopes that if she proved herself this month, she’d be promoted in the San Francisco offices.

As she twisted the diamond on her finger absentmindedly, she felt a sudden need to talk to Ryan. She wanted to hear his voice. But when she turned to reach for her briefcase and her cell phone, she had a flashing memory of Rafe looking at her ring. Of his joke about her earpiece, and his teasing about a chariot and Cinderella.

She took a deep breath and banished that night from her thoughts. Taking out her phone and turning it on, she dropped it in the pocket of her shirt and hooked the earpiece in place. But before she could press the microphone button and give the command to call Ryan, the device rang. She pressed the Receive button on the cord and said, “Hello?” not realizing how much she wanted it to be Ryan until she heard another voice.

“Meggie?”

Quint was the only one to call her Meggie, and he seldom phoned her. He was so busy with his new life, she seldom got a chance to talk to him. “I haven’t heard from you since…oh, I remember,” she said. “When you told me you were going to change diapers again, and that the adoption was going through.”

“I did, and I am.” He laughed, a rich sound on the line. “I finally remembered why you stand back when you diaper a boy.”

It was her turn to laugh. “It’ll come back to you, sort of like riding a bike. Trust your instincts,” she said.

“Oh, I am,” he said. “Now, where have you been? I’ve tried calling your place for hours, and your cell phone kept going to your voice mail.”

“I was working and turned it off for a while,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“We just got into New York to get my things from the apartment, but I wanted you to be the first to know that—”

“Oh, no,” she said, cutting him off as she sat upright in her chair. “You and Amy aren’t pregnant, are you?”

There was total silence on the other end, then Quint said, “Not that I know of.”

“Then what is it?”

“Amy and I are going to live at the ranch.”

Megan wasn’t surprised by their decision to take over the ranch where she’d been brought up. “I thought you might.”

“I didn’t think you had any interest in taking it over.”

“I never even thought about it,” she said truthfully. “And I don’t think Ryan would go for the ranch life, anyway.”

“What would he have to do with it?” Quint asked abruptly.

She hadn’t meant to do this, but since the door was open, she plunged ahead. “We’re engaged.”

“Oh, Meggie,” he murmured, then she heard him taking a rough breath. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

“You love him?”

She knew he’d ask that. “Of course.”

“Then I won’t argue. So, when’s the big day?”

“We haven’t even started to figure out when. We’re both trying to stabilize our careers.”

“Now, that’s romantic,” Quint murmured.

She looked at the ring on her finger. “It’s perfect.”

“How about the folks?”

“I was going to tell them later on. I’ve got so much to do right now.”

“The San Francisco offices are busy?”

“Actually, I’m in Houston for a month of training and evaluation.”

That shocked him into silence for a moment. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming in? We could have stuck around for a few days,” he finally declared. “But then, we’ll be back in a few weeks.”

“Great, but for now this is all work,” she said. “Maybe next time.”

“What’s the evaluation for?”

“An opening up the ladder in contracts, incorporation and diversification. So I’m working on incorporation for part of LynTech. I think they want to make sure I can handle it, and I’m—”

“Hold it.” He cut her off. “I get the idea. You’re moving on up, aren’t you?”

“Hopefully.”

“And Ryan thinks this is…?” He let his voice trail off.

“Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.”

“Good for him,” her brother murmured, but didn’t sound as if he meant it. Then he shifted gears. “So, where are you staying?”

“At some private loft the company has wired to the office.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’m not sure where it is.”

“I can tell you in just a minute.” She looked for the envelope Mr. Lawrence had given her earlier with the address, directions and two keys. She searched in her briefcase, then on the desk, but didn’t see the envelope anywhere. She pulled open the desk drawer. Nothing. “I can’t find the address or directions. But I’m heading there tonight. They already moved my things over. Listen, I need to get going.”

“You’re still at work?”

“I’m just leaving.”

“Damn, you’re as much of a workaholic as I used to be,” he said. “But if you’re serious about wanting this advancement, Zane Holden and I—”

“No, no, no,” she said quickly. “I don’t want you to talk to anyone about anything. I can do this, Quint.”

“Of course you can,” he said. “Old habits die hard. Being a big brother and all.”

“I know. But please, just don’t say anything to anyone about me being here, or mention that I’m your sister or anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “But—”

She cut him off. “Give Amy and the kids my love. And let me know when you’re moving onto the ranch.”

“You got it,” he said, and Megan ended the call.

She looked through her things one more time, then remembered where the envelope was. She’d left it in Mr. Lawrence’s office, on the desk. She’d put it down when she’d picked up more files he’d given her, and she didn’t remember picking it up again. Directions, keys and phone numbers were in it. “Damn it,” she muttered, glancing out the entry to her cubicle. Mr. Lawrence was gone, but she hoped to heck that he didn’t lock his office at night.

Seven o’clock. She just hoped her boss hadn’t yet gone to meet Abe Larson. She left everything on her desk and hurried through the quiet legal department, out to the main hallway, then down to his office. She tried the outer door, and it opened. Then she crossed the reception area, tried his private office door and exhaled in a rush when she found it unlocked, too.

She looked inside and saw the room was empty. Hesitating, she finally stepped into the darkly formal area done in cherry wood, brass and various shades of beige and gold. Turning on the light, she crossed to the massive desk, disappointed to find no envelope there, just papers, folders and books neatly stacked on the polished surface. She went behind it, then tried the top drawers, but they were all locked. She reached for a deep drawer on the side, pulled on the handle and silently slid it open.

She saw a correspondence file, a stack of company calendars, what looked like an unused day planner, and boxes of paper clips—lots and lots of boxes of paper clips. But no envelope belonging to her. She reached for the drawer on the other side and opened it. Books and papers and more paper clips. And sitting in one corner, a small bottle of very expensive scotch with a single shot glass beside it. Mr. Lawrence had his vices, she thought in surprise. Two low drawers were closed and locked.

She looked at the desktop again, then went around to the In and Out baskets at the front of the desk. She rifled through the latter. Nothing there for her. “Great, just great,” she muttered, reaching for the In basket.

She barely got her hand on the top papers when someone grabbed her from behind, a strong hand on her upper arm, and she instinctively jerked to free herself. But the action only intensified the other person’s grip as he turned her around. She spun like a top, landing against a solid wall of strength with an impact that expelled the air from her lungs. Megan heard someone scream—was that her?—then the world seemed to stop in its tracks.

The “wall” she’d hit was in uniform, with no hat this time, but the same midnight-dark eyes. And his hand was holding her with a firmness that was just this side of inflicting pain. Rafe Diaz. Even larger than she remembered, and very real. She pushed away, freeing herself, and stumbled slightly, feeling the desk hit her at the hips. She pressed one palm to her chest.

Her heart hammered against her hand, and her breathing came in gulps. She’d never been so shocked in her life, or so unnerved by another person. And he looked as if everything was just fine, that it was entirely normal for him to accost her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she managed to gasp in a hoarse voice.

Rafe had known it was her as soon as he spotted her. Even if he couldn’t see her face, and viewed her only from the back. Megan Gallagher. In Wayne Lawrence’s office going through his desk.

Rafe was supposed to be at the house in Houston, helping Carmella, the nanny, settle the boys for the night, but instead he’d been stuck doing rounds because one of the scheduled guards hadn’t shown up for work. It had been so long since he’d worried about schedules and time cards, but now, acting like any other employee, he was on the receiving end of an extended shift. But maybe it had paid off for him.

He’d come up here to check things out, make sure everything was shut up tight, and had seen the open door with Wayne Lawrence’s name on the brass plaque. He knew Mr. Lawrence had left in a limousine half an hour ago. He’d watched him get into the long black car, and for a moment Rafe had wondered if Megan was in there, waiting for the man. Then he’d pushed that thought aside and started his rounds.

Now he knew where she was. Here. Going through Mr. Lawrence’s papers, in his private office. Muttering softly under her breath.

He’d watched for a moment, a million things going through his mind. Rafe had tried to focus on possibilities. She was working with Mr. Lawrence, so he could have asked her to come up here. But why hadn’t she left with him? Why was she in here alone, going through his desk? Maybe Mr. Lawrence’s money and position weren’t the drawing cards for her. Maybe it was what his position opened up to her.

Any idea Rafe came up with was distasteful, and the fact that she was attractive didn’t help things. When she started rifling through the baskets, he knew he had to make a move. He’d come up behind her, taking in the way her slacks defined the swell of her hips, her shirt clung softly to her back and shoulders.

She hadn’t even heard him coming. The instant he touched her, felt her softness and fine bones, she gasped and spun around sharply, trying to break his hold on her. The next moment she was pressed against his chest and he was staring into eyes every bit as blue as he’d thought they were Saturday night. And that scent was everywhere, although he was careful not to inhale too deeply.

She was as tall as he remembered, but the flash and glitter were gone. The shimmery silver dress was replaced by tailored slacks and a simple white blouse made of something soft that clung to her high breasts. The earpiece for her phone was in place again, and her hair was combed back from her flushed face. He couldn’t tell if she had on lipstick or if her lips were that shade of pink naturally. And those eyes…Blue, and glaring at him as if he had two heads.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she yelped in a breathless voice.

He pulled his hands back, clenching them. He was almost sure they were shaking slightly, and he didn’t know why. “What do you think you’re doing?” he countered.

Those blue eyes narrowed even more and he could see her take a deep breath that strained the fine material across her breasts. “You’re the one who attacked me.”

He almost felt a laugh coming on at the way her chin lifted a bit. “And you’re the one standing in someone’s private office, rifling through papers.”

“I’m not rifling through anything, and for your information, I’m supposed to be here.”

“Oh, and you’re not on the sign-in list, either.” He would have noticed her name if she’d signed in earlier in the day.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then looked at him again as if gathering herself. “Okay, you’ve got yet another list that I’m not on. Just tell me what list you’re talking about this time.”

“Everyone who comes into the building is supposed to sign in at the desk or in the garage. We know at any given time everyone who’s in the building. According to my lists, you’re not in the building. Therefore, you aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Forget it,” she muttered, and turned to reach for the papers again. “I don’t have time for your little power trips right now.”

He moved closer to grasp her once more and this time the softness under his fingertip unnerved him. She jerked away from the contact, and if she’d been angry before, she was furious now. But he didn’t back down. “Leave that alone,” he ordered quietly.

“Don’t you touch me again,” she retorted through clenched teeth.

He tried to ignore the way she rubbed at her arm where he’d made contact, but he couldn’t ignore the blush of high color on her cheeks, or the fact that it only made her more beautiful. “I won’t touch you if you stop trying to go through the desk.”

She closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, then opened them and took a breath. He was sure there was a shadow of a smile at the corners of her full lips. It was no wonder an older man would fall into her trap, if she used that smile to get to him. Then she spoke evenly and with a softer tone. “No doubt you’re earning your wages, Mr. Diaz, and I’m sure protecting LynTech is right at the top of your job description. But in this instance, as in your actions Saturday night, you’re wrong. I’m just trying to find something that was left here for me.”

If she’d just smiled, he probably would have backed off. He would have shown her out and let it go. But she used that tone, the one that sounded polite and reasonable, but had an underlying hint of superiority and condescension. “What was he leaving for you— money, jewelry, keys to an apartment?”

She looked confused, until his sarcastic remark suddenly registered. Her cheeks dotted with even more color, and she lifted her hand as if to strike him. “You creep!” she cried as he caught her by her wrist.

“Don’t even think of doing that.” She jerked against his constraint and he released her. “You’re out of here. Let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she exclaimed, rubbing at her wrist. “How dare you suggest that I…that Mr. Lawrence and I…” She shook her head as she hugged her arms tightly around herself. “That’s sick.”

“I’m sick? You’re the one seducing a man old enough to be your father to get…whatever.”

“Whatever?” she echoed.

He expected another explosion and braced himself, but when it came, the emotion wasn’t anger. Instead she started laughing. “You’re serious? You think that I—that…” Suddenly she smiled, the way she’d smiled in the car on Saturday night, a real expression of humor that quite literally took his breath away. “Me? You think that I’m…?” She shook her head. “You’re so wrong.”

On Saturday night he’d thought it was fun to spar with her, to bait her and joust with words, but he knew right now that he was out of his element. Rafe didn’t want any part of her smile, or the way she made him feel completely off balance.

“Oh, I’m wrong, am I?” he muttered. “Then why don’t you explain things so this poor, lowly hired hand can understand?”

She didn’t respond to his sarcasm, but leaned back against the edge of the desk. “Okay, I’ll put this simply. I work here. I just arrived Saturday, and had to go right to the ball to meet Mr. Lawrence, who is my boss, and someone I had never even seen before. I didn’t, and still don’t, know about signing in or signing out. That was one thing I wasn’t told to do, and I imagine my name isn’t on your endless list of lists for the same reason it wasn’t on the list for the ball. Someone forgot to put it there.”

He folded his arms on his chest, fighting an odd impulse to brush at a stray strand of hair that had escaped her severe knot. “Everyone employed by LynTech is on the list.”

“Not if someone messes up, which, since we’re all human, people tend to do from time to time.” She looked him right in the eye, and let a full second lapse for emphasis before she added, “You must understand that concept.”

Sarcastic and superior. And gorgeous. What a waste of gorgeous, he thought. “I understand that you aren’t on the list.”

He quite enjoyed her losing control when she threw up her hands and muttered, “You and your damn lists.”

No one had mentioned that she worked here, and when he’d told Zane about the ball, about her showing up, all his friend had said was, “Everyone could invite a guest if they bought a ticket.” And when Rafe had gone through the files on the work history of every employee, with pictures attached, he hadn’t come across anything on Megan Gallagher. He sure as hell would have remembered that photo. “Bottom line, Miss Gallagher, you don’t belong here.”

She stood straight again, leaning closer, and she brought that scent with her. “I don’t know what you want me to say or do. I’m new, so I’m not on the list. I’m also temporary, and I’m in here because Mr. Lawrence, who most definitely is no more to me than my boss for a month, gave me an envelope, which I forgot to take with me. Now I need it, so here I am.”

She wasn’t backing down, and truth be told, Rafe was wearing out. It had been fun for a while, maybe disturbing for most of the conversation, and definitely diverting, but he wanted this situation settled. “Why don’t we just do the obvious thing—what we did Saturday night—and call Mr. Lawrence?” He motioned to the earpiece in her ear and the cell phone in her pocket. “Use your fancy equipment and give the guy a call?”

She put her hand over her breast, and he realized she was covering the phone in her pocket. “No, I won’t.”

It was his turn to get exasperated. “And why not?”

“Because he’s my boss, and disturbing one’s boss over something like this won’t look good on my résumé.”

He checked his watch. “It’s just past seven o’clock and it’s not a Saturday night,” he pointed out. Then he reached around her to pick up the phone on the desk. “I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t,” she said, moving with him. The next instant she was against his side, her arm tangled with his and her hand covering the one that gripped the receiver. “No,” she said again, right by his ear.

Feelings exploded in him, feelings he thought were dead and gone, buried along with Gabriella. Rafe felt Megan’s breasts against his side, her hand touching his, her breath fanning his skin. Her scent filled his nostrils. His reaction was so sudden and intense it shook him to the core. He drew back, disentangled himself, and faced her. He was shaken and trying desperately to recover.

He’d gone from baiting her to wanting her in the most basic way. She was a total stranger, a woman who was opinionated, superior, condescending, infuriating and incredibly desirable. A woman who made his whole body ache with need, and who warmed his soul. A woman who filled his mind with searing images of the two of them joining together….

He covered his left hand with his right, felt the smooth gold of his wedding band and swallowed, hard.

“Don’t call Mr. Lawrence,” she said, and it sounded as if she was speaking from a great distance, down a long tunnel.

She touched her tongue to her lips, and he could almost imagine the taste of her, as crazy and impossible as that was. She was clearly waiting for his next move, and he didn’t know what that would be. He saw her exhale, and could swear he felt her breath brush his skin. He must be insane. His world had just exploded into something he didn’t recognize.

The need in him was painfully raw and basic, but it was wrong. It didn’t matter that it seemed to have a life of its own, that it had burst into his reality, distracting him completely. Megan was a woman who didn’t give a damn about him. And he needed to force himself to stay neutral. But as she stood straighter, reducing some of the space between them, he knew he couldn’t. That was impossible. As impossible as wanting a woman like her.

Chapter Three

Megan stared at Rafe, not certain what was going on. But she wanted out of here. The room seemed closed and airless. She found that breathing wasn’t easy for her, and she spoke quickly. “You don’t want to bother Mr. Lawrence if you don’t have to.” She inhaled a deep breath. “I’m here for training and possibly evaluation for a promotion, and if you call him…” She shrugged, already saying more than she should have. “Please, just let me find the envelope and you can read what’s in it before I take it. Okay?”

He didn’t move. He just stared at her, his hands behind his back, then he spoke in a low voice. “Find the damn envelope.”

“Thank you,” she said, and didn’t waste any time before turning back to the desk to look for it. She went through everything twice, but no envelope appeared. Finally she moved some books aside and withdrew a stack of papers beneath them. There it was. The envelope even had her name on the front of it.

She turned and held it up to Rafe. “Here it is.”

He looked at it, then came close enough to take it from her. She watched him open the flap, pull out a sheet of paper and examine it. “According to this, Ms. Gallagher is being moved to another location so your time at LynTech can be spent more productively.”

“See, I told you so,” she said, and realized that sounded like a childish retort. “It’s all there.”

He looked back at the letter. “It’s got directions.” He frowned as he read silently. “That’s a lousy area,” he murmured before he looked back at her with those dark eyes. “Why are they putting you up there?”

“He said it’s wired to the LynTech database, and I can work more effectively from there than I could from the hotel.”

“Whatever,” Rafe said, refolding the paper and putting it back in the envelope. Then he shook out two keys. “Front door and loft,” he said as he read the tags. He dropped them back in the envelope and handed it to her. “Once again, I was wrong. You’re right. You can go.”

She expected to feel victorious, but didn’t, thanks to the darkness in his eyes. She didn’t understand that look at all, and normally wouldn’t have cared. But for some reason, it bothered her. “Thank you,” she said, holding on tightly to the envelope. “I just need to get my things from my cubicle, then I’ll leave.” She heard herself add, “And can you show me where to sign the list?”

She thought he might at least smile a bit at that, but all he said was, “Get your things and I’ll sign you out.”

“Okay,” she agreed, and headed for the door.

He followed, but never came abreast of her all the way to her cubicle. When she went inside he stayed at the doorless entry and silently watched as she got her briefcase and put her paperwork in it. She closed it and looked up to find him eyeing her intently. “Can I ask you one thing?” she murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Why on earth would you assume that Mr. Lawrence and I were…together?”

He motioned to her hand. “I know that’s an engagement ring, and since you were hunting for Mr. Lawrence at the ball, well…” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time an older man and a younger woman got together.”

She knew her face was getting red. “That’s not the case,” she said, and snapped the locks on the briefcase. “Not at all.”

“That’s not an engagement ring?” he asked.

“Of course it is. And for your information, my fiancé is thirty-three, five years older than I am.” Why in the heck had she told him that? “But that’s none of your business.”

“I didn’t ask,” he pointed out.

“Do you need to see my ID or anything now?”

Rafe hesitated, then put out his hand. “Sure.”

She opened the briefcase again, pulled out a slim wallet and took out her California driver’s license. He looked at it and read aloud, “Megan Stanford Gallagher.” Then he glanced up at her. “Stanford?”

She’d always hated her middle name. “My grandmother’s maiden name.”

“Oh, I thought you were named after the university,” he said. “You know, Stanford University.”

“No,” she said.

“Okay. Just checking.” Then he read, “Twenty-eight, five feet ten inches, a hundred and—”

She went around and snatched the license out of his hand. “I think that’s enough,” she said, and returned it to her wallet. “I’m who I said I am, and I’m here for the reason I told you.”

She snapped the briefcase shut and heard Rafe repeat, “You are who you say you are, and you’re here for the reason you told me.”

“Thank you.” She looked up at him. “Now, tell me if you’re just overzealous about your job, or did you seriously think I was stealing company secrets?”

“The latter,” he murmured.

“You are kidding, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“And you thought I was getting involved with Mr. Lawrence to ferret out company secrets?”

“That sounded reasonable to me,” he said.

She shook her head. The thought was just plain sickening to her. “I’m ready to leave,” she said, then saw the boxes she had to take with her. She pointed to them. “They need to go with me. Since you’re here, and you have to sign me out, you can carry them down for me.”

“I’m a guard, not a valet,” he said, and didn’t move.

She blinked at his words. She hadn’t meant to offend him, or ask him to be her slave. “I just thought it would help me get out of here faster,” she said with all honesty.

“Of course it would. Just ask me, instead of assuming I’ll be your lackey.”

She had no idea where this was coming from, but it made her feel uneasy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll take them myself and make a couple of trips.”

That clearly wasn’t the right thing to say, either, though she didn’t know why. “It’s going to kill you to be polite, isn’t it?” he murmured in a low voice.

“Forget it. It won’t kill me to make two trips.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll be done in ten minutes, if that’s okay with you?”

“Now’s even better,” he said, and went straight to the boxes, picking them up. “Let’s get this over with.”

He sounded as if he were about to have a root canal operation, but she didn’t argue. She collected her things, then did as he said, leading the way to the elevators. She reached to press the down button, and the doors opened immediately. She stood back to let Rafe on board, then followed and hit the button for the lobby.

She faced the doors as they closed, and deliberately didn’t look at Rafe’s reflection in them as he stood beside her. The elevator started down, and she realized she might not be looking at him, but he was staring at her. “What?” she finally said.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Sorry,” he murmured, and as she eyed him, he glanced away. “I was just thinking that if I were you, I wouldn’t wear a ring like that in the neighborhood you’re going to tonight.”

“What does that mean?”

“How big is that ring?” he asked.

“None of your business,” she said.

“Three carats, four?” he pressed.

“Big enough.”

“Okay, a nice ring. The place you’re staying is in a fringe area, a mixture of warehouses and converted lofts, populated with homeless street people.”

She knew the type of area, but had assumed that the loft was in an industrial section that had been turned into pricey condos and studios. “Mr. Lawrence arranged it, and I don’t think he would put me in a place he considered questionable or unsafe.”

“It might be paradise,” Rafe said, staring straight ahead at the doors, “but I’d still keep that ring under wraps.”

She covered the diamond with her other hand.

“One more suggestion?” he said, and this time he met her gaze in the reflection.

“What now?” she asked with a tinge of exasperation.

“When you park there, assuming they don’t have a secured parking area, go right to the door and have your key ready. Then go straight in.”

She frowned at him, hating the uneasiness that was beginning to niggle at her. “What are you trying to do, scare me as payback for…not signing the lists?”

He shrugged. “Security’s my job, and I’m just giving you a few suggestions. Take them or leave them.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened with a soft chime. He let her step out first, then went with her to the back exit, toward the parking garage. Megan opened the door, let him go out, then followed, hearing the door close with a metallic clang. She headed for her car, parked between a foreign compact and a large black SUV.

She hit the lock release, then Rafe put the boxes on the back seat, closed the door and turned to her. “I would have pegged you for a BMW,” he said.

“I have a Porsche,” she admitted. “I flew in, so it couldn’t come with me. This is a rental from the company.”

He opened her door for her, and as she slipped into the driver’s seat, he crouched by her the way he had at the entry gate that night. “Anything else, ma’am?” he asked in an annoyingly deferential tone that she knew he didn’t mean at all.

“Nothing, thanks,” she said, putting her briefcase on the passenger seat.

“Well, if you think of anything, give me a call,” he said, and motioned to her phone and the earpiece. “You’re wired for it.”

“Sure, you’ll be the first one I call if I need something,” she muttered.

She was braced for some snappy comeback meant to cut her to the quick, but he surprised her when he said simply, “Be careful.”

What looked like genuine concern touched his dark eyes, and that surprised her, too. He was taking this whole thing seriously, about security and the neighborhood. “I plan to be.”

“Good. You do that,” he said. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Excuse me?”

“How to get there, to the loft?”

“Oh. No.” She turned to her briefcase, opened it and took out the now infamous envelope to get the letter and read it more carefully. There wasn’t any mention of parking in it, but there were directions she could easily follow. “It’s all here.”

“One more thing?”

“What?”

“If you do end up parking on the street, don’t leave anything in your car where it can be seen through the windows. You’d be asking for trouble.”

“Are you sure you don’t live down there or something?” she asked. “You seem to know a whole lot about the criminal element.”

He stared at her, hard. Then he stood and said, as if from a great distance above her, “Why don’t you call my parole officer and ask him about me?” Slamming the door so hard it shook the car, he strode away without looking back.

Megan was stunned. She hadn’t meant anything by what she’d said, but he was furious at her. Offended, obviously. And walking away. She scrambled out of the car and called to him as he got to the door of the building. “Hey, I didn’t sign the damn list!”

He stopped, then turned. “You never checked in, so technically you aren’t here. You don’t exist.” And he left.

She sank back into the car, horrified to feel her eyes smarting with tears. She swiped at them. She never cried. Never. But now she was on the verge of springing a leak. She could hate him, really hate him, for the way he got to her.

She put the car in gear and headed for the exit. Maybe she wouldn’t see him again. It looked as if he worked nights, and she wasn’t about to stay late anymore. She wouldn’t have to with the setup at the loft.

She got to the closed security gate and it didn’t move to open. She realized she didn’t know what to do to get out. She’d come in with other cars that morning.

She spotted a keypad by an empty booth, rolled down the window and leaned out to examine it. One of the buttons was labeled Assistance, and she pressed it. She pressed it again, and still nothing happened. Everyone must be gone for the night and she was stuck.

She sank back in the seat and felt the beginnings of a headache behind her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should go inside again and find someone to help her, or if there would be anyone there. Then she remembered—Rafe was around. No, she wasn’t going back inside.

She sat forward and pushed the button again. This time, loud static came over the speaker, then a voice. “Security.”

“I’m in the parking lot and I need to get out. The gate’s shut.”

“Name?”

If he had a list, she wasn’t on it. But she gave it a shot. “Megan Gallagher. I just started today and—”

“I know,” the voice said, and she realized it was Rafe.

The next instant the gate slowly rose. “Thank you,” she called into the speaker, but there was no response. He probably hadn’t heard her. She rolled up the window and eased out onto the street, then stopped by the curb, aware of the gate going down behind her as she reached for the paper with the directions. Mr. Lawrence had made them simple, even writing down the estimated distance between turns.

She started off, and as she got closer, recognized the area. It’s where she’d thought the loft would be, right in the middle of a redevelopment zone. It could be just fine. It might be nice now, and not dangerous. It could have upscale residences and elegant businesses. The loft might be like the ones she’d seen in New York when she’d visited Quint. She remembered him telling her some of the prices and they were outrageous. People actually had bidding wars, driving prices through the ceiling, all wanting to live in such places. Maybe that’s the way it was with the LynTech loft.

She spotted the street she was looking for, turned onto it and knew she was wrong. It was lined with warehouses, half of them boarded up, the others with stark security lights on them. Interspersed were other, smaller buildings, some abandoned, none remotely like the elegant renovated places she’d hoped for. She drove slowly, noticing that there were no people on the street, and just a scattering of cars parked by the curb. Streetlamps provided a little light, at least the ones with bulbs not broken, but there were no garages in sight, no driveways, and no parking stalls.

Megan spotted the number she was looking for halfway down the block on the right, and pulled her car to the curb in front of an old van that looked as if a hippie probably lived in it. Ahead, three motorcycles were parked, nose in, in front of the two-story warehouse, whose only ornamentation were two potted plants sitting on either side of a steel security door. At least there was light from a caged fixture over the entry.

She turned off the car, double-checked the address, then took several deep breaths. She could barely admit it to herself, but what Rafe Diaz had said had scared her more than a little. If he’d intended to do that, he’d succeeded.

She picked up the keys, gripping the one tagged for the front door, then pushed everything else into her briefcase and got out of the car, leaving the boxes for later. Locking the door, Megan set the alarm and practically ran around the vehicle and across the cement sidewalk to the warehouse entrance.

She pushed the key in the lock, turned it and heard a click, then opened the door. She went inside, closed it behind her and stood for a moment in the barren-looking foyer. Two doors, one to the right and one dead ahead, came off of it, and to her left was an old service elevator. The note had said the loft was on the second floor, straight across from the lift. She stepped forward and raised the chain gate on the elevator, then got in, relieved when it began to move.

Reaching the second level, she went to the door directly across the hallway and got out the second key. But before she could put it in the lock, another door off the hallway to her right opened and a mountain of a man stepped out. He had on a leather vest over a massive bare chest, plus faded Levi’s, heavy motor-cycle boots, and a skullcap over long gray hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail. There were tattoos on each of his massive biceps and one visible through the open front of the vest. She thought she could make out Die as one of the words.

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