“Care to dance?”

As Mac swept her into his arms and began to dance, she forgot about her fear she’d be exposed and escorted from the ball. She could only see Mac, smell the enticing scent of his aftershave, relish the strength of the muscles beneath his jacket.

His dark eyes were mesmerizing. Seconds spun by. She wanted to trace that slight dimple in his left cheek. Wanted to shift her hand from his shoulder to his neck and feel the warmth of his skin. She wanted to learn more about the stranger with whom she danced so superbly. The night was full of magic and she savored every moment. All too soon it would end and she’d be back to her day-to-day routine.

She knew she was on borrowed time. But a few stolen moments of dancing with Mac were worth any risk.

Barbara McMahon was born and raised in the South, but settled in California after spending a year flying around the world for an international airline. After settling down to raise a family and work for a computer firm, she began writing when her children started school. Now, feeling fortunate in being able to realise a long-held dream of quitting her ‘day job’ and writing full time, she and her husband have moved to the Sierra Nevada mountains of California, where she finds her desire to write is stronger than ever. With the beauty of the mountains visible from her windows, and the pace of life slower than the hectic San Francisco Bay Area where they previously resided, she finds more time than ever to think up stories and characters and share them with others through writing. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at PO Box 977, Pioneer, CA 95666-0977, USA. Readers can also contact Barbara at her website: www.barbaramcmahon.com

NANNY TO THE BILLIONAIRE’S SON

BY

BARBARA McMAHON

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chuck Nash, for always being there for me.

I love you, Daddy.

PROLOGUE

SAMANTHA DUNCAN lifted the crumpled card from the floor. It had fluttered in the air when she dumped the deskside trash can. Smoothing it out on the flat surface of the mahogany desk, her fingers traced the embossed print, complete with gold emblem at the top. It was a ticket to Atlanta’s Black and White Ball on New Year’s Eve. The thick, creamy paper screamed expensive, as did the fancy script. Of course tickets to the ball went at five hundred dollars a pop, so they should look elegant.

And the owner of this one had crumpled it up and tossed it away. For a moment her imagination sparked. She’d love to go to a ball, dressed to the nines, flirt with dashing captains of industry, or trust-fund men who never had to work two jobs to make ends meet.

She held it over the large barrel that held the floor’s trash, hesitated a moment, then slid it in her apron pocket, righted the trash container and continued with the task of dusting and vacuuming the office of the CEO of McAlheny Industries. It probably meant nothing to the man. He was one of the top-ten wealthiest men in Atlanta, maybe even the East Coast. A mere five hundred dollars would be a pittance to him.

As she worked, she furthered her image of herself at the ball, just like Cinderella. She’d be wearing a fabulous designer creation. Men would fall over themselves asking her to dance. She wouldn’t sit out a single one. And she would be dazzling in her witty repartee.

The food was rumored to be to die for. She had a sweet tooth and couldn’t help wondering, would the desserts be beyond fabulous? She’d love to have crème brûlée or a superrich chocolate torte.

“Ready to move to the next floor?” One of her coworkers waited at the door. Sam glanced around the pristine office and nodded. The bubble popped. She was tired. The good news was she only had another five offices on the next floor to clean and she’d be finished for the evening.

It was hard to work all day at her regular job then put in six hours cleaning offices, but she needed the money in the worst way. She’d been lucky to get this job. Still, it was Friday night. Once finished, she’d have two days to sleep in, nap and get ready for the next workweek.

Not for her the promise of a Cinderella ball. She knew her limitations. After Chad, she knew better than to daydream about men dropping at her feet. The reality was always there to face as soon as they met Charlene.

Saturday morning Sam slept in until nine. Not super late, but late enough for someone who usually rose before seven and was at work by eight.

She donned on her robe, slipping the ticket in her pocket, and went downstairs. Her sister was in the small study she used as her office, typing away. Sam paused at the door.

“Did you eat already?”

Charlene looked up and shook her head. “I waited for you. I was hoping for blueberry pancakes.”

“Sounds good,” Sam said. She headed for the kitchen. Feeling slightly depressed when she entered, she glanced at the patched wall where the old oak tree had crashed through during Hurricane George. The damage remained, awaiting funds to repair it. Sighing softly, she quickly moved to gather ingredients to make the pancake batter, using the small, two-burner camp stove they were making do with. Once she had enough money, they would get the kitchen repaired and at that point she was buying a top-of-the-line gas range.

Charlene rolled into the kitchen.

“Want any help?” she asked.

“No, I’ve got it. Why are you working on Saturday? I thought you tried to get everything done during the week.”

“I know, but I got caught up in quilting on Thursday and so am behind a bit. I need to be caught up by Monday.” Charlene was a medical transcriptionist for a local physicians’ clinic. She worked at home and normally her income plus Sam’s kept them afloat. The hurricane had caused them to dip into their small savings, and still repairs remained waiting to be done.

“Oh, look what I brought home,” Sam said, pulling the invitation from her robe pocket and tossing it to her sister.

“Pretty,” Charlene said, looking at it. “I didn’t know you got a ticket.”

“I didn’t. It fell out of the trash at one of the offices last night. I brought it home for you to see. Really posh, don’t you think?”

Charlene toyed with it, glancing at Sam from time to time as Sam flipped the pancakes and dished them up. As soon as Sam sat, Charlene said, “You should go.”

“Where?”

“To the ball, of course.” She tapped the edge of the invitation on the table. “It’s obviously not being used by anyone.”

“Someone paid big bucks for that. I can’t use it,” Sam pointed out, pouring on the maple syrup.

“Why not? Whoever bought it changed his or her mind and tossed it. Think of it as recycling.” Charlene began to warm to her idea. “I think it would be the perfect chance for you to go out and have a great time. Something you haven’t done much of since the hurricane.”

“Once we get all the repair work done, I’ll start dating again. Right now, I’m too tired.”

And dating wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Sam had fallen in love in college, only to have her boyfriend let her down when the accident claimed her parents’ lives and injured her sister so much. He couldn’t face having to deal with a paraplegic as part of his family. For a moment she remembered the crushing scene right after he visited Charlene in the hospital with Sam.

Don’t go there, she warned herself. Chad was in the past. She had the future to think about. It was only once in a while that she thought about how her life would have been had that drunk not crashed into her family’s car and altered all their futures.

She dated occasionally, but usually once the man found out she had a disabled sister, one who could not live on her own and would always need some assistance, he faded away. Or vanished instantly as in the case of her most recent foray into dating last August. She still had hopes of one day finding the perfect man, someone who would love her to distraction, and be able to handle having Charlene as a part of their lives.

In the meantime, Sam had other priorities. Like getting enough money to repair the kitchen and quit the nighttime job.

“I bet Margaret would let you borrow one of her gowns,” Charlene said.

Sam looked at her sister. “You’re not serious.”

“What have I been saying? Of course I am. Think about it. The Black and White Ball is the most exclusive charity event in Atlanta. They sold out last Thanksgiving for the New Year’s Eve event. It’s in three days’ time. You found the ticket. Think of it as serendipity. I think you should go.”

“The ticket isn’t mine,” Sam protested. She couldn’t help remembering her daydream of the previous night. She’d love to go to something so elegant. To be carefree and pretend all was right with her world.

“It’ll just go to waste if you don’t use it,” Charlene argued. “No will know how you got it. No one would care. The charity obviously already has the money. I’ll call Margaret right after breakfast.”

Sam toyed with the idea. It would be wonderful to have a special memory to look back on. And when would she ever be able to spend five hundred dollars on a ticket to a dance?

Not a dance—to an elegant ball.

“Maybe—if Margaret has a dress. It has to be black or white, remember. That’s the whole premise of the ball.” The more Sam thought about it, the more she wondered that even if she did go, she’d be spotted for an imposter in an instant. Still—it did seem a shame to waste the ticket. Should she throw the decision to fate and leave it up to seeing if Margaret had a suitable gown?

CHAPTER ONE

SAMANTHA entered the luxurious lobby of the Atlantian Hotel with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Her pace slowed as she looked around, taking in every detail. The spacious lobby was amazing, ceilings that soared at least twenty-five feet supporting crystal chandeliers that sparkled and gleamed with light. The floor alternated glowing hardwoods with lush Persian carpets centering seating arrangements of plush sofas and deep easy chairs. Sidestepping from a direct line to the ballroom, she deliberately walked on one of the crimson carpets, her heels sinking in dangerously. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she savored the luxury, smiling in sheer delight.

She felt like a schoolgirl let out into the real world for the first time. Only this was not her world. Elegant hotels, fabulous balls, expensive gowns and jewels were only things she normally read about. This was a first—to actually be participating. She couldn’t believe she’d actually let Charlene talk her into attending.

Samantha assumed an air of casual sophistication and crossed to the cloakroom hoping she appeared as if she attended events like this routinely. She checked in her coat, her practical wool a poor showing beside the cashmere and silk.

Clutching her small purse and purloined ticket, Samantha raised her chin and walked to the huge double doors opening into the ballroom. Atlanta’s Black and White New Year’s Eve Ball was one of the most prestigious charity events of the winter season. A recent tradition, its goal was raising funds for the Children’s League while celebrating the beginning of each new year. With such sponsors as Gideon Fairchild and Vanessa Winters, it attracted the crème de la crème of Atlanta society. And tonight Sam was mingling with them all!

Samantha smiled at the white-gloved man at the door checking the coveted tickets. She showed hers wondering if he’d immediately recognize she should not be here and block her entry.

He merely glanced at the embossed ticket and said, “Table twenty-one is near the dais.”

She nodded and entered the enchanted ballroom. Her gaze moved around the room taking in every lavish decoration. White lights sparkled from a dozen chandeliers reflected in the antique mirrors that lined one wall. Even more gorgeous than the ones in the lobby, the crystal illumination offered a rainbow of colors matched only by the glittering jewels displayed by guests.

Round tables were set with fine linens, bone china and real silverware. Small, discreet signs with table numbers sat in each center. Waiters circulated with champagne, filling flutes expertly. Uniformed waitresses offered hors d’oeuvres. People were already sitting at some of the tables, even more were roaming around greeting friends. Sam took her time sauntering through the lavishly appointed room. She felt like Cinderella at the ball. She didn’t know anyone here, but that wouldn’t dim her excitement.

People smiled at her and she returned the silent greeting with an answering smile and slight nod. Her gaze moved to the dais where a table for those sponsoring the event was already filling up. There she recognized one or two famous residents of the city from photographs in the newspaper.

True to the nature of the event, everyone wore either white or black or a combination. The men looked superb in their dark tuxedos. Occasionally she’d spot one wearing a white dinner jacket. Young and old alike looked more polished and debonair in a tux. She wished there were more events that required formal attire. Not that she’d likely attend any of those, either.

The gowns the women wore were fantastic. The only colors were the jewels that sparkled at throats, ears and wrists. Her own string of pearls seemed subdued in comparison to the emeralds and rubies and diamonds that predominated. But they had belonged to her mother and she loved them. She could only pretend so much.

Normally when Samantha thought about white gowns, she envisioned wedding dresses. Not tonight. The creations ranged from sleek and sophisticated to almost indecent. More black gowns were present than white, but all were obviously designer creations.

Her own gown blended in perfectly. On loan from her friend Margaret who owned a vintage clothing shop, the white satin strapless bodice gradually faded into gray then black at a wide band at the bottom of the floor-length skirt. It was more than fifty years old, but had been lovingly cared for and Sam felt as comfortable in it as she would have in one of today’s couture gowns. Because of its age, there was not a high likelihood of seeing another like it tonight.

She felt like a princess and held her head even higher to show off her gown. She had never worn anything so elegant before. Her hair, normally worn down or tied back in a ponytail, had been done by her sister into an upswept loop with a few curls cascading down her back. She repressed the urge to twirl around in giddy delight, feeling excited like nothing before. There would be dancing after the dinner. Would she get a chance? An assessing look around her showed most people seemed paired. Sighing softly, she made up her mind to enjoy every moment—whether she danced or not. It was unlikely she’d ever have another opportunity to attend a Black and White Ball.

“Champagne?” A waiter stepped close, a tray of filled flutes in his hand.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a glass. When he’d passed on, she took a tentative sip. Mmm. Another sip. Champagne was not normally in her budget. This was delicious.

Before she could move, a man stepped in front of her.

“I’m sure we have met,” he said with a grin. He sipped from his own flute of champagne and from the slight swaying on his feet she wondered how much he’d already had.

“I’m afraid not,” she said with a smile.

“Fred Pearson. At your shervice.” He shook his head. “Service.”

He reached out and caught her arm. “Here alone? I am. Don’t like to come to these events alone. Too shhhtupid, ya know? But I recognize you. I’m sure we have met.”

“No. I’m Samantha.” She didn’t want to be rude but Fred was impeding her way to her table and she caught a couple of people looking at them. The last thing she wanted was anything to call attention to herself. What if someone questioned who she was and when she’d bought the ticket?

“I need to get to my table,” she said, hoping he’d release her.

“Ah, my table is right over—” He looked around, peering at the numbers on the nearby tables, still holding on to her arm.

Sam began to wonder if it were to keep him upright.

“—somewhere,” Fred ended, obviously giving up on finding his own table. “Do you want to dance?”

“The music hasn’t started yet,” Sam said, trying to pull away without making it too obvious.

Fred glanced around again, finishing the last of the champagne in his glass. “It’ll start soon.”

“I think dinner is first. It was nice to meet you. I need to get to my table.”

“My table is around here somewhere,” he said, stumbling a step as he turned to look around, almost pulling Sam off her feet.

“There you are. I was thinking I’d missed you.”

Sam looked to her left where another man in a tux spoke to her. He looked at Fred.

“You need to let her go. I’ll take over now,” he said.

“Oh. Thought she was lost,” Fred said, swaying a little. He looked at his hand holding Sam’s arm and slowly released it. “Think I need another drink.”

“I think we don’t belong here,” her rescuer said. A warm hand grasped her upper arm and urged her quickly to the left. Guiding her through tables and making a way through the couples standing in conversations, she was soon whisked to the sidelines.

She turned and looked properly at her rescuer—and promptly caught her breath. Her heart fluttered, her breathing stopped. He was gorgeous, tall and dark and breathtaking. He just oozed sex appeal. She’d read about that before, but never experienced it. Now she knew what the books meant. Feeling slightly light-headed, she finally remembered to breathe.

He was so tall, her head barely cleared his shoulder. Wide shoulders that gave a new meaning to wearing a tux made the suit look as if it were designed with only him in mind and the ruffles on the shirtfront served to highlight his masculinity. His hair was cut just long enough to entice a woman’s fingers to thread through and dark eyes were framed by lashes a starlet would envy. His jaw was rugged. His sensuous lips curled into a slight smile, which showed a dimple indenting his left cheek. His gaze was firmly focused on her. Oh, dear, had he said something?

She blinked and looked away, her heart pounding. Good grief, she never paid attention to such things. Did coming to a ball like Cinderella give rise to Prince Charming expectations? She almost laughed, except she felt giddy with her conflicting emotions.

“Are you all right?” he asked. For the second time?

“I certainly didn’t expect a confrontation at this ball,” she murmured, glancing back to where Fred was making his way through the crowd. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

“Probably. But you never know with Boozer.”

“Boozer?” she repeated.

“Fred’s nickname. Rumor has it he drinks bourbon for breakfast. He’s already three sheets to the wind and he’s only just arrived. Stay clear of him.”

“I shall. If I had seen him coming I would have gone the other way. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“My pleasure.”

A waitress stopped by them, offering tiny crackers covered with caviar.

Samantha hesitated. She had never tried caviar before and had heard mixed reviews from friends who had.

Her companion had no compunctions. He took a couple, then looked at her.

“Not having any?”

“I’ll try one,” she said, feeling daring. But with her small purse and the ticket in one hand and the other holding the champagne, she wasn’t sure how.

He solved that dilemma. “May I?” he asked. He fed her one, his fingers barely brushing her lips. She didn’t even taste the caviar, her whole being was riveted on the reaction to his barely felt touch. She shivered slightly, but not due to cold. She gazed up into deep brown eyes and felt her bones weaken even as every cell seemed to stir in anticipation of more. Oh, help, she was in trouble.

“Another?” he asked, offering a second.

She nodded and he fed her again. This time she paid attention to the strong taste by looking away.

“Mmm,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She was not sure caviar would ever become a favorite.

He laughed and took another cracker for himself before the waitress moved on to the next guest.

“Not your thing, I take it,” he said as he popped the hors d’oeuvre into his mouth.

Sam shook her head, her gaze on his lips as he chewed the tidbit. Get a hold of yourself!

“I’m glad I got to sample it. Now I know I don’t have expensive tastes,” she said.

“Is this your first time here?”

She nodded.

He glanced around. “Will your date know where to find you?” he asked.

“I came alone. I think Fred—Boozer—picked up on that.” Did that make her sound odd? Should she make up something about her date getting sick at the last moment or something?

“So did I. If you are ready to find your table, I’ll escort you,” he said genially.

She smiled, suddenly feeling like anything could happen tonight. Taking another sip of her champagne, she wondered why a man who looked like he did had come alone. Maybe his date really had got sick.

“Your wife was unable to attend?” she asked, fishing for an answer without being too obvious—she hoped.

“I’m not married.” His demeanor changed, instantly becoming somber.

Bad topic. She swept her arm toward the dais. “Mine is table twenty-one. The doorman said it was near the dais.”

He paused for a moment, staring at her. “How interesting. That’s my table also.”

She went on alert. For a moment tension rose. Surely he didn’t think she had deliberately set out to sit at his table? He had rescued her after all. Yet his reaction had definitely been odd. She still had the ticket out and showed it to him. He inclined his head slightly and gestured for her to walk toward the front of the large ballroom.

“My friends call me Mac,” he said, placing his hand at the small of her back as they wound through groups of guests chatting and laughing with enjoyment of the evening.

“Mine call me Sam. Short for Samantha,” she murmured, her heart pumping wildly—from his touch, or adrenaline, or just plain old fear of exposure, she wasn’t sure. No one had challenged her so far. She should feel safe. But she couldn’t help glancing around to see if anyone was paying special attention to her. Apparently not.

“Mac and Sam, sounds like a rock group or something,” he responded. Twice he spoke to people as they wound through the conversing groups, but he didn’t stop to introduce Sam.

The tables were set for eight. A couple was already seated at table twenty-one when Mac and Sam reached it. Everyone introduced themselves with first names as Mac seated Sam then took the chair beside her. It was obvious the others thought they had come together. She waited for him to deny it, but he ignored the assumptions.

By the time the salad was served two others had joined them. Conversation became general and Sam relaxed as the meal progressed. It looked as if her gamble had paid off. She could give herself up to the sole purpose of enjoying the evening and no longer worry about discovery. How long had it been since she’d gone out for fun and nothing more?

Longer than she cared to remember, thanks to Hurricane George.

Mac was a perfect partner for dinner. He spent his time talking with her and the woman on his other side. Two places remained empty at the table. How odd that those people had not used their tickets. Or had they, too, been trashed? The sponsors of this event had declared it to be a sellout. Was that just hype, or had something at the last moment prevented some ticket holders from attending?

When the final dinner plates had been removed and coffee served, the waitstaff quietly vanished and the night’s speaker was introduced. The speech was short and poignant, urging everyone present to take up the cause of the Children’s League and to be generous in support for disadvantaged children.

Then the wall to the right began to fold into panels and open revealing the dance floor and the orchestra providing the music. Along one wall a buffet table lavishly displayed desserts of all types. Two large open bars flanked the buffet tables. The rest of the room sparkled beneath the crystal chandeliers that illuminated the space, dimmed slightly to provide a sense of intimacy in the huge ballroom.

The music began and Mac turned to Sam. “Care to dance?”

She nodded, her heart kicking up again. She had hoped to have a chance, but hadn’t expected such a dashing partner. As they walked to the dance floor, she noticed the covert glances given them. All for Mac, she knew. She smiled, delighted to be in the company of the best-looking man in the room.

In seconds they were on the dance floor moving to the waltz the orchestra played so well. So far so good. She’d enjoy her dance and then leave. It wasn’t so awkward eating with a group but once dancing began, couples would rule the event.

As Mac continued to sweep her around the dance floor effortlessly, she forgot about the fear she’d be exposed and escorted from the ball. She could only see Mac, smell the enticing scent of his aftershave, relish the strength of the muscles beneath his jacket. He danced divinely and Samantha felt like a kid in a candy store. She loved to dance. With a sister confined to a wheelchair, however, she cherished it even more, though she rarely went to dances. Which made tonight especially delightful. Closing her eyes, she moved with the music, relishing the sensations that seeped in. Mac was an excellent partner. It had been far too long since she’d gone out for the sole purpose of enjoying herself. Perhaps it presaged a better year in the offing. She hoped so.

“You’re very quiet,” Mac said midway through the waltz.

“I’m enjoying myself immensely,” she said with a quick glance up. His dark eyes were mesmerizing. Seconds spun by. She wanted to trace that slight dimple in his left cheek. Wanted to shift her hand from his shoulder to his neck and feel the warmth of his skin. She wanted to learn more about the stranger with whom she danced so superbly. The night was full of magic and she savored every moment. All too soon it would end and she’d be back to her day-to-day routine.

She knew she was on borrowed time, but a few stolen moments of dancing with Mac were worth any risk. If anyone official made a beeline toward her, she’d dash out of one of the doors and vanish into the night.

“There aren’t many New Year’s Eve parties these days that have a full ballroom and the music to go with it,” Mac commented.

She nodded and murmured in agreement. She knew the ball’s primary goal was to raise money, but more than anything else, it provided an elegant evening to all who attended. What a way to end the old year and usher in the new.

“Are you from Atlanta?” Mac asked.

“Born and bred,” she said, giving up the quiet to respond. He was trying to talk and she was acting like a tongue-tied schoolgirl. Get with it, Sam. “You?”

“Born in Savannah, came here a decade ago.”

“Savannah has a lot of charm. Atlanta is the New York of the South—dynamic and exciting—but perhaps it’s not as charming as Savannah.”

“It suits me to a T,” he said.

Sam smiled and wondered what he did, where in the city he lived. What part of living here he liked best.

She wished she could say Atlanta suited her. She glanced over his shoulder, feeling the sudden aching longing for the path she once thought she’d take. Her dream of becoming a national park ranger and living in some of the western parks with wide-open spaces and nature’s bounty evident everywhere had ended with the car crash that had changed her life.

Instead she was surrounded by glass and concrete and heavy traffic. And she hated almost every moment.

The music ended, but Mac kept hold of her hand.

“Since you came alone, as did I, would you care for another dance?” he asked.

“Thank you, I’d like that.” She felt a tingling in her hand where his clasped hers. For a second or two she could almost imagine they were on a date together. That he was interested in her and wanted to see her again. They’d ring in the New Year together and then slip away to a quiet place just for the two of them.

But even if he asked her, she’d have to say no. Before long it would be midnight and time to leave. Even if they did spend some time together, once he met Charlene, he’d pull back like the others. The perfect man who would sweep her off her feet, loving her as no one ever had before, and committing to a life together forever, just didn’t exist.

Forget commitment, she admonished herself. Until it was time to leave, she should squeeze out every last bit of fun.

When the music began again it was a faster beat. The dancing wasn’t as conducive to conversation, which suited Sam. She liked dancing with Mac, but knew it was a night out of time. Monday morning she’d be back at her desk at the Beale Foundation and that night working with the cleaning crew at the towers.

When the song ended, Mac once again touched her, this time at the small of her back as he guided her from the floor. He was a sensuous man, and she felt cherished and feminine. She hadn’t been touched like that in a long time and she’d never felt this way before.

“Want something to drink?” he asked, nodding toward the bar.

“As thirsty as I am right now, the only thing would be water,” she said.

“Iced sparkling water it is,” he said as he escorted her toward one of the large bars serving the guests. The line moved quickly. Sam watched the dancers on the floor, glancing back to the dining tables. More people were standing around talking than dancing. She would have taken advantage of the orchestra and not merely talked with friends. She didn’t want to miss a beat.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her a tall glass of ice and sparkling water. She drank quickly, glad for the refreshment. He’d also asked for water and finished before she did, guiding them to where a tray for empties stood. Sam drained her glass and put it down beside his.

The lights dimmed and another slow song began.

“Another dance?” he asked.

She hesitated. But temptation proved too strong.

“I’d love one more,” she said.

Once they were circling the floor, Sam wondered if her imagination was playing tricks or if Mac held her even closer than before. Not that she minded. She rested her forehead against his jaw and closed her eyes again. Dancing like this was pure heaven. The shimmering feelings that swept through her only added to the magical feel of the night.

“Having fun?” he asked softly.

“The best time,” she replied, realizing it was true. She was so glad she’d come.

“Me, too. More than I expected.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “Why’s that?”

“I thought this more of a duty event—show up, be seen, go home. You’re an unexpected bonus.”

She smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called a bonus before.”

His phone vibrated. She could feel it as they danced.

He stopped and pulled it out, glancing at the number calling. “Excuse me, I need to take this.” He guided them to the edge of the floor as he flipped open the phone and spoke.

“Tommy? What’s up? Why aren’t you in bed?”

Sam watched the others dancing, but listened to the man talking. Was the call from a child?

A few moments later Mac hung up. “Sorry about that. Tommy’s my son—he wanted to wait up to wish me Happy New Year, but has to go to bed now, he’s too tired to stay up.”

“Oh.” Sam had not expected something like this. “I thought you said you weren’t married,” she commented, suddenly wary.

“I’m not. My wife died three years ago. Today proved to be a hard day. Our longtime housekeeper is leaving in the morning and Tommy’s never known anyone else. I have a new person starting Monday, so for a few days we’ll be batching it ourselves.”

Sam nodded, her perception of Mac undergoing a subtle change. While he was still wildly attractive, any fantasy she might have had of them becoming a couple came to an abrupt end. She had her own baggage and couldn’t see herself taking on another’s. Not that children weren’t delightful and a blessing, but she was already tied down. She would never achieve her dream if she became entangled with children.

“How old is he?” she asked, curious despite her resolve.

“Just three. It’s a cute age.”

She smiled. She wouldn’t know; she didn’t have the occasion to be around many young children. Her work was with disabled adults, not kids.

The music was still playing, and he took her back into his arms and they moved onto the floor once again.

It wasn’t fair, Sam thought as she rested her head against him again. She wanted one fantasy evening and now that was no longer the same knowing Mac was a father and so involved with his son he’d answer a phone call in the middle of a dance.

But wouldn’t she if Charlene called?

Family came first. Sighing softly, she tried to capture the sparkle from earlier. It wasn’t hard being held in Mac’s arms. Soon she once again pretended it was just the two of them dancing on a cloud. The music was the perfect tempo; the feelings evoked were nostalgic and warm. Unlike the experience of being held in this man’s arms. She felt as if she were on the edge of a cliff—one step could send her flying, or crashing to the bottom.

When the song ended, she looked up as the countdown to the New Year began.

Ten, nine, eight…

People around the ballroom began the chant. Sam could feel Mac’s arms tighten slightly as the lights dimmed even more.

…five, four, three…two…one.

Balloons popped, confetti showered down and the band began the strains to the familiar “Auld Lang Syne.”

“Happy New Year, Samantha. May all your dreams come true,” Mac said and kissed her.

After the first second of surprise, she relaxed. His lips were warm and seeking. She closed her eyes and relished every nanosecond. She’d met him only a few hours earlier, but it seemed entirely right to return his kiss to bring in the New Year. Her heart pounded and her body quivered in anticipation. Heat swept through her. Was this the beginning of a great year? Would she ever see him again?

He ended the kiss when the band started to play a different tune. It took a moment for her to come down to earth. Once again he led and Sam tried to get her spinning senses under control. She never did things like this. She was practical, not given to girlish dreams and foolish hopes. Still, without thought, she smiled and snuggled just a little bit closer. She felt cherished, special, connected—as if they were a couple. A woman could dream once in a while, couldn’t she?

At the end of that song, the music tempo picked up and Sam pulled back. It was getting late. She should leave, however reluctantly.

“Another drink?” he asked as they walked from the dance floor.

“That would be lovely,” she said. This time the line at the bar wasn’t as long and in only moments they each had a glass of champagne. He touched his glass to hers.

“Make a wish,” he said.

She did, for the future to be brighter than the past. Sipping, she smiled at him.

“Is that a tradition I don’t know about?” she asked.

“In my family it has been. Weddings, christenings, whatever—when we serve champagne, we make wishes. Why not?”

She was charmed. If they had met in other circumstance, she would ask about his family, about other traditions they shared. But this was not her milieu. She was more the jeans-and-sweatshirt type, not one for designer clothes. Mac was perfectly at home, even speaking to people she only knew from the newspapers. Movers and shakers of Atlanta’s vibrant business community.

“Shall we sit this one out?” he asked.

“You needn’t spend the entire evening with me,” she said reluctantly. She didn’t want him to feel she was monopolizing him. And she had to leave. In a few more minutes. She’d claim just a bit more time before walking away.

“If not you, then who?”

She looked around. The only single woman she saw looked old enough to be his grandmother.

He caught her direction and laughed, leaning closer to speak softly. “She’s not my type. I like pretty brunettes with chocolate-brown eyes.”

Sam could scarcely breathe. He was too close. If she turned her face, her lips would brush his cheek. Suddenly she longed to kiss him again, to feel the stirring emotions his touch brought. Was he flirting with her?

She dare not take that for granted. Remember your real life, she admonished herself silently. Yet it seemed so far away this evening. In the normal course of events, she could never have spent five hundred dollars for a ticket to tonight’s ball. She didn’t move in these social circles. She was a working woman, with a dependent sister, an ancient house and no chance to change things in the near future.

He held out her chair and she sat, glad for the glass of champagne to hold on to, and to study to avoid looking at him. He couldn’t read minds, could he?

“I’m sorry your wife died. That must have been awful,” she said.

“It was.” He sat beside her, angling his chair slightly for more room. “Chris was only twenty-eight. Who’d expect anyone to die that young?”

“That’s tragic,” she replied sympathetically.

“She left me with Tommy. If it weren’t for him I don’t know if I would have made it. But he needed me as an infant, and he needs me even more now.”

The brief glimpse of Mac’s personal life touched her. He appeared successful and confident with everything going for him. Who would suspect such a tragedy had befallen him?

“Hey, Mac, I didn’t know you were coming. Thought you said you wouldn’t make it.” A couple stopped by the table and greeted him. He rose and shook hands with the man, kissing the woman on the cheek. “I changed my mind. It’s a nice event, and a good cause.”

The woman looked at Sam and then at Mac. “A change from your usual style?” she asked in a teasing tone.

Sam looked away. He was not seeing her, either. This was getting awkward. Maybe she should take this opportunity to leave, much as she hated for her special evening to end.

Another couple walked by and the first stopped them.

“Jerry, you wanted to meet Mac McAlheny, here’s your chance. Mac, this is Jerry Martin, head of Windsong Industries. I’m surprised you two haven’t met before.”

Samantha instantly went still. Oh, no! The CEO’s office of McAlheny Industries was where she’d found the ticket, crumpled in the trash. Her heart raced.

Ohmygod, she’d been dancing with the man! Talking with him. Kissing him.

She had spent the evening with Mac McAlheny!

She had to escape before he realized she’d taken the invitation from his office. She hadn’t exactly stolen it—it was trash after all. But she wasn’t sure the CEO of one of Atlanta’s fastest-growing high-tech firms would see it that way.

She looked at the door across the room in panic. She had to leave. Right now.

“Excuse me, I need to find the ladies,” she said, pushing back from the table. Her eyes met Mac’s. She wanted to smile, but was afraid to do anything but escape while she had the chance. To be discovered at this late date would be beyond embarrassing.

Weaving her way through the tables and the people standing around talking, she quelled the temptation to run. She kept taking deep, slow breaths to ease the screaming panic that assailed her. Once she reached the lobby she almost broke into a run to the cloakroom. She retrieved her coat and put it on as she hurried out into the rainy night. Escape was the only thought in her mind.

The doorman called a cab and she was ushered in like royalty. She’d avoided discovery. She sighed with relief and glanced back through the rain-drenched window, but saw only the glittering lights and the doorman in his fancy uniform.

“Goodbye,” she said softly. Her magical evening had ended.

CHAPTER TWO

MAC listened to Jerry talk about one of the deals he had pending all the while trying not to look around to see if Sam had returned. It seemed like a long time since she left, but it could be because he’d rather be with her than the young man going on and on so tediously about something that held no interest for Mac. His friends waited patiently for Jerry to wind down. How long could the man continue? Mac glanced back to the door. Still no sign of Samantha.

When Jerry and his wife finally moved on, Peter shook his head. “Sorry about that. He said once he’d like to meet you, but he does get enthusiastic about his work.”

“Much like you do, darling,” his wife said. She tilted her head slightly when Mac checked his watch and glanced at the double doors across the room.

“Where did your date go?” she asked.

Mac almost corrected her, but thought better of it. If it got back to his latest ex-girlfriend that he was seeing someone else, maybe she’d finally get the message and stop contacting him.

“Ladies’ room, I believe,” he said.

“She’s quite different from Teresa,” she said.

“Teresa and I are no longer seeing each other.”

“So you’ve found someone new already?”

Mac took a breath. Cindy was a noted gossip. He didn’t mind her telling Teresa he was off the market, but he had no intention of offering up Sam as a replacement.

“Let’s just say I’m footloose and fancy-free.”

“With no intention of getting married again,” Cindy said. “That either says marriage was hell with Chris or so beyond marvelous you can’t imagine ever duplicating it.”

“You never met Chris,” her husband said uneasily, as if picking up on Mac’s reaction. “She was quite a woman.”

Mac felt the anguish of her death anew. Four years ago, had they been able to afford it, Chris would have loved to attend the Black and White Ball. But his company had only moved into the big time after her death. He found it ironic that she had worked as hard as he to build McAlheny Industries, yet had died before it expanded to the successful firm it now was.

“Well, darling, we both know Mac has so much charisma that women naturally want his attention. And saying he will never marry again sets up a challenge some women can’t resist.”

“Or it could be that’s simply the way I feel,” he murmured, wondering how rude it would be to just turn and walk away from Cindy. He wanted to spend more time with Sam.

Cindy laughed. “So you say. You’ve made billions with your business. Still—” she studied him for a moment “—I’m telling you, women would be interested even if you were flat broke. Something about your eyes, I think.”

“I doubt it.”

“So did Teresa want a ring on her finger?” Peter asked.

“Apparently. She didn’t take to heart my telling her that I wasn’t marriage material. Why is it when a man’s honest and up-front, women try to change his mind? She’s beautiful, but she’s not someone I want to grow old with.”

Chris was the woman he’d always thought he’d grow old with. No one could take her place. But the past couldn’t be changed. The aneurysm had caught everyone by surprise. She’d been far too young to die. But much as he’d railed against fate, she had not lived to enjoy the fruits of their labor—or their son.

His goal now was to make a difference, for himself and Tommy. His business provided employment to more than a hundred people. He contributed lavishly to several charities, including the Children’s League. Not bad for a poor kid from Savannah.

He glanced at his watch. How long did a woman need? The champagne in her glass would be warm by the time she drank it.

“Who’s your date?” Peter asked.

“I just met her tonight,” Mac said.

“A blind date? Oh, my,” Cindy said with a laugh. “Imagine that.”

“Imagine,” he said dryly. He felt no obligation to explain anything to Cindy.

“Come along, darling, the music is starting again and I want to dance,” Cindy said with an air kiss for Mac. “Good luck with your blind date.”

As the minutes ticked by, Mac began to suspect Sam wasn’t returning. He idly watched the dancing. Glancing around caused a waiter to appear with another glass of champagne. How the Children’s League made money when they spent so lavishly on the ball was beyond him. But he knew donations poured in for this charity.

He looked at the table. Sam’s ticket lay near the center. Was she unable to return because she didn’t have it with her? He reached for it and rose. It wouldn’t hurt to check to see if she was trying to convince one of the men at the door she was supposed to be here.

No sign of her when he entered the lobby. Those that had been checking tickets were no longer there. Maybe once the dinner finished, it didn’t matter as much if anyone crashed the party.

He positioned himself where he could see the restroom doors and waited. After fifteen minutes he knew Sam wasn’t coming back.

He debated returning to the ball but decided he’d made an appearance, supported the charity with money. Kissed in the New Year. He could go home.

His housekeeper of several years was leaving in the morning and his little boy knew no other mother figure. Mac needed to be there for Tommy. There were two agencies searching for the right live-in housekeeper/nanny and he hoped they found someone soon. Mac didn’t want his son to grow attached to Alice Horton, who started on Monday, only to break the tie with her when a more permanent arrangement could be found.

Mrs. Horton was not the solution, but a temporary fix. She had been a nanny for decades and, while sounding a bit strict, she came with impeccable references. He hoped Tommy would accept her until a new housekeeper could be found.

It was still raining when Mac gave the valet attendant his parking ticket. A good night to be home.

Or with an interesting woman who seemed dazzled by the ball yet content to simply enjoy it without flirting every moment or making sultry and suggestive comments as Teresa would have done. Samantha—Sam had made no moves on him after his impulsive kiss at midnight. Yet she’d returned his kiss with passion.

Getting behind the wheel, Mac was surprised to realize he’d enjoyed the evening. He’d gone out of duty and ended up having a good time—no, more than a good time. Sam intrigued him. That was a first. Since Chris’s death, he’d made up his mind to remain single and focus on raising his son, and a chance encounter at a dance wouldn’t change that. But he couldn’t help thinking about Sam as he drove home. Her hair had gleamed in the light, artfully arranged and feminine. For a moment he wondered what she looked like with it in disarray, swirling around her face. Her cheeks had been tinged with color—natural, not cosmetic. But it was her chocolate-brown eyes he remembered the most. They showed her emotions, and twice he was convinced he’d seen awareness in them, as if for a few seconds she saw him as a desirable man.

Her lips had been sweet and her kiss memorable. Mac realized it had been a while since he’d felt anything when kissing someone. Teresa was beautiful, but cool and detached. Dating her had not changed his mind about wanting a new life partner. He doubted anything would.

Still, a few evenings spent together didn’t mean a lifetime commitment.

Only—Sam had left with no way for him to contact her. Had it been deliberate? Had he misread the signs? He would have sworn she had enjoyed herself.

Yet she’d waited until he was occupied with Peter and Cindy and then cut out. If she’d felt any connection between them, wouldn’t she have made sure he knew how to contact her?

As he pulled into his driveway, the full situation hit him. He wouldn’t be going out for quite a while—not until he had a live-in nanny who would be home with Tommy. Until then, Mac had to be home each evening by six, the time Alice Horton left per their agreement when he hired her because Mrs. Horton taught an adult education class and had to be at her school by seven Monday through Thursdays.

Just as well. Dating had not played a big part of his life since Chris died and he liked spending time with his son.

But it would take a while to forget that kiss with Sam. He had tried to move on after grieving for Chris, only no one had come close to replacing her in his life. Sam was nothing like his wife, yet he could almost taste her on his lips. He remembered the warmth that had crashed through him when she’d returned the kiss. Another one or two of those wouldn’t hurt. It would prove he was still living and capable of moving forward. Chris would have wanted that.

“So, how was it?” Charlene asked as soon as Sam entered the kitchen the next morning.

Sam smiled at her sister and went to pour herself some hot coffee. She’d slept later than normal because it had taken a long time to fall asleep after her magical evening. Thankfully today was a holiday, or she’d be a zombie at work. Home before one, it was actually after three before she stopped reliving every precious memory of Mac McAlheny.

“It was fabulous, how else?” she replied, turning and leaning against the counter. She glanced down at her bunny slippers, a fun Christmas offering from her sister. She sighed softly. She was much more a bunny-slipper kind of gal than elegant socialite.

“For one evening I felt like Cinderella,” she said slowly.

“You looked so marvelous,” her sister said.

“You told me that before I left,” Sam commented, grinning. She had felt marvelous. “The hotel was fabulous. I saw lots of people who are in the newspaper all the time. The mayor was there, and our representative. The food was to die for. And I had the best dance partner in the world. Tall, dark and handsome—and he could dance better than Fred Astaire, I believe.” She ended, mentioning one of Hollywood’s most famous dancers she and her sister enjoyed watching in old black and white movies.

“Ooooh, do tell all!”

Sam put some bread in the toaster and began to relate every delicious memory of the previous evening to her sister. She ended with her dances with Mac.

“We danced, then I left.”

“That’s all?” Charlene clearly wanted more.

“Actually the tall, dark and handsome stranger turned out to be the man from whose office I got the ticket. What are the odds of that happening? Once I realized that, I left before he figured it out. I consider that a lucky break. I was worried half the evening that someone would spot me as an imposter and have me thrown out.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. The ticket had been thrown away. You were just recycling,” Charlene said.

“Which was the argument you used to talk me into going. And I’m glad I did, but the longer I stayed, the more chance there was of someone asking how I came to acquire a ticket.”

“No one would have been so rude. And your dress fit in, didn’t it? You’ll have to tell Margaret all about it.”

“You should have seen the designer creations there. But I held my own. It’s a lovely gown and I’m so glad she trusted it to me. What if I had spilled champagne on it or, worse, caviar?”

Charlene laughed. “My sister, the champagne and caviar girl.”

“Well, champagne maybe. I don’t think I’ll be eating caviar again.” Sitting at the table, she finished her toast, still feeling the warm glow from the night before. She’d had a fabulous time. If only she could have afforded to buy a ticket on her own and gone without a care in the world. The party had ended too early for her and would never be repeated.

She’d relished the sensations she experienced wearing that shimmery satin dress. It would take a long time to forget the feelings of elegance and sophistication. A magic beginning to the New Year.

And a kiss to welcome it in. She hadn’t had that in a few years, either.

She glanced up, at the coat hanging from the nail on the plywood at the back. She’d hung it on one of the nails last night to let the dampness dry.

“At least that’s good for something,” she muttered.

“Hey, we’re warm and dry,” Charlene said.

“Dry anyway. It’s drafty in here. And I’m so tired of using a camping stove for cooking instead of our old gas range. It’ll take weeks to finish paying off the roof before we can start saving for this repair. It’s already the worst part of winter. Do we want the back wall open to the elements now? The house is hard enough to heat in winter without losing a wall for a few days.” She sighed. She was back to reality with a vengeance.

Charlene gazed at the damaged space patched by panels of plywood. “It could have been worse—we could have been in here when the tree crashed through.”

“We were too busy trying to stem the flood of water coming in through the attic when parts of the roof blew off,” Sam reminded her. The hurricane that had freakishly blown into Georgia last September had wreaked havoc in a wide swatch of the state, including this southside of the state capital. Their roof, more than a hundred years old, had not stood up to the gale force winds. Nor had the huge old oak trees that fell beneath that force when the soil became saturated with all the water that rained down for days. Only one fallen tree had damaged the house, thank goodness. But it had done a tremendous job of taking out most of the back wall.

Insurance covered a portion of the repair costs but it was up to Sam to earn the extra money needed to finish the repairs and get their home back in order. Charlene did the best she could, but there was a limit to her work as a transcriptionist.

“Happy New Year, Sam,” Charlene said, raising her mug.

Sam clinked hers against her sister’s and smiled. “Happy New Year, sis.”

She felt her eyes fill with tears and blinked, looking away. Only a short time ago she’d been kissed into the New Year.

“So are we going to make New Year’s resolutions?” Charlene asked.

“We do each year, why should this one be different?” Sam asked, hoping her sister didn’t see her distress.

“Then, I resolve to make a push to sell some of my quilts,” Charlene said.

Sam laughed. “You say that every year.” There was nothing wrong with her life. She should be grateful it was as full as it was.

“This time I mean it. I’ll force myself. It’s not right that you have to do everything for me. I’m capable. The damage from the hurricane shows me how close to the edge we live. I need to do something to contribute to the unusual expenditure, not be a drain.”

“You’re not a drain. You have your job and I have mine.”

“Face it, Sam. If I can get some of these quilts sold, it would help a lot and make your time working that second job shorter.”

Her sister had been confined to a wheelchair since the accident nine years ago. Charlene would never walk again, nor dance, nor enjoy all the freedom that Sam took for granted. But she pulled her own weight with her home-based job and as a hobby made beautiful quilts. Some were the traditional kind that went on beds. But more and more she was doing artistic work—quilted pictures and clothing. Sam had two of her quilted vests and always received compliments when she wore them.

“And you should resolve to go back to school,” Charlene said before Sam could think up a single resolution.

“I have a full-time job and am working nights until we get the house repaired. When do you suggest I consider attending classes and studying?” Sam asked. She loved the courses she took at one of the local colleges. It was taking far longer than she originally expected to get her degree, but she drew closer each year.

“I don’t know, but you need to put that as a resolution. If I could sell a few quilts for enough money, we could catch up on the bills and arrange for the repairs.”

“You do that and I’ll look into college again.” She rose and went to the sink to run water in her cup, not wanting Charlene to see how fragile her control was. She longed to return to college to finish her degree. She had less than a year’s worth of classes left. Once she had her B.S., she would apply for a job with the National Park Service. She’d have to make sure she could afford living arrangements for her and her sister if she got selected. But if they could renovate this house, they could either sell it, or rent it out when they moved west. It was the only legacy their parents had left them. It was a mixed blessing, now, with the hurricane damage.

“I’ll need help,” Charlene said.

“With what?” Sam turned to look at her sister. She was so pretty and seemed so small tucked in that chair.

“Getting contacts. Finding someone willing to buy the quilts,” Charlene said.

“Doesn’t your quilting guild have contacts?”

“Not really. Everyone there dreams of selling their work for fabulous sums and becoming famous and rich. I think the patterns are a better aspect to focus on. I have quite a few I designed, you know.”

Sam hadn’t a clue how to market her sister’s quilts. But she could find out. This was the first time Charlene had sounded like she was serious, rather than simply indulging in wishful thinking, so Sam would be as supportive as possible.

“And you should date,” Charlene said. “You still have weekends.”

Sam blinked at that. “What? Where did that come from?”

“You haven’t gone out on a date since the hurricane. You don’t have to stay home with me all the time,” her sister said candidly.

“Charlene, you know I only have the weekends to catch up on chores and get some rest. Besides, I don’t have anyone in mind right now. Jason at work asked me, but I don’t see myself and him having anything in common except the Beale Foundation, and I don’t want to talk business on a date.”

Charlene bit her lip. “Well, once things turn around.”

“I can’t conjure up dates,” Sam said, her mind instantly bringing Mac’s face to the forefront. He’d be the last person she’d date. What if he found out about the ticket? How embarrassing that would be!

“But if you go places where men are, you could meet some interesting ones and get asked out.”

Sam had met a very interesting man last night. Only circumstances conspired to make sure they never met again. She wasn’t sure whether she wished she’d never used the ticket or not.

“Okay, the next time a presentable man asks me, I’ll go out.” The chances of that happening were slim to none, so she felt safe making the commitment.

“Until then, you can help me sort through my stuff and see which quilt would be the best to start marketing,” Charlene said.

Mac and Tommy stood on the porch waving Louise farewell. The little boy still didn’t grasp the full extent of the departure. He would begin to get it when Louise wasn’t there to prepare dinner or tuck him in. And again when a new nanny arrived.

Tommy had his arm around Mac’s neck and waved with his other hand. “Bye-bye,” he said.

Mac waited until the car was out of sight before heading back inside. It was cold, but the rain had stopped during the night.

“Want to go to the park later?” he asked as he put Tommy down.

“Yes!” The little boy raced around in excitement. An hour or so at the park would burn off some of that energy.

Louise had left a casserole for dinner, so that left only lunch to prepare—something Mac could handle. But the next few weeks were going to see a lot of changes.

He went to his room to get his keys. He’d emptied his pockets last night, placing the contents on the dresser. Keys, billfold, tickets. Both his and Sam’s. He picked them up to drop them in the trash when he noticed the numbers were sequential.

For a moment he stared at them. One was crumpled as if someone had balled it up and tossed it into the trash. From where it had been retrieved and used?

Was this the ticket he’d bought for Teresa and tossed away when he decided to break it off with her? For a long moment he stared at them, trying to come up with another scenario. How had Sam gotten hold of his discarded ticket?

Mac McAlheny arrived late at work on Monday—an unheard-of event. The new nanny had shown up on time, but Tommy had taken an instant dislike to her. Mac had stayed with his son until he had calmed down and agreed to give Mrs. Horton a chance. The woman wasn’t precisely warm and loving, but was competent, as Mac knew having interviewed her twice and checked her references. She had also come highly recommended. Mac hoped she and Tommy would get along until he could sort out a more permanent solution.

“Good morning, boss,” Janice said. His secretary had been with him from the beginning and knew as much about the business as he did. “Late isn’t your style,” she commented, following him into his corner office.

“Domestic problems, I’m afraid. Tommy didn’t take to Mrs. Horton.”

“Poor kid. It has to be hard on him changing like that,” she said. Placing two folders on the desk, she leaned one hip against the edge. “Anything I should know before the day starts?”

They often began the day going over his appointments and reviewing updates on projects.

“Who does the cleaning of our offices?” Mac asked, glancing at the folders.

“Whoa, where did that come from?” She glanced around at the immaculate room. “Are you unhappy with the standard of work?” she asked.

“Just curious about something,” Mac said. The more he considered the idea, the more he began to think it held merit. Sam had somehow obtained the invitation he’d thrown away. The only way he could picture it was if someone from the cleaning staff had taken it. Had he or she then sold it? Or had that been Sam herself? He’d realized how little he knew about her when he tried to figure out how she’d obtained the ticket.

“The building owners arrange for that. It’s in our lease they’ll take care of it. If you want, I can find out who they hire.”

“Please do. And then call the two employment agencies looking for a housekeeper for me and find out why there isn’t one qualified woman in all of Atlanta who would like to have a live-in job keeping house and watching one small boy.”

“Got it, boss.” Janice headed for her desk.

Mac glanced at the phone messages, and began to return some calls. As soon as Janice had the information he needed, he’d put work on hold and track down Samantha-my-friends-call-me-Sam.

While he didn’t want to think about people going through his trash, he suspected that’s what had happened. Did Sam work as a cleaner? Employment these days was difficult to find, even for skilled workers.

He tossed aside the paper he was reading and leaned back in his chair. He’d been intrigued by her the entire evening. She was one of the few women under forty who hadn’t tried to flirt, hadn’t hinted she’d be available if he ever called. Hadn’t made a big deal out of a New Year’s kiss. Hadn’t practically invited herself back to his place.

He remembered at the table when she’d turned from him to talk with the man on her other side. It was an unusual experience for Mac in recent years. Ever since Chris died and the company had taken off, he felt he’d become prey for determined single women. He’d shared everything with Chris—hopes, dreams, pet peeves. Now it seemed his unexpected wealth had become the most important part of his personality.

Except to Sam.

Even when he’d held her while dancing, she had not flirted. He could tell she truly enjoyed herself. Unself-consciously. Her smile had been genuine, lighting up her dark eyes. Her hair was also dark, so unlike Chris’s blond mane.

He frowned. He wasn’t comparing his wife with other women. There would never be anyone to take her place in his heart or his life.

The phone buzzed; it was Janice.

“Jordan Maintenance keeps this building clean,” she said. “Want the number?”

“Yes.” Mac jotted it down and then called the firm. In only moments, he had Samantha’s last name, Duncan. The firm would not give out personal information but had let that slip. The owner, Amos Jordan, was quite flustered to have one of the building’s tenants call. Mac normally would not have even mentioned the situation, but he hoped to learn more about his mystery woman. Mr. Jordan revealed nothing else and assured him the cleaning staff was of the highest caliber.

Hanging up frustrated, Mac reached for a phone book. No Samantha Duncan listed in Atlanta. Damn, how was he going to find her? Camp out tonight and wait for the cleaning staff to arrive? He couldn’t do it—he had to get home for Tommy. But he’d find a way.

“But, Mr. Jordan, I didn’t steal anything,” Samantha tried to explain to the boss of the cleaning crew she worked for. The cleaning position, though not really a job she relished, had nonetheless been a lifesaver in providing much-needed cash with minimum training.

Now she’d been accused of theft and was being fired!

“The client was displeased. I have the reputation of my company to consider. I thought I could trust everyone, but to find someone of your caliber stooping so low is more than I care to deal with,” he said.

“It was in the trash,” she interjected.

“If important papers were in the trash, would you take them and sell to the highest bidder?” he asked.

“Of course not!”

“How could I trust you? If you take one thing, you could take another.”

Sam rested her forehead against her palm, her elbow on her desk. Thank goodness the door to her tiny office was shut. She couldn’t bear for anyone to hear this conversation.

“Please, Mr. Jordan, there was no harm done. It was trash. I was recycling,” she said, giving the airy excuse Charlene had used. It was stupid. She shouldn’t have done it. She wouldn’t have done it if she’d been thinking clearly, but the chance for a wonderful night had proved too alluring.

And now her dream man from the ball had accused her of theft. She felt sick—not only for the accusation, but because he thought that of her. She knew she’d never run into Mac again—their worlds were light-years apart. But she wished he’d been left with a pleasant memory, not one tainted by his thinking she’d stolen something.

“I regret the situation, although I have no choice but to fire you. I will also not provide you with a reference,” Mr. Jordan said heavily.

Sam took a deep breath. “I understand. Thank you for the opportunity to work for your firm,” she said. She recognized the inevitable when she saw it.

“Damn,” she said after hanging up the phone. She sat up and gazed out the narrow window where the sun was shining. How ironic. On the most fabulous night of her life it had been pouring rain. Now the worst thing had to happen and the sun shone.

Not the worst—that would be if Mac McAlheny made the entire situation public.

“Oh, no,” she groaned quietly. She couldn’t have her reputation smirched. It would jeopardize her job at the Beale Foundation.

When she thought about it, really considered it from his point of view, she could concede he had a point. Those tickets went for five hundred dollars each. Just because it had been tossed away didn’t negate its value. And she’d used it as if it had been given to her.

She was stricken with remorse. It had seemed like a lark. First to find it and take it home to Charlene to show the embossed script, the fancy gold seal. Then to fantasize about attending. The actual borrowing the dress from Margaret’s boutique and going now seemed like the dumbest thing she’d ever done.

Closing her eyes, she could still see Mac’s eyes as he gazed down into hers as they danced. Their special kiss. Her heart rate increased thinking about it. The image dissolved as she remembered he had filed a complaint with the owner of the cleaning company.

What could she do to make amends? Send him a check to cover the cost of the ticket? And where would she get that kind of money? The entire reason she had a second job was that she was about at the end of her rope. They needed a large down payment for the carpenter to begin work on renovations to the back of the kitchen.

Charlene’s salary didn’t cover all her expenses, much less unexpected surprises.

Samantha’s job at the Foundation didn’t pay much—no job in nonprofit companies did. She’d have to find something else. Leave the work she enjoyed, the cause she embraced, for something a bit more mainstream and financially beneficial. Definitely more financially beneficial.

A job she probably wouldn’t like. But she’d started at the Foundation not wanting to work for them—or in any business in Atlanta. Her dream had been so different.

But reality didn’t allow for dreams. She had a house—for which she was grateful. She had her sister to care for. She had to make the most of what she had and not bemoan a future that wasn’t to be.

“Double damn,” she said, pounding her desk once with her fist. She had to do something—but what?

Sam fretted all morning. She didn’t know if Mr. McAlheny would contact her, though Mr. Jordan had assured her he had not given out any information. But how hard would it be for a man with Mac’s influence to find out her name and address? Then what?

She called home.

“Hello?” Charlene answered.

“Any calls for me?” Sam asked. She knew it was an odd request; her friends knew she worked days and called the Foundation if they really needed to get hold of her during business hours.

“Here?” Charlene asked.

“Just a thought. Don’t give out my work information to anyone, okay?”

“As if I would. What’s up?”

Sam debated not telling her sister, but it would come out eventually. “Mac McAlheny found out I used his ticket and called my boss at the cleaning service. I was fired.”

“What? Why?”

“For indiscretion,” Sam said softly. She still couldn’t believe it.

“So if he threw away a fan and you fished it out of the trash, that would be a problem? That doesn’t make sense. We were recycling. People do it all the time. Throwing something away ends ownership.”

“I guess a case could be made for that,” Sam said. “But Mr. Jordan didn’t see it that way.”

“So now what?”

“I look for another job and hope Mr. McAlheny doesn’t come breathing down my neck.”

“Gosh, sis, I’m sorry. I know I urged you to use the ticket. I never expected you to lose a job over it. Can I do anything?”

“Pray I can find another part-time job soon.”

The rest of the day Sam alternated from nervousness every time her phone rang, to panic about where she would find a second job to help pay off their debt.

Just before leaving that evening her boss popped his head in through her open door.

“You remember the business luncheon tomorrow, right? I’m hoping my speech will loosen some wallets. I want you and Pam there to handle any donations we may get.”

Sam nodded. “I’ve had it on my calendar for weeks, ever since you told me, Tim. We’ll both be there from eleven-thirty on. Maybe some of the guests will take a brochure or something prior to lunch and offer a few thousand dollars on the spot.”

“That’s always a hope.”

Raising funds for worthy charities was getting more difficult. There were so many deserving organizations, but with companies tightening their belts to make sure their bottom lines continued to be robust, available corporate donations were drying up. Sam’s boss, Timothy Parsons, had been scheduled to speak at this luncheon for weeks.

Sam liked attending events like this since it gave her an opportunity to discuss the wonderful work of their Foundation with people who may not know about it. While not her first choice of professions, her work at the Foundation was important to her.

Nothing untoward had happened the rest of the day. Anonymity should prove enough protection—she hoped.

That evening shortly after dinner was finished, Sam studied the want ads in the paper. Most were for day jobs or required specialized training. It was depressing how few jobs there were that she could do, and even more so how few part-time jobs. Nothing popped out at her.

Charlene was in her studio, as they called the former dining-room-turned-quilting-haven. Her sister was so talented in that area maybe Sam should look at marketing the quilts until another part-time job appeared. It would be wonderful if Charlene could overcome her shyness and sensitivity to being in a wheelchair and sell some of the lovely works she’d created. Not only for the much-needed income, but as a boost to her sister’s self-esteem.

How did one go about marketing quilts besides visiting specialty shops and seeing if the owners would take them on?

The worry that she hadn’t heard the last of the purloined ticket nagged at her. If Mac wanted to make an issue of her using the ticket, she’d pay him the cost of it. She wasn’t sure how she’d come up with the money on short notice, but there had to be some way. She tried to think of something of value they owned that she could sell.

Charlene rolled her chair into the kitchen. She took out some juice and went to the lower cabinets where they stored dishes. Glancing at Sam, she frowned. “No luck?”

“Huh? No, none. How’s the vest coming?”

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