“I’m a far better dancer when I’m allowed to take the lead,” Dawson said meaningfully.

“Funny. I feel the same way.”

“Do you mean to tell me you always lead?”

“For the most part. You could say it’s a habit.” Eve’s shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug.

He exhaled slowly and shook his head. He felt irritated, frustrated and, God help him, invigorated. “You’re something else.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not sure I intended that as a compliment.”

“No? Well, that’s all right.” She brought her cheek close to his and he felt her breath caress his ear when she added, “I’m going to take it as one anyway.”

Jackie Braun is a three-time RITA® finalist, three-time National Readers’ Choice Award finalist, and a past winner of the Rising Star award. She lives in Michigan with her husband and two sons, and can be reached through her website at www.jackiebraun.com

‘In 1991 I was sure I was getting an engagement ring for Christmas. So were all of my sisters. The first thing they did when Mark and I walked in the door for dinner was grab my left hand and look. But I didn’t get a ring. Mark thought that was too predictable. He proposed to me a few days into the New Year, when I least expected it. I’ve never regretted saying yes.’

—Jackie Braun,

THE TYCOON’S CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL

Dear Reader

Losing someone dear to us is never easy to accept, but grief can be emotionally crippling if we fail to do so. That’s what has happened to my hero in THE TYCOON’S CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL.

Dawson Burke feels responsible for the deaths of his wife and little daughter since he was driving the car at the time of the accident, three years earlier. Since then he has isolated himself from friends and family.

But when he meets personal shopper Eve Hawley, his frozen heart begins to thaw. Life, he soon discovers, has a way of moving on whether we’re ready for it or not, and love is a gift to be treasured.

May all your Christmas wishes come true.

Jackie Braun

THE TYCOON’S CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL

BY

JACKIE BRAUN

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my late father, Walter Braun.

Thanks for sending down a little inspiration

in the wee hours of the morning, Dad.

I miss you.

CHAPTER ONE

DAWSON BURKE was used to people doing things a certain way. His way.

For that reason alone he found the telephone message he’d just retrieved from his voice mail annoying. He flipped his cell phone closed and tapped it against his chin as he stared out the limousine’s windows at the fender-to-fender traffic fighting its way into Denver. What did Eve Hawley mean she would be popping by his office later today to discuss his gift needs? What was there to discuss?

He’d only met his previous personal shopper on a handful of occasions during the past several years. All other dealings with Carole Deming had been accom plished by telephone, fax, e-mail or proxy. Dawson provided a list of names and the necessary compensation. In return, Carole bought, wrapped and saw to it that his gifts were delivered. Mission accomplished. Everyone happy.

Well, he wasn’t happy at the moment.

Eve said she needed to ask him some questions about the intended recipients on his list. Eve said she preferred to meet with her clients face-to-face at least once before setting out to do their shopping. She said it gave her a feel for their tastes and helped her personalize the purchases she made. Eve said…

Dawson scrubbed a hand over his eyes and expelled a ragged breath. This was the third voice mail full of comments and requests that he’d received from the woman. He didn’t have time to deal with this bossy stand-in any more than he cared to make time for Christmas. He couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed Carole, who was recuperating from knee surgery, to suggest this woman as her replacement.

Maybe he should call Carole and see if she could recommend someone else. Someone who didn’t ask unnecessary questions. Someone who simply did his bidding and required no hand-holding.

The limousine pulled to the curb in front of the building that housed the offices of Burke Financial Services. His grandfather, Clive Burke Senior, had started the company, which specialized in managing stock portfolios and corporate pensions. Clive Senior had been gone nearly a dozen years and Dawson’s father, Clive Junior, had retired the spring before last. These days, Dawson was the Burke in charge. And he believed in running a tight ship.

His secretary rose from behind her desk just outside his office the moment the elevator doors slid open on the eleventh floor. Her name was Rachel Stern and her surname suited her perfectly. She was an older woman with steel-gray hair, shoulders as wide as a linebacker’s and a face that would have made a hardened criminal cross to the opposite side of the street before passing her. In the dozen years Rachel had been in his employ Dawson couldn’t recall ever seeing her crack a smile. Stern. That she was, but also efficient and dedicated. He swore sometimes she knew what he wanted before he did.

This morning was no different. She fell into step beside him, prepping him on the day’s itinerary even before he had peeled off his leather gloves and shrugged out of his heavy wool overcoat.

“The people from Darien Cooper called. They got held up in traffic and are running about fifteen minutes late. I’ve put the information packets in the conference room and the Power Point presentation is ready to go.”

“And my speech for the Denver Economic Club this evening?” he asked.

“Typed, fact-checked and on your desk. The television stations are looking for a preview since their reporters won’t be able to get anything back before the late night news. I’ve taken the liberty of highlighting a couple of points that might make for good sound bites.”

“Excellent.”

“Oh, and your mother called.”

Dawson gritted his teeth. He reminded himself that the only reason she called him so often was because she loved him and was worried about him. Of course that did nothing to assuage his guilt. “Does she want me to call her back?”

“No, she just asked me to remind you to have your tuxedo dry-cleaned for the ball this weekend. She’s reserved a seat for you at the head table and won’t take no for an answer.”

He bit back a sigh. The annual Tallulah Malone Burke Charity Ball and Auction was the see-and-be-seen-at event for Denver’s social elite. He’d hoped to send a generous check along with his regrets. But the ball was celebrating its silver anniversary this year, and he had little doubt his mother would show up at his door to personally escort him.

The cause was worthy, raising funds for the area’s less fortunate. At one time Dawson had been happy to do his part by suiting up like a penguin, shaking hands and making small talk with Denver’s movers and shakers. But for the past few years he’d made excuses not to attend the event, which always fell the second Saturday after Thanksgiving. It was a bad time of the year for him. The absolute worst, in fact. He’d been grateful that his mother, who was a stickler for appearances, had been willing to let him shirk his responsibilities as a Burke. Apparently his amnesty had run out.

And she claimed he had inherited his stubborn streak from his father.

He consulted his watch. “My housekeeper should be in by now. Give her a call. Ingrid will see to it that the tux gets cleaned. And when you get a minute—”

“A cup of coffee and a toasted bagel, light on the cream cheese, with a side of fresh fruit,” Rachel finished for him.

“Please.”

His efficient secretary could all but read his mind, whereas Eve Hawley apparently was unable to make sense of a simple list of names, even when it included particulars like sex, age and how they were acquainted with Dawson.

“Will there be anything else?” Rachel asked.

“Actually, yes.” He retrieved the cell phone from the inside pocket of his suit coat and handed it to her. “Call Miss Hawley back for me. Hers is the third number down. She’s the personal shopper Carole recommended. Tell her I’m too busy to see her today and, though it should be completely self-explanatory, see if you can answer the questions she claims to have about the list of names I had you e-mail her last week.”

“Very well.”

“Thanks.” He reached up to massage the back of his neck as he said it, grimacing when pain radiated all the way down his spine. It had been a frequent visitor for the past three years, ever since the car accident that had claimed the lives of his wife and daughter. Tension made the pain worse. This time of the year, when memories and regrets swirled their thickest, it became almost unbearable.

“Is your back bothering you again?” Rachel inquired in a tone devoid of the syrupy concern he so detested. The last thing he wanted was to be the object of pity. Yet he knew that’s precisely what he had become in many people’s eyes.

Poor Dawson Burke.

“A little.”

“I’ll call Wanda and see if she can come by for a session between your afternoon meetings today,” she said, referring to the masseuse he’d kept on retainer since leaving the hospital after the crash.

That sounded like heaven, but he shook his head. “No time. I ran into Nick Freely on my way out last night. I promised I’d go over some stock options with him.”

“I can call him, reschedule,” she offered.

“No. I tell you what. Ask Wanda to come by my house this evening. That way I’ll be nice and limber for my speech.”

When Rachel was gone, he made a mental note to increase the amount on her holiday bonus check. She had it coming.

Eve Hawley had something coming, too, he decided later that evening. And it wasn’t monetary compensation.

He was lying on the portable table his masseuse had set up in the center of his den, only a thin white sheet standing between him and immodesty, when his housekeeper tapped at the door.

“Excuse me, Mr. Burke,” she said from the doorway. “There’s someone here to see you.”

He wasn’t expecting company. He had barely an hour before he was due to leave for his speech. As Wanda kneaded his knotted muscles with hands that would have done a lumberjack proud, he asked between gritted teeth, “Who is it?”

“Eve Hawley.”

He lifted his face from the donut-shaped rest and gaped at the housekeeper. “She’s here now?”

“Yes.”

The woman was relentless and obviously incapable of doing the job if, even after talking to Rachel, she was still hounding him.

“Tell her I’m indisposed.”

“I did, Mr. Burke. But she’s insisting on seeing you,” Ingrid said.

“Insisting? Well, if she’s insisting…” He figured he knew a surefire way to get rid of her. “Send her in.”

“Right now?” The housekeeper gaped at him.

“Yes. Right now.” If Eve Hawley wanted to see him, Dawson would give her an eyeful.

Ingrid’s gaze cut to his bare back and the sheet that rode low across his hips, covering the essentials and then leaving his legs exposed. She was old enough to be his mother. In fact, it was at his mother’s suggestion that he’d hired her. Her pursed lips told him exactly how inappropriate she found his suggestion to be. But, like all—or at least the vast majority—of the people in his employ, she minded her own business and did as he asked.

“Very well,” she said, withdrawing from the room without further comment.

“Carry on,” he told Wanda, before lowering his face back into rest. The masseuse was chopping down his spine in karate fashion when he heard the door open a moment later. The person who entered sucked in a startled breath. Though it was small of him, Dawson grinned at the floor.

“Oh. You’re…”

“Busy,” came his muffled reply.

Feminine laughter trilled. “Actually, I was going to say naked.”

“Not quite.” But he frowned at the same floor he’d smiled at a moment earlier. She didn’t sound nearly as distressed by that fact as he’d hoped.

“I’m Eve Hawley.”

“Yes, I know,” he snapped. “Even if my housekeeper hadn’t announced your arrival, I would recognize your voice from the many messages you’ve left on my phone.”

“Messages that went unreturned,” she had the audacity to point out.

“They were returned. My secretary called you back,” he said.

“Ah, yes. Mrs. Stern. If I’d wanted to talk to your secretary, Mr. Burke, I would have dialed her direct. I need to speak to you.”

Dawson felt the muscles in his back beginning to tighten again despite Wanda’s competent ministrations. “Look, Miss Hawley, surely Carole Deming briefed you on what I’m looking for. This is gift shopping, not rocket science. If you can’t do the job—”

“Oh, I can do the job. I just believe in doing it well,” she replied in a voice that was stiff with pride. Another place, another time, he might have admired it. He had no patience for it at the moment. “I won’t take up much of your time,” she promised.

Dawson relented with a sigh, but he didn’t raise his head from the padded hole. He was being rude, insufferably so. But then that was the point. The woman already had strained his patience.

“Fine. Shoot.”

“You want to discuss this right now?” Her tone was incredulous.

“Right now is all the time I have. My schedule is very tight and will be for the next several days.”

“I see.” He thought she might object and leave. That had been his goal. But he heard a pair of heels click over the parquet floor. They stopped just outside his limited field of vision.

“I have some concerns,” she said, her tone that of a professional who apparently was not the least bit concerned about discussing business with a nearly naked man. Perhaps like the housekeeper, she, too, was old enough to be his mother.

“What are these concerns?”

“Well, in addition to business associates and acquaintances, your gift-giving list includes friends and several family members.”

“My parents, sister, her husband and their two children,” he said. “I’m well aware of who is on the list, Miss Hawley. After all, I’m the one who made it out.” Well, his secretary had done that, but he’d approved the final version.

“I do things a little differently when family members are involved.”

Heels clicked on the floor again and Dawson was forced to revise his opinion of her age when a pair of lethal-looking pumps came into view. They were red and made of faux alligator skin. But those weren’t the reasons that had Dawson subtracting a few decades from her age. Women of his mother’s generation generally didn’t have little butterflies tattooed on their ankles.

Curiosity got the better of him. He brought his elbows up and levered partway off the table so that he could see her. Then he sorely wished he hadn’t. The rest of Eve Hawley, from the curves that filled out her knit dress to the long dark hair that snaked over her shoulders, was every bit as sexy as her legs and those shoes. Suddenly, the fact that he was nearly naked didn’t give Dawson the advantage he’d sought. No. That had shifted squarely to the black-haired beauty who at the moment was eyeing him with her arms crossed, brows raised and unmistakable amusement glimmering in her eyes.

He sent a glance over his shoulder in the direction of his masseuse. “Wanda, that will be enough for now.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Burke. You still feel awfully tense to me,” she objected.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Eve’s full lips twitch.

“I’m fine.” To Eve he said, “Give me fifteen minutes and we’ll go over your concerns.”

“Sure.”

This time he was positive she was holding back a smile when she sauntered from the room.

Eve waited in a sitting room that was tucked just off the kitchen. The housekeeper had thoughtfully brought her a cup of hot tea. She sipped it now as she stared into the flames of the fire that was flickering cheerfully in the hearth and contemplated her client.

Dawson Burke was a surprise, and not because he’d been clothed in nothing more than a bedsheet at their introduction. He was not the paunchy, middle-aged workaholic who so often relied on her services. God bless those men since they had been helping to pay her bills for nearly a decade, but she hadn’t expected Dawson to be quite so young or handsome or—she sipped her tea—physically fit.

As an unattached woman of not quite thirty, there was no way details such as those were going to escape her attention.

Eve was relatively new to the Denver area, and the state of Colorado for that matter. The beauty of her job was that she could do it anywhere. She’d been looking for a fresh start after a particularly nasty breakup the previous spring, and after some Internet research she’d decided that anyplace with a view as pretty and panoramic as the one the Mile High City boasted just might provide it.

So she’d been settling in, building up a client list and sinking down roots. She’d caught a lucky break when she’d met Carole Deming while shopping in a boutique a couple of months back. The two women had hit it off right away. The fact that Carole was fifteen years older and they were technically competitors hadn’t stood in the way of their friendship. Indeed, Carole had been kind enough to toss some of her clients Eve’s way while she recuperated from surgery.

What was it she’d said about Dawson Burke? “I think you’ll find him a challenge.”

At the time, Eve had assumed Carole was referring to his gift needs, not his personality. Now she suspected she understood perfectly why the other woman had laughed while saying it. A challenge? Just getting past his pit bull of a secretary had taken an effort, which was why she’d decided to drop by his home unannounced.

Eve didn’t mind difficult clients. She’d worked for plenty of them in the past, picky people who gave her cart blanche to buy presents for others or clothing for themselves only to veto her every choice later. But this was different. She simply couldn’t do what Dawson wanted her to do without gathering more information, gaining more insight. It wasn’t right. As far as Eve was concerned, family members deserved more thought when it came to gifts. She had no qualms about buying for them, but she wouldn’t allow the purchases to be impersonal.

She set the tea aside and stood, walking closer to the fire when memories left her chilled. Her mother had died when Eve was eight years old. Suicide, or so it had been rumored. The alternative, an accidental drug overdose, had carried nearly as much stigma, especially since her mother’s family blamed her father. Growing up, she’d been shuttled from one relative’s house to another’s. Her dad had hit the road, ostensibly to try to turn his pipe dream of being a musician into a bona fide profession. More accurately, though, he’d been running from a reality he could not accept.

The last she’d heard, he had a gig at a pub in Myrtle Beach. At nearly sixty, Buck Hawley was no longer waiting for his big break. But he was still running.

He’d missed out on more than two decades of Eve’s life, though he always managed to send her a gift to mark another birthday and Christmas. She hated those gifts. They were always impersonal things that Eve knew upon opening he hadn’t picked out. For that matter, even the signatures on most of the cards hadn’t been his.

While growing up, that had pained her. All these years later it still hurt. She’d needed her father’s time, craved his attention as a child. At the very least, she’d wanted to know he thought about her while picking out gifts. So, when clients asked her to buy for their loved ones, she required more than the name and age Dawson had provided on his list.

“Would you care for more tea?”

She turned to find the man in question standing in the doorway. His dark hair was combed back from his forehead, lean cheeks freshly shaved. He was wearing an expertly cut charcoal suit with a white shirt and conservatively patterned tie, yet her heart did the same little somersault it had upon seeing far more of his skin.

“I’m fine.” Eve spoke the words for her own benefit as well as his.

He nodded. “Well, not to rush you, but I do have someplace I need to be. I believe you said you wouldn’t take much of my time.”

“Right.” She retrieved her briefcase from the side of the chair. “I do things a little differently than Carole.”

“So I gathered,” he said dryly.

“For starters, when I shop for close relatives such as those on your list, I need to know something about them.” He opened his mouth, but before he could speak Eve added, “Something beyond their sex and age and your price range. For instance, what are their hobbies? Do they have a favorite color? Do they collect something? For the children, are they into video games, sports? Who’s their favorite recording artist? And for the record, I don’t believe in gift cards, fruit baskets, flower arrangements or the like. Anyone can purchase and send those. They don’t take any effort or require any thought. I won’t buy gifts like that.”

“Maybe I have the wrong person for the job.”

Dollar signs flashed in neon green before her eyes. This was a big account, the biggest by far of the ones Carole had fed her. The commission it was likely to bring would go a long way toward fattening up the bank account her cross-country move had depleted. Still, Eve crossed her arms, blinked the dollar signs away and said, “Maybe you do. It’s a matter of principle for me.”

He studied her a long moment before sighing. “What do you need?”

Eve opened her case and pulled out a folder, which she handed to him. “Given how difficult it’s been to reach you, I decided that instead of conducting an interview I would give you this questionnaire. Fill it out at your convenience, but if I could have it back to me by next Monday, that would great.”

“Anything else?”

She didn’t miss the sarcasm in his tone, but she chose to ignore it. “Actually, there is. While I don’t mind flying blind when it comes to buying gifts for business associates and clients, if you have any insights or personal anecdotes about any of the people on your list, I’d welcome them. Feel free to jot down anything that comes to you on the line I’ve provided next to their names.”

“Maybe I should go shopping with you.”

Again, she ignored his sarcasm. Smiling sweetly, she replied, “It’s kind of you to offer, but that won’t be necessary. Unless you really want to. I can always use someone to carry the purchases out to the parking lot.”

She wasn’t sure why she had just baited him, other than the fact that his arrogance rubbed her the wrong way.

“Excuse me, Mr. Burke?” the housekeeper said from the doorway. “The driver has brought the car around.”

“Fine.” He turned his attention back to Eve. “I believe we’re finished.”

“For now,” she affirmed and had the satisfaction of watching him scowl.

CHAPTER TWO

DAWSON prided himself on being the sort of man who thought outside the box when finding solutions for problems. It was one of the things that had helped make him a success in business. So, when adversity knocked Friday afternoon, he let opportunity answer the door.

“Your mother is on line one and Eve Hawley is on line two,” Rachel informed him.

“I’ll take the call from my mother. Tell Miss Hawley I’ll call her back.” As he said it, he glanced in the direction of his in-box, where the questionnaire she’d given him remained untouched. He had a good idea of the reason behind Eve’s call. He also knew why his mother was phoning. The charity ball was Saturday.

“Hello, Mom.”

“Dawson, darling. How are you?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“So, you always say,” she chided. “But I still worry about you.”

“There’s no need to, really.”

But she disagreed. “It’s a mother’s job.”

“I’m an adult, Mom. Thirty-eight last month,” he reminded her.

“Your age doesn’t matter. Nor, for that matter, does mine.” Tallulah was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I know this is a difficult time of year for you.”

“Mom—”

“It’s a difficult time of the year for everyone,” she went on. “We all miss Sheila and Isabelle.”

Hearing the names of his late wife and daughter spoken aloud turned his voice unintentionally crisp, “Don’t. Just…don’t.” He softened the command with “Please.”

“Dawson—”

But he held firm, even if he did moderate his tone. “I prefer not to talk about them. I’ve made my wishes on that very clear.”

“What is clear,” Tallulah began, “is that you’ve locked yourself inside a prison of your own making for three very long years. You’ve always been a fairly rigid individual. But in that time, you’ve become overly controlling, overly driven. You don’t make any time for friends or family, let alone yourself. You spend every waking hour at the office.”

“Yes and Burke Financial has thrived as a direct result,” he replied. “The last quarter’s earnings were the best in the company’s history.”

“Your father and I don’t give a damn about the business,” she snapped. The fact that his mother had used even a mild curse had Dawson blinking in surprise. This was a woman who rarely raised her voice let alone lost her temper. Neither had ever been necessary. She’d always had more effective ways of getting her children to toe the line. She pulled out one of the big guns now. “I hate to say this, Dawson, but I’m very disappointed in you.”

He sank back in his chair and closed his eyes. Whether he was eight or thirty-eight, that particular weapon never failed to hit the mark.

His tone was contrite when he said, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mom. That’s certainly not my intent.”

“I know.” But, of course, she wasn’t through. “Have you made plans for the holidays?”

It was a Burke tradition to gather for dinner at his parents’ estate on Christmas Eve. In fact, that had been his destination the evening of the crash. Ever since then, he hadn’t been able to make it. He expelled a ragged breath. “You know that I have.”

“San Tropez again?” she inquired, dismay obvious in her tone.

He’d gone to that tropical paradise the past two years, unable to remain in snowy Denver for the anniversary of that fateful night. This year, however, he’d decided on a different destination. “Actually, I thought I’d try Cabo. I’ve rented a condo ’til just after the new year.”

Like San Tropez, it was warm and sunny with gorgeous beaches and, most importantly, no one who knew him. People wouldn’t ask how he was doing, tilting their head to one side in sympathy as they spoke, or regard him with an overly bright smile that failed to camouflage their pity.

“Alone?” his mother asked.

“Mom—”

But she talked over his objections. “You know, it wouldn’t bother me so much that you refuse to spend the holidays with loved ones in Denver if I at least knew you were spending them with someone special.”

“I’m fine.” He repeated the old saw.

But she threw him a curve. “Are you seeing anyone, Dawson?”

“I’ve gone out a couple times,” he admitted. The dates had been unmitigated disasters, from the stilted conversations at the beginning to the awkward good-night kisses at the end. Both attempts had left him feeling guilty and angry at fate all over again, but he didn’t see any reason to divulge that information to his mother.

She apparently figured it out, though, because she said in a quiet voice, “Oh, son, at some point you need to move on with your life.”

“I have,” he insisted. He got up each day, didn’t he? He went to work. He’d turned the company into an even bigger success than it had been under his father.

As usual, though, his mother cut to the chase. “But you haven’t forgiven yourself.”

No. He hadn’t forgiven himself. He couldn’t do that. He closed his eyes, only to see it all happening again. He’d been the one behind the wheel of the car on that snowy Christmas Eve, the one firmly in control of all their destinies until a patch of black ice had changed everything.

Dawson had been the only one to survive the impact with the bridge abutment. He’d walked away with a nasty gash on his forehead and a busted arm. His wife had died instantly, while his daughter had hovered on the brink for several more hours with internal injuries before a surgeon had come out of the operating room to deliver news Dawson still wasn’t ready to accept.

“Sorry, Mr. Burke. We did all we could, but we couldn’t save her.”

How could Dawson forgive himself for that?

His mother’s voice snapped him back to the present. “I want you to be happy,” she said.

He opened his eyes, rubbed them with his free hand. She didn’t get it. No one did. For him, happiness had ceased to be relevant. “Don’t worry about me, Mom,” he told her for the second time.

But she was saying, “You know, the Harrisons’ daughter recently moved back from California.”

At that an alarm bell began to sound in his head. He silenced it by saying, “The one who got married a couple of years ago?”

“Yes, but she’s divorced now.” The alarm sounded a second time as his mother continued. “I ran into her at the club a couple weeks ago. She still has that same lovely, bubbly personality. She’ll be at the ball tomorrow evening. I was thinking of asking her to sit with us. That would give us an even number at our table. And you know how I like an even number.”

Dawson straightened in his seat. This was the last thing he needed. The last thing he wanted.

“Mom, I’d really rather you didn’t do that.”

“She’s nice, dear. You’ll both have a good time. It doesn’t have to lead to anything. In fact, I’m not sure she’s ready for a relationship yet herself. Her divorce was final only a few months ago. But at least it will give you both an opportunity to get your feet wet again.” Sounding pleased with her plan, she added, “I’ll phone her after I hang up.”

Good God! His mother setting him up on a date with a newly divorced woman who probably was every bit as unenthusiastic about the matter as he was.

“No!” His gaze caught on the questionnaire Eve had left with him and inspiration struck. Perhaps there was a way he could kill two birds with one stone. His lips curved with a smug smile. “What I mean is, there’s no need to do that. As it happens, I already have a date.”

Eve was on her way to Boulder, the rear of her Tahoe already laden with the morning’s finds in Denver, when her cell trilled. Normally, she didn’t like to operate a vehicle and talk on the phone at the same time, but when she saw the number of the person who was calling, she decided to make an exception.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi. It’s Dawson Burke.”

“Well, this is unexpected.”

He sounded confused when he asked, “Didn’t my secretary tell you I would be calling?”

“Mrs. Stern? Yes, she did. Which is why I’m in a state of shock. I mean, if I had a dollar for every time your secretary has told me you’d get back with me…” She let her words trail off.

“Very funny,” he muttered. “Are you this flippant with all of your clients?”

“Nope. You seem to bring it out in me.” But she moderated her tone and added, “Thank you for returning my call.”

“You’re welcome.”

“The reason I phoned you earlier is that I’m on my way down to an art gallery in Boulder to pick up some pieces by a local artist for another client of mine. Buying artwork for someone is like buying clothes. It has to fit the recipient’s style.”

“Which makes it personal,” he said.

“Exactly. So I was wondering if art might be something that would appeal to any of the friends or family members on your list?”

He made a humming noise, then said, “My parents’ walls are pretty full at this point and I wouldn’t presume to know my sister’s taste in art as she’s made a hobby out of redecorating her home. My friends…I don’t know.”

“Oh, well, it was just a thought.” Her exit was coming up, so Eve shifted her vehicle to the right lane. “How’s the questionnaire coming along?”

She heard him clear his throat. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“You haven’t filled it out,” she guessed.

“Not yet, no.”

“Mr. Burke—”

“Dawson, please.”

“All right. And you can call me Eve. But I really want that information. I need it, as I explained to you the other night,” she said.

“A matter of principle, I believe you said.”

“Yes.”

“And if I refuse?” he asked. The question sounded almost like a dare.

The dollar signs flashed again, but Eve thought about her father and she remembered her disappointment and heartache. She wasn’t willing to pass on those emotions to someone else. Her tone was firm when she replied, “I’d have to ask you to find another personal shopper. So, are you refusing?”

“No, but I have a better idea,” he said. “Do you have plans for tomorrow evening?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Since moving to Denver, Eve had spent nearly every Saturday night alone. But as it happened, she did have something going on. She’d told Carole she would stop by with Chinese food, a bottle of wine and some Christmas movies for the two of them to watch.

“I see.” Then he surprised her by asking, “Would it be possible for you to change them?”

Her curiosity was good and stoked. “Why? What do you have in mind?”

“Each year around this time my mother throws a really big to-do. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? The Tallulah Malone Burke Charity Ball and Auction.”

She put on her blinker and maneuvered the Tahoe onto the exit ramp. “No, sorry, but I haven’t been in Denver long.”

“That’s all right. Stick around and you will.” There was pride in his tone when he added, “It’s been an annual event for the past twenty-five years, drawing in the well-heeled and well-connected to raise money for the area’s less fortunate.”

“How nice,” Eve said and meant it.

“Yes, well, the party is tomorrow night.”

Comprehension dawned and something Eve didn’t want to admit might be interest danced up her spine. After all, the man wasn’t her type at all. Too arrogant. Too domineering. “Are—are you asking me out?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “I need an escort for the evening. And you will be compensated.”

Indignation blasted along with the horn of the car behind her, and she realized she’d come to a full stop even though she had the right of way. She sent the other driver a wave of apology and turned into the nearest parking lot.

“Eve?”

She waited until the vehicle was in Park before she let loose. “Maybe I wasn’t clear about the nature of the services I provide. I’m a personal shopper, not a personal anything else.”

She heard Dawson cough. Actually, he sounded as if he might have choked a little, which suited her just fine. He deserved it. Then, he said, “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Compensation was a poor choice of words. What I meant by it was that many of the people on my gift list will be in attendance. In addition to my parents, sister and her family, a number of business acquaintances and longtime Burke Financial clients attend.”

“Oh.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize when he added, “I thought seeing them, meeting them, might help you do your job more effectively. You know, live up to those high principles you speak of.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“No.” He expelled a breath. “For the record, Eve, I admire you for taking a stand. I haven’t met many people in business whose principles can hold up under pressure from the bottom line.”

He sounded sincere, which went a long way toward soothing her temper. “So, this would be sort of like a business function.”

“It would be exactly like a business function,” he corrected. “But with better food. No rubber chicken or cheap champagne. My mother doesn’t believe in doing anything halfway.”

As Eve was privy to Dawson’s gift budget she decided it was a trait he had inherited.

“It sounds very fancy.”

“Black tie required. Do you have something to wear?”

“I think I can find something suitable in my closet,” she replied blandly. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly between her teeth. “Where and what time?”

“Does that mean you’ll come?” He sounded surprised and maybe even a little relieved.

She was probably going to hate herself for it later, but she said, “Yes.”

“And your other date? I trust that the last-minute change in plans won’t cause any…problems.”

Eve nearly laughed out loud as it dawned on her that he thought the plans she’d mentioned earlier were with a man. She saw no reason to enlighten him.

So she said, “Don’t worry. I can reschedule it. After all, this is work.”

CHAPTER THREE

DAWSON cursed and yanked at his bow tie as he stood in front of the vanity mirror. This was his third attempt at tying it and it still had turned out lopsided. He wasn’t sure why his hands wouldn’t cooperate, any more than he could put a finger on the origin of the nerves fluttering in his stomach.

He hadn’t felt keyed up before either of the other dates, disasters that they’d wound up being. And his evening with Eve wasn’t a date at all. It was business, he reminded himself, as he finished with his tie, checked his watch and called for his driver to bring the car around.

Business was forgotten, however, the moment Eve opened her apartment door. She was wearing red, her lips and nails painted the same dangerous shade. She’d done something different with her dark hair, pulling it back and up to reveal the slim line of her neck. Diamond studs caught fire on her ear lobes as she tilted her head to one side and regarded him with a smile that he was pretty sure dated back to the original Eve.

“Hello, Dawson.”

“You look…” Words failed him. For a moment, he thought his heart might fail him, too. The woman should come with a cardiac arrest warning.

“This works for the occasion, right?” She did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn that made him wish he had a defibrillator handy. “I wouldn’t want to stand out.”

“You’ll stand out, but for all the right reasons,” he replied with more honesty than he’d intended.

Her smile bloomed again. “That’s quite a compliment. You look pretty good yourself. It’s a sin there are so few places for a man to wear a tuxedo nowadays.”

“I doubt you’ll get many men to agree.” He pulled at his collar as he said it. The damned thing seemed to have grown too tight.

Eve laughed. It was a husky sound, entirely too provocative for the mere reason that it wasn’t intended to be. “Come on, a tuxedo can’t be as uncomfortable as my shoes. My arches are going to hate me by the end of the night.”

Dawson allowed his gaze to skim down, which he regretted almost immediately. He’d already known she had a pair of killer legs. Tonight they were accentuated by black pumps that added a good three inches to her already respectable height. His pulse took flight along with the little butterfly tattooed on her ankle. He didn’t particularly care for the reaction. Business, he reminded himself.

“Ready to go?” he asked. “While I have no problem arriving fashionably late, my mother is a stickler for punctuality.”

“Ah. Right. So, exactly what have you told her about me?”

“Your name.”

“A man of few words,” she said on a laugh. “Just let me get my coat.”

He glanced around while she did so. Her apartment was a loft in a former commercial building that had been converted to residential use. Its exposed ductwork, distressed wood floor and battered brick walls gave it an almost industrial feel. It was small, its total square footage probably not equal to that of his master suite, but Eve certainly had made the most of every inch.

Her taste was as bold and uncompromising as the woman. Vivid colors were splashed against neutrals and a rather eclectic mix of artwork adorned the walls. At the far end of the room, he spied a slim staircase that led to the sleeping loft. A horizontal chrome railing defined the space up top and allowed a tantalizing glimpse of a platform bed beyond. He saw more bold colors there, rich crimsons, plums and golds. For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what one might interpret from her decorating choices.

“Dawson?”

He turned to find her standing directly behind him. She held a small clutch in her hands and was already wearing her coat, a long wool number that was cinched in at the waist with a belt. Even covered up with not so much as a scrap of red showing, she still exuded far too much sex appeal for his comfort.

He glanced away and cleared his throat. “Nice place you have here.”

“Thanks. I like it.”

“Excellent location given your job.” He made a circular motion with one hand. “Close to shops and all.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “But work wasn’t the only reason I chose it. I like being in the thick of things.”

She would. Though he didn’t know her very well, he’d already figured out that Eve was the sort of woman who grabbed life with both hands and held on tight, even when the ride got wild.

“Well, we should be going.” As he followed her out the door, Dawson wondered why he felt both eager to leave and disappointed that they couldn’t stay.

He knew the answer to at least half that question when they arrived at the Wilmington Hotel twenty minutes later. The large ballroom could accommodate seven hundred guests. Only a fraction of that number had arrived, as it was early yet. But his mother gave him a pointed look when she spied him. Dawson sent her a wink and purposely steered Eve in the opposite direction. He needed a little fortification before he faced his family and began fielding their questions. He also needed to clue Eve in on a few pertinent facts.

“How about a glass of wine?” he suggested.

“I suppose that even though this is technically a work function for me a nice glass of Chardonnay wouldn’t be out of line,” she replied.

“Not at all.”

As he ordered their drinks from a bar that had been set up in one corner, Eve said, “I guess you weren’t kidding when you said your mother doesn’t believe in doing things halfway. I wasn’t expecting the party to be quite this large. This room must be set up for at least a few hundred people to dine.”

“Seven hundred, actually.”

She blinked in surprise. “Is everyone in Denver on the guest list?”

“Sometimes it feels that way,” he said. He swept an arm out to the side. “But what you see here are the people with the deepest pockets. My mother’s specialty is getting them to reach in, grab a wad of bills and make a donation.”

“She sounds like a formidable woman,” Eve said.

He merely smiled. She could be, he thought, recalling the previous day’s conversation. At times, Tallulah could be downright relentless. The bartender handed them their wine.

“So, is your family here?” Eve inquired, taking a sip. “I’m eager to meet them.”

“Some of them are, I believe.” He cleared his throat. “Before I introduce you, though, I need to ask a favor of you. I would prefer that they didn’t know what it is you do for a living.”

“Ashamed of me?” She tilted her head to one side, sounding more amused than insulted, although he thought he saw something akin to vulnerability flicker briefly in her dark eyes.

“Of course not. It’s just that I don’t want them to feel…” He groped for the right word.

“Like you brought in a designated hitter because you couldn’t be bothered to shop for their gifts yourself?” She smiled sweetly before taking another sip of her wine.

Because his conscience had delivered a swift kick to his nether region, he replied, “You know, you can be annoyingly blunt at times.”

Her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug. “I know. It’s a gift.”

“It’s something,” he muttered. “Maybe you should sign up for a Dale Carnegie course.”

“I already took one. Passed with flying colors, as a matter of fact. A star pupil.” She smiled at him over the rim of her glass. “So, who exactly do they think I am?”

Dawson felt as if he had been dumped back into junior high school when he admitted, “They think you’re my date.”

“Ah. Your date.” She was enjoying his embarrassment. Of that much he was sure. “And how long have we been an item?”

“We’re not an item,” he groaned.

“First date. Got it.” She grinned. “Well, I promise I’ll try not to be obvious while I’m plying them with questions to get an idea of their likes and dislikes.”

Eve wouldn’t be the only one with questions, Dawson thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his mother. She was homing in on them with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, not even stopping to chat with the people who greeted her along the way. There would be no avoiding her this time.

He put his arm around Eve, leaned close and whispered, “My mother is headed this way.”

“Uh-oh. Should I bat my eyelashes at you or something?” she asked.

“This was a bad idea,” he mumbled, not quite sure if he felt that way because of her glib reply or because he’d caught a whiff of her perfume. It was sexy, sinful. He ignored the tug of lust it inspired and pasted a smile on his face as his mother reached them.

“Dawson, darling,” Tallulah called. “I thought I saw you come in a moment ago.”

He kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mom. You look as radiant as ever. Is that a new dress?”

“It is, though I doubt you could give a fig,” she replied on a chuckle, letting him know that his attempt at flattery had not sidetracked her in the least. Indeed, speculation lit her eyes even as her lips curved into a smile. “And who might this lovely young woman be?”

Eve knew she was being inspected from head to toe even if Tallulah Burke was smiling and greeting her in as gracious a fashion as she did it.

Dawson performed the introductions, all the while looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. All of his usual cockiness was gone. Eve liked him all the more for it.

“Mom, this is Eve Hawley. Eve, my mother, Tallulah Burke.”

“Eve, it’s very nice to meet you.” Tallulah shook Eve’s hand, covering it with both of hers, which were fine-boned and heavily bejeweled. She didn’t let go immediately afterward. No. She held on as she added, “I have to say, I was a little surprised when my son mentioned yesterday that he would be bringing a guest to the party this evening. I wasn’t aware he was dating anyone. I guess the mother is the last to know.”

Even as she said it, Eve got the feeling that very little got past Dawson’s mother. This was no flighty society maven. Her blue eyes were keen with intelligence and, at the moment, a great deal of curiosity.

“Eve and I haven’t known one another very long,” Dawson hedged.

“Oh?”

“First date,” Eve supplied. She didn’t quite bat her eyelashes, but came close. Dawson scowled.

“Really? How exactly did you meet?” Tallulah asked, her gaze never wavering from Eve.

“A mutual friend got us together.” Since it wasn’t exactly a lie, Eve had no problem supplying the information.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dawson nod, apparently pleased with her response. Then, before his mother could probe any further, he added, “It was no one you know, Mom.”

Someone called her name then. Tallulah turned and waved. “Well, I need to mingle. You should do the same, Daw. It’s expected.”

“Right.”

She turned to Eve then. “I’ll look forward to getting to know you better over dinner.”

Oh, I bet you will, Eve thought.

Will I measure up?

The question had her stomach knotting and some of the old insecurities managed to sneak in, despite the fact that her relationship with Dawson wasn’t the romantic one his mother had been led to believe.

“I have a feeling that the salmon won’t be the only thing grilled here tonight,” she murmured once she and Dawson were alone.

“Don’t worry. My mother is harmless.”

Eve decided to reserve judgment. Admittedly, her first impression of Tallulah had been a positive one. The woman seemed kind, and the very fact that she threw an annual ball to raise funds for charity elevated Eve’s opinion of her. But Eve had had enough negative experiences in her past to know better than to trust first impressions.

Pot calling the kettle, she thought, since she did her best to make a stellar first impression. It was important to her.

Thanks to her penchant for sniffing out sales and spending her pennies on quality pieces, Eve knew what to wear. She also had no problem holding her own in social settings. One of the great aunts she’d lived with had been a stickler for etiquette. Eve knew how to sit with her legs crossed demurely at the ankle. She knew how to walk—head up, shoulders back. She knew which fork to use for the various courses served at dinner. And when it came to the art of small talk, she could hold her own with the best of them.

But she was a fraud. An absolute and utter fake underneath all of her props and polish.

She had not been born into money, and, as she’d learned with her last boyfriend, when it came right down to it, for some people it was the pedigree that made all the difference.

Eve notched up her chin, crooked her arm through Dawson’s and in her best haughty voice, asked, “Shall we go forth and mingle?”

He heaved a sigh. “I’d rather not, but yes. Just let me do most of the talking.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m a regular chameleon,” Eve assured him. “No one will ever suspect that I don’t belong here.”

He sent her a questioning look, which she ignored. Despite those noxious self-doubts, she continued to smile brightly.

Everyone with whom they stopped to chat seemed surprised to see Dawson and, oddly, a little tongue-tied around him. Eve might have thought that was because he was the sort of man who exuded power. Some people found that intimidating. But it was more than his importance. She felt an undercurrent here, something just below the surface of the polite conversations that seemed almost like sympathy. It didn’t make sense. Why would anyone feel sorry for Dawson Burke? The man had it made: a high-powered job, wealth, exceptional good looks and a body that appeared to have been chiseled from granite.

Yet for all that, he couldn’t manage a real date for an evening. Hmm…

As they made their way over to the tables where the items for the silent auction had been set up, Eve said, “I’m curious about something.”

“Yes?” he replied absently.

The first item they came to was a gift basket full of aromatherapy bath products. The opening bid was far more than the actual value of the individual components and yet several others had already topped it. Dawson scrawled his name down along with an outrageous amount. She added generous to his list of attributes.

“I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with you,” Eve stated bluntly.

He straightened and regarded her from beneath furrowed brows. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you’re obviously successful and you’re attractive.” She gave one bicep a squeeze through the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket. “Your body’s definitely all male, even if you do have a penchant for lavender-scented bubble baths.”

“It’s for charity,” came his dry reply.

“Right.” She winked because she knew it would annoy him. The man seriously needed to lighten up.

“Charity,” he muttered a second time.

“So, why couldn’t you get a real date for tonight?”

Dawson looked perplexed by the question. “Aren’t you having a good time?”

Surprisingly, she was and so she admitted as much. “All things considered, I’m actually enjoying myself. I’m just, you know…” She motioned with her hand. “Curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Eve.”

She merely shrugged. “Cats have nine lives. So, why aren’t you dating?”

“Who says that I’m not?”

She settled a hand on one hip. “Everyone we’ve met tonight seems shocked to see you out at a social function.” She paused for effect before adding, “Especially in the company of a woman.”

“I have a very demanding position as the head of Burke Financial.” The excuse was weak and he knew it based on the way his gaze slid away after he said it.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.