“It’s only me.”

Nick stepped into the change room and closed the door.

“What are you doing in here?” Liv asked, holding the minuscule lacy bra in front of her.

“This would be a good time to see if you have it in you to be spontaneous,” Nick said, reaching for her. The lace didn’t conceal her nipples. On the contrary, it created a peekaboo effect that left him a little breathless.

He moved his lips to the hollow of her throat, stroking with his tongue as he kneaded her buttocks.

“Yes, yes,” Liv whispered.

He lifted a lace-clad breast in one hand and caressed her hardened nipple with his thumb while he slid the other inside her panties. With more willpower than he knew he possessed, he took his hands away and kissed her softly. They’d spent enough time in the dressing room to make the clerk suspicious.

“The lacy bra will do nicely,” he said, winking at the blushing clerk.

Dear Reader,

Who doesn’t love the holidays? The lights, the tinsel, the wrapping of gifts, the unwrapping…? Mmm, especially the unwrapping!

When former lovers Liv Kearns and Nick Matheson are reunited, it’s strictly business until the layers start coming off! Can public relations professional Liv keep reporter Nick at arm’s length?

We (Jennifer Drew is the pseudonym for the mother-daughter writing team of Barbara Andrews and Pam Hanson) hope you enjoy finding out that the answer to this question is a resounding no!

So take a break from the hectic pace of your holiday season and sit back to see what’s going to be revealed!

Enjoy!

Jennifer Drew

Books by Jennifer Drew

HARLEQUIN DUETS

7—TAMING LUKE

18—BABY LESSONS

45—MR. RIGHT UNDER HER NOSE

59—ONE BRIDE TOO MANY* ONE GROOM TO GO*

72—STOP THE WEDDING!*

80—JUST DESSERTS

100—YOU’LL BE MINE IN 99

106—DESPERATELY SEEKING SULLY

All Wrapped Up

Jennifer Drew

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one’s for our readers…with heartfelt thanks

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

1

LATER SHE’D CRY or scream.

Olivia Kearns pressed her throbbing forehead against the ice-cold, living-room window of her suburban Chicago town house. She wanted to freak out, but now wasn’t the time to lose it, not when she had so much to do.

Outside, snow flurries were starting to accumulate. Liv hoped her parents, driving away in separate cars, wouldn’t have trouble with the slippery roads. She shook her head in disbelief, still unable to accept that her parents really intended to divorce after nearly thirty years of seemingly harmonious marriage. They’d come to her home to tell her the bad news, calling ahead to be sure she’d be there on a Saturday afternoon. Dad had nodded agreement while her mother assured her the decision was for the best.

Would she and her sister, Amy, have a place they could consider the family home, a place where they could all gather for Christmas? One set of grandparents had retired to Florida and the other set to Arizona, so everyone had always come to her parents’ house for family celebrations.

Liv was the family problem-solver, the one who could resolve any crisis—but not this one. How could her parents split up? They were the heart of the family. How could they still be a family if her parents weren’t together? Liv knew she was being a drama queen, but she didn’t care.

She padded in stocking feet across the moss-green carpeting, hardly seeing her comfy couch and chair covered with flowery slipcovers or the Queen Anne–style cherry tables. The room was tidy and organized, just the way she liked her life.

What she needed to do was make a list. Making a to-do list would help her focus and feel more in control. She went upstairs to her office in the spare bedroom and grabbed a fresh yellow legal pad.

First, she thought, writing a bold numeral one, she had to cancel her parents’ New Year’s Eve thirtieth-anniversary party.

Theoretically, she and Amy, her older sister by one year, were planning the party, but she’d never expected much help from her sister. Amy was willing enough, but organization wasn’t her strong suit especially now when her wedding was coming up in a few months. She had more on her plate than she could manage. It was up to Liv to cancel the party.

She groaned. Nearly fifty invitations had gone out. She’d have to explain fifty times why the party was off.

Then there was Amy’s wedding. Only her sister would choose February for a big wedding. Liv had tried to suggest tactfully that sub-zero, snowstormy late winter wasn’t the best time. Now it was an awful time because of her parents. Who would keep the wedding arrangements on track? She wrote a large number two on her list.

“I can get through this,” she said with a sigh.

She was almost glad there were no men in her life at the moment. She didn’t have to break a date to the anniversary party, because her last relationship had ended several months ago. Breaking up with Jerry after a lukewarm relationship had been more comedy than drama, although she wouldn’t mind a shoulder to cry on right now.

The timing for a family crisis was terrible. This wasn’t a good time to worry about anything but work. She’d done plenty of that lately because the situation there was in constant flux under a new CEO.

William Lawrence Associates was a venerable old public relations firm. She’d worked there since graduating from college five years ago and loved her job specializing in crisis management. It was exciting to work in the heart of Chicago, even though it meant a daily train commute from her town house in Haley Park. She loved being part of a dynamic team and couldn’t imagine a job better suited to her talents. Her co-workers were like a second family. Her best friend, Dana Gerard, who had the office next to hers, was like a second sister. The vivacious little brunette could always make Liv smile, even after a grueling day. She felt lucky to have such a positive person in her life.

Liv was a little uneasy about the recent change in leadership. William Lawrence Jr. had just retired, leaving a third-generation Lawrence in control. Billy Lawrence, who refused to be known as William III, wanted to attract hip new clients in the sports and entertainment fields. At twenty-seven Liv was one of their top people, but she’d been advised to update her image and change her attitude. Even though her new boss was close to forty himself, Liv didn’t doubt he’d replace her with someone younger if she didn’t meet his expectations.

“Loosen up a little,” Billy Lawrence had told her.

She wrote “loosen up” on her list and underlined it.

The words were painfully familiar, thanks to her ex-boyfriend, Jerry Lockmor. When he’d dumped her, he’d told her that she was too uptight in bed. Of course, his idea of passion had been thirty-two seconds of foreplay and a neon-colored condom. She’d been hurt when he broke off their relationship, but in retrospect it was a relief to have him out of her life.

“I know what great sex is, Jerry, you idiot,” she muttered. “You were never in the ballpark.”

She’d always believed in long-lasting relationships because her parents’ marriage had flourished. They were forcing her to reconsider her beliefs.

She felt confused and hollow inside, but weeping and wailing wasn’t her style. She had things to do.

The phone on the desk right beside her rang. There was no one she was in the mood to talk to at the moment so she let the machine answer it.

“Olivia, pick up the phone. I know you’re there. I just talked to Mom.”

Her sister was at the top of the list of people she wanted to avoid right now. If anyone could shatter her veneer of self-control, it was Amy.

“Honey, I know you’re upset, but I’m going to keep calling until you talk to me. A family needs to pull together at a time like this.” Her sister sounded weepy. “We’re sisters. We should help each other.”

Could things get any worse? How could Liv make Amy feel better when she was miserable herself? Reluctantly she picked up the phone.

“I was in the bathroom,” she lied.

“You were right by the phone trying to avoid me. I know it hurts, Liv, having Mom and Dad break up,” Amy said. “I cried for days when I learned—”

“You cried for days? When did they tell you?” Liv felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach.

“They didn’t exactly tell me. Well, they did, but only because I knew something was wrong.”

“How?” Liv couldn’t believe she’d missed something so obvious that her sister had clued in to.

“Mom wasn’t into planning my wedding the way she had been. She was distracted,” Amy said.

“How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I haven’t known that long. Mom thought she should tell you herself. Please, don’t get upset. It doesn’t matter who knew what when. I hate that it’s happened, but I’m sure everything will work out. Are you okay?”

That was just great! Amy, who thought a broken fingernail was a major tragedy, was consoling her.

“I’ll be fine when I get used to the idea of parents who don’t love each other anymore. Don’t worry about me,” Liv said.

“I know, I know, you’re the one who always has things under control. But remember, they’re still young enough to build new lives.”

“I didn’t know they hated their old one,” Liv said.

Amy rarely played big sister. In fact, Liv sometimes forgot her sibling was one year older. Talking about her parents’ bombshell was making it seem all the more real.

“They don’t hate each other, they just changed and grew apart,” Amy said. “You’ve probably figured that out for yourself. We have to cancel their anniversary party.”

“People don’t usually give parties to celebrate a divorce,” Liv said, not intentionally sarcastic but it came out that way.

Liv felt numb all over. She didn’t want to deal with this. It shouldn’t be happening to her family.

“Liv, I feel guilty, but I won’t be able to help you call the guests to cancel. It’s really hectic at the flower shop. We can hardly keep up with all the orders for Christmas parties. And Sean says he never sees enough of me, so we’re going to his parents’ in Wisconsin next weekend.”

Amy talked rapidly. Now that she’d given her consolation talk, she clearly didn’t want to deal with Liv’s take on it.

Liv would hate explaining to fifty people why her parents wouldn’t be having an anniversary party, but it wasn’t as if she had much choice.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she said grumpily.

“You’re the best! No one ever had a better little sister.”

Yeah, yeah. Liv wasn’t in the mood for her sister’s facile compliments.

“There is one tiny little thing you should know. Do you have pencil and paper handy? Of course you do. You’re always so well organized. Write down this number, 555–2996. Got it?”

“Yes, 555–2996. Whose number is it?”

“You didn’t have a date for Mom and Dad’s party, and I just happened to pick up the sports page of the Chicago Post…”

“You never read the sports section.” Liv braced herself to hear one more thing she wasn’t going to like.

“I was using it to repot a plant. Anyway, there was a story by Nick Matheson, the guy you brought home for Christmas once. He was so cute, and I felt so bad because his parents had just gotten a divorce. I actually envied you—but, of course, Sean suits me perfectly now.”

“What are you talking about?”

Even control freaks had a breaking point.

“Nick’s back in Chicago working for the Post. I sent him an invitation to Mom and Dad’s party. That’s his number. You’ll have to uninvite him.”

“Why me?” Liv protested. “You invited him. You should be the one to tell him the party’s canceled.”

Being dumped by Jerry had stung her ego for about ten seconds, but Nick had really wounded her. She didn’t want to dredge up the old heartache by talking to him.

“I don’t know him that well. I’m sorry, Liv. I shouldn’t have meddled with the guest list.”

“You call him!”

“No, really. You should be the one to do it. Oh, I have a call waiting. It’s Sean. Love you!”

The phone went dead. Liv realized she was holding her breath.

Nick Matheson.

She’d never completely stopped thinking about him, but she was surprised by the pang of regret she’d felt hearing his name.

Her sister, who floated through life blissfully unaware of subtle nuances in human behavior, had appointed herself matchmaker. Now, typically, she’d dumped the problem on Liv. If she didn’t love her sister, she could cheerfully strangle her.

Liv put item number three, call Nick Matheson, on her list. But she wasn’t sure she could make herself do it. He might misunderstand and think she was trying to get together with him again. How humiliating would that be?

Once she’d really wanted the kind of relationship her parents had, but she’d made the bad mistake of falling in love with Nick who had no intention of making a long-term commitment. She couldn’t believe Amy had stuck her with the job of telling him the party was off. It had been five years since he’d left her, and she dreaded having to speak to him.

They’d met when she was a senior at Northwestern. He’d been a graduate student in journalism, and they’d met in a seminar she’d gotten special permission to take. The first time he walked into the room, she’d wanted him. He was tall, lean and good-looking, with sandy-blond hair and deep blue eyes that made her tingle whenever he looked at her. But he was a lot more than a handsome face. His sharp wit and warmth had overwhelmed her.

Now Nick was ancient history, but they had one new thing in common.

Ironically, it was his parents’ divorce that had brought them together. He’d needed sympathy and understanding, and she’d been more than willing to give it.

She’d needed to believe that he’d loved her, at least a little, even though he’d repeatedly warned her from the beginning he wasn’t into commitment. At first she’d blamed his attitude on the shock of his parents’ breakup.

She’d been so naive, thinking she could change his mind over time. Well, she’d been dead wrong, and had paid a big price in heartache for dreaming she could make Nick into something he wasn’t. Pushing hard for commitment, she’d ended up with him moving on and out of her life.

The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was mooning over him.

At least having a lot to do would help her cope with her parents’ divorce. Doing things efficiently was second nature, probably a genetic gift from her father who ran his insurance business like a military operation. Amy took after Mom, who could charm people into buying real estate but struggled with the details of finalizing a sale.

Liv went to her kitchen with its pale yellow cupboards and uncluttered green marbleized counter-tops. While she boiled water for tea, she vowed not to feel sorry for herself. The divorce wasn’t about her. The important thing was whether her parents would be happier apart, but she was having trouble believing they would be. They’d always seemed so right together, so close they could complete each other’s sentences.

She carried the mug of tea back to her office to begin making calls. She couldn’t spare a minute at work for personal business. Her job was difficult enough without trying to impress a new boss with how hip, with-it and on top of things she was, his latest additions to her job description. She found the party list and punched in the first number on her phone.

A few minutes later she’d talked to one person and left three messages on answering machines. She was calling Nick next. It was ridiculous to stew over talking to a man she hadn’t seen in five years. The sooner she did it, the quicker she could forget him again.

Liv still vividly remembered her anger and hurt when she’d caught him at a party with a frizzy-haired blonde on his lap. He’d ditched the girl and taken Liv home to the little apartment she shared with two friends, but it had been the beginning of the end. They never slept together again, never spent long hours in companionable silence in the library, never took long walks or drove in his car to watch Lake Michigan lapping at the shoreline of Chicago.

He’d left a void in her life and in her heart. Maybe that was why no man since had measured up to her expectations.

She punched in Nick’s number. What if he thought the invitation had been her idea? Would he think she was chasing him? Did he think she’d hop into bed with him for old time’s sake, as if he was so irresistible she still got hot and bothered just thinking about him? The possibilities made her cringe. How could Amy have put her in this position?

His phone rang three times. She took a deep breath and hoped her nerve wouldn’t fail her. He most likely hadn’t given her a thought in years before Amy called him. Liv didn’t know where he’d been or what he’d been doing for five years, but she’d bet he hadn’t been lonely for female companionship. He attracted women like no man she’d ever dated, maybe because he genuinely liked to spend time with them. He had a gift for listening and making people feel better about themselves.

“This is Nick Matheson. I’m not available now but leave your name and number. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

His answering machine. What a relief, even though hearing his recorded message made her quiver. He had a deep, mellow voice that matched his drop-dead good looks. She could see him in her mind, tall at six-two with blond hair and bedroom-blue eyes lively with intelligence and passion.

The machine beeped, and she had to leave a message. Now that she’d heard his voice, she’d never work up enough nerve to call back.

“This is Olivia Kearns. Don’t bother coming to my parents’ party.”

She’d meant to explain that Amy had sent the invitation and the party had been canceled.

“Don’t bother coming,” she repeated, not at all pleased with herself. She’d gotten rattled and left a terribly abrupt message.

Should she call back and leave another, more tactful message? What if he answered himself on the second try? What if he…? He loved afternoon sex—he’d been pretty fond of it anytime, but stealing a little time out of a busy day had once been great for both of them. It would be terrible to interrupt something like that. He might be living with someone, and she might cause trouble for him by calling twice.

Face it, she was afraid of how she’d react if she had to talk to him. She didn’t want to awaken feelings she’d long ago buried. No, a second call was a very bad idea.

She slashed his name off her list with a black felt pen.

NICK HAD GOTTEN HOME from his wasted weekend too late Sunday night to bother checking his messages. He couldn’t believe he’d hung around the little lakeside town of Saint Joseph, Michigan, for two days without getting an interview with the daughter of a depression-era baseball player.

It didn’t deter him that a couple of other Post reporters had tried and failed in the past few weeks. In fact, he loved the challenge of succeeding where his more seasoned colleagues had struck out. He was the new kid in the sports department, and he wanted to cement his reputation by interviewing the reclusive Matilda Merris, daughter of the baseball player who’d rocked Chicago with a bribery scandal in the 1930s. There were lots of questions only she could answer. Had the infamous Marty Merris been intimidated by gangsters? Were some leading politicians of the day involved? What had been her father’s motivation in accepting money to throw a crucial game?

He didn’t usually write history, but Merris was a special case. Marty was one of the greatest athletes that sport had ever seen, single-handedly exciting interest in a new league that failed not long after his disgrace. Sports-crazy Chicago was opening a new sports museum soon, and the directors were determined to keep Merris out of it. Mack Gallagher, Nick’s editor at the Post, had a collection of Merris memorabilia he wanted to donate to the new museum, but so far the powers that be had refused it. They wanted to write Chicago’s third great team out of the history books.

Nick had already figured out that the Post had more reporters than they needed to keep up with local sports. If the big bosses ever came to the same conclusion, he wanted to be too invaluable to be let go. Getting the Merris story could be his ticket to fame—and job security, no small prize in a field as competitive as his.

If he could uncover the true story of Chicago’s biggest sports scandal, there was a more immediate payoff. Mack had promised him better assignments if he could justify what Merris had done.

Nick had a file two inches thick, much of it gathered by the two reporters who’d given up on the piece. Without the insights only Matilda Merris could provide, the story was only speculation. The fact that two of his co-workers had failed only challenged him.

He started listening to his messages, first one from his mother in Florida. She wanted him to spend Christmas with her. He wanted to see her but no way could he leave Chicago now. Nor was he keen to hang out with her second husband, Terry, who called him “son” and treated him like a ten-year-old. Maybe he’d drive to Springfield for the holiday. He hadn’t seen Dad and his second wife in quite a while. Or maybe not. Things were getting interesting in the Windy City.

“Don’t bother coming to the party.”

He’d been absentmindedly checking other messages, but this one caught his full attention. He replayed it. Yeah, he’d heard right. It was Liv Kearns telling him not to “bother” coming to a party.

After five years she couldn’t even say, “Hi, Nick,” before she canceled the invitation to her parents’ anniversary party?

He played the message a third time. Couldn’t she at least say please don’t come? If she didn’t want him there, why had he gotten an invitation? He hadn’t decided whether to go, but, truth to tell, he hadn’t been back in the area long enough to have much of a social life. He’d been tempted to go until he remembered the last time they’d been together. He’d tried to explain why he wasn’t ready for commitment. She knew how much he was keyed up to begin his career, and she knew, too, that his father’s failure in marriage made Nick question his own chance of success.

If there was anything in his life he regretted, it was his breakup with Liv. He’d been more in love with her than any woman before or after. He’d been a jerk—with good reason. Even before his parents’ divorce, he hadn’t been a fan of commitment. Still wasn’t, considering that he’d left his job in Kansas City when sexy Darla, a career-driven lawyer, had started dropping wedding hints.

He loved sports and loved writing about them. It was a lifestyle that didn’t leave room for domestic entanglements or exclusive dating. Liv had tempted him once. All the more reason why he should’ve turned down the party invitation when he first got it. Maybe part of him wanted to see her again, but he was relieved that she’d made the decision for him.

Liv might have made him change his mind if he’d allowed their relationship to continue. He still got turned on by hearing her voice, but he’d been too ambitious—and face it, too immature—to consider a serious commitment five years ago. He’d never deceived her about that, but he shouldn’t have started something he couldn’t finish. In the beginning he hadn’t expected to care for her as much as he had. The longer he’d been with her, the more she expected their relationship to be permanent. He’d done her a favor by ending it, but he knew she hadn’t seen it that way.

He played her message a fourth time. He wasn’t imagining the breathy, seductive tone of her voice, even though her words were cold. That was typical of Liv. On the surface she was an ice princess, but he’d experienced the passion that simmered under the surface. She’d been hot, all he could want in bed and more.

She was totally genuine and natural. That was part of what had made their short relationship sizzle. But she didn’t have a clue how sexy she was. He’d had to work to unlock her passion, but it had been worth it. She’d rocked his world. He knew pretty much what he wanted in a woman, and he couldn’t help wondering what Liv was like now.

Back when they were together, Liv had been sure he’d change his mind about a permanent relationship. Her cure for his commitment phobia had been an excessive dose of devotion on her part. He wasn’t proud of it, but she’d scared him off.

He lived for the present. It wasn’t like him to second-guess decisions or brood over past mistakes. If Liv was uncomfortable having him come to her parents’ party, it was fine with him. His attitude toward relationships had remained the same since they’d parted company. He worked long hours and covered a lot of night and weekend events. He didn’t have time for anything but casual relationships, not if he wanted to excel in his field. And he did want that.

He had to get to work. After wasting a whole weekend trying to nail down an interview with Matilda Merris, even standing outside her house in the cold and looking pathetic in the hope she’d give in, he did have one more lead to follow. The old woman was a minor talent in the art world. She was on the client list of a Chicago public relations firm, William Lawrence Associates. Maybe, if he got really lucky, someone there would use their clout to get him inside Matilda’s Michigan home.

He dressed in gray flannel slacks, gray turtleneck, a navy blazer and tasseled loafers to impress the people at the PR firm. The gang in the newsroom would razz him about his dated preppy look, but he was at the end of his rope with this story. A whole lot of background work would go to waste if he couldn’t persuade the fallen hero’s daughter to talk to him.

Later, when he had time, he might give Liv a lesson in phone etiquette. He wondered if she still wore that flowery perfume that had turned him on, but it looked as if he’d never get close enough to know.

Mostly he wondered if she still hated him.

2

“I LOVE THIS LIFE,” Liv muttered to herself as she hung her midcalf black coat on the hall tree in the corner of her cubicle.

Mostly it was true. She didn’t mind riding the Metra System from Roselle, the stop closest to her home in Haley Park, to Union Station. She usually enjoyed the three-block walk from the terminal to the tall gray building where William Lawrence Associates occupied a suite on the ninth floor. She didn’t even mind the small, crowded cubicle that served as her office, although neon lights were no substitute for a window.

Once she got immersed in the business of the day, she rarely noticed the blandness of her surroundings. Her office was one of four created when a storage room had been divided into cubicles.

Today was Monday, always a busy day, but it wasn’t starting at all well. For one thing, her college intern was there ahead of her working at one of the two computers in the room. Liv didn’t exactly dislike Brandi Jo Willis, but sharing the small space with her was like having sand stuck in her swimsuit.

This morning the too-perky twenty-one-year-old blonde was dressed for success in a black jersey suit with a skirt that barely managed to cover her panties. The jacket was short, buttoned to hug her waist, and had a plunging neckline. She was obviously wearing nothing under it.

“Good morning, Miss Kearns,” Brandi Jo said, refusing to call Liv by her first name, a mockery of respect that annoyed Liv. “Mr. Bosworth asked me to finish some work for him. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, that’s fine,” Liv lied. “How long will it take? I planned on having you do some research for me.”

In fact, she really needed help today. She felt mentally and emotionally drained after canceling her parents’ party. Even the people she’d notified by e-mail had called her for details about the divorce.

Liv pulled her white wrap sweater more tightly around her, still shivering from the walk through bone-chilling blasts of wind. The second week in December was beginning, and arctic winds were bombarding the Windy City. Unlike Brandi Jo, she’d dressed for the weather in black trousers and a turtleneck under her sweater, but she still couldn’t seem to warm up.

“Boz, I mean Mr. Bosworth, said to take as long as I need to do this,” Brandi Jo said.

“Of course he did,” Liv said under her breath.

Ray Bosworth, Boz to his friends, was the vice president in charge of media and her immediate superior.

“He wants me to work here when my internship is over,” Brandi Jo said without looking up from the computer screen.

No surprise there, Liv thought. Boz was infamous for chasing interns. Opinion was divided on whether he ever caught any.

“That reminds me. I have to do your evaluation for school. When is it due?” Liv asked.

“Anytime before January tenth.” The intern sounded a little less sure of herself. She still had to graduate.

Liv planned to give her a good report card, so to speak, because it would be petty and spiteful not to acknowledge that the girl did work hard. But Liv didn’t have any illusions about her temporary helper. The intern was auditioning for a job with William Lawrence Associates, and that job could very well be Liv’s.

Was it a sign of her shrinking status that others didn’t bother to knock on the closed door of her office? With Brandi Jo entrenched in her space, the yellowish room with dark olive carpeting felt even less like a private work area.

Boz, as Liv called him in her mind but never aloud, barged in and sat down in Liv’s chair before she had a chance to get started on anything.

“Good morning, Ray,” she said, put in the position of standing at attention in front of him.

“I knew you’d want to hear about Friday’s executive meeting,” he said self-importantly.

Most days Liv liked Boz well enough, even though he could be pompous. The round, graying VP was a professional glad-hander, and, to his credit, he was usually as pleasant to employees as to clients.

“I haven’t had a chance to call up the minutes,” Liv admitted.

“There’s going to be a slight shift in your duties, Liv. Nothing major right away, but we’ll be easing you into new responsibilities,” Bosworth said, suddenly intent on examining his fingernails.

“What kind of shift?” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brandi had stopped working to listen.

“Billy wants more emphasis on client relations. You’ll be expected to generate new leads and work up some accounts of your own. Gradually we’ll take you out of crisis management in favor of having your own client base.”

“But crisis management is my specialty,” she protested.

“And you’re good at it.” Boz tried to smile benevolently, but he was looking at Brandi, not Liv. “This is your opportunity to grow with the firm, be on the cutting edge of expansion.”

She got it. She had to generate new business.

“The firm will supply you with leads, but you’ll do your old job until you have developed a new client base.” He stood and smoothed his dark charcoal jacket, as though it could conceal his barrel belly. “Remember, Liv, Billy wants you to loosen up. Dress more youthfully. Maybe Brandi Jo could give you a few pointers.”

Or maybe, Liv thought angrily, I should cruise the South Side and see what the girls on the street are wearing.

“You know, Billy takes a personal interest in every employee,” Boz said sanctimoniously. “He’s our team leader. He wants success for his employees as much as for himself, and we need a whole new slate of hip clients.”

“I love helping clients who have real problems,” Liv said. “I love the challenge of putting out fires.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to start a few,” her boss said dryly, dropping his good-guy act. “Brandi Jo, can I see you in my office?”

Liv watched the intern totter out on three-inch heels. How could Boz dump on her in front of an intern? Maybe he’d done it to encourage Brandi Jo. Maybe Liv’s job would be available sooner than she thought.

Liv tried to convince herself that change was sometimes good, but she didn’t like Boz’s explanation. It sounded like a sink-or-swim situation, not an opportunity for advancement.

She had no choice but to try to meet her boss’s expectations, but she would not consult Brandi Jo Willis for tips on how to dress. What did her bosses want, tight low-rise pants and a pierced navel?

Unfortunately, Billy wanted her to look sexy in hopes of enticing new clients for the agency. She wasn’t high enough up the ladder to get a chance at major accounts, so her life would degenerate into a series of tedious lunches and meetings with restaurant owners, club managers and other small-time hotshots.

Meanwhile, what did she have to do to appease the new president of the firm? Darned if she’d copy Brandi’s style, but there were some things she could do.

First, the black turtleneck had to go. Her office was warm enough to wear her sweater without it. The white cashmere plunged to a deep V but tied securely at her waist. She’d spend her day trying to keep it together so her bra wouldn’t show, but at least it would demonstrate she was trying to loosen up.

She’d dawdled too long to waste more time going to the inconveniently located women’s restroom at the end of the outer corridor. It would only take a few seconds to peel off the turtleneck and slip back into her sweater. She stood and quickly started stripping, not really wanting to get caught in the act by her snotty little intern.

The air was cool on her bare shoulders and back, and she shivered in her lacy peach bra.

When a sharp knock on the door startled her, she called emphatically, “Wait just a minute.”

The dark oak door banged inward on loose hinges, and she faced her visitor in an underwire bra that gave her enough uplift to launch a rocket.

“Now, that’s what I call effective public relations,” the newcomer said, pushing the door shut without taking his eyes off her cleavage.

“Nick!”

“Do you do a striptease for all your potential clients?” He had a devilish smile, and he beamed it at her full force.

She was too stunned to continue dressing. Five years had weathered the last vestiges of boyishness from Nick Matheson’s face, but his deep-set eyes were as blue and penetrating as ever.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry. The receptionist said to walk right in.” He turned his back to her.

“Are you a potential client?”

Her fingers felt thick and clumsy, but she managed to get into the sweater and yank the ties into a tight knot.

“Not exactly.”

“It’s been a long time,” she said. “How have you been?” Other than gorgeous, sexy and cocky.

“Fine.”

“You can turn around now. How did you know I work here?”

She tried not to squirm as he turned and gazed at her.

“You still look spectacular, Liv.”

“Thanks.”

He still had the annoying habit of dodging questions, but her own reaction concerned her more. How could he possibly look even better at twenty-nine than he had as a twenty-four-year-old graduate student? He was dressed in a conservative jacket and slacks, a big step up from the jeans and sweatshirts he used to live in, but his long, lanky body looked even harder and more muscular. His hair was shorter but still combed back from his forehead. He was clean-shaven, and his skin had a honey glow with high color in his cheeks from the cold outside.

“If you came for an apology, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, your message.” His little grin vanished. “My dentist leaves a friendlier one.”

“I’m sorry about that. I was upset.”

“Because your sister invited me? If you didn’t want me to be there, it’s okay.”

She was touched that Nick cared enough to look her up, but rattled because her heart was pounding. She had to fight a crazy urge to jump into his arms and kiss him silly.

She’d imagined seeing him by accident someday, maybe on the street or at a party. She’d thought up all kinds of clever, witty comments to show him that she was over him, so why couldn’t she remember a single one now?

“It’s not that. The party is canceled. My parents won’t be celebrating their thirtieth anniversary because they’re getting a divorce.”

“Liv, I’m really sorry. I know what a blow it is when parents split.”

“Yeah, and I never saw it coming.”

“If it’s any consolation, mine are much happier apart. They’ve both remarried and like their new lives.”

“Well, I’m sorry my message was so abrupt. I’d just found out, and I had so many people to call and—” She started twisting the ties of her sweater then forced herself to stop. She’d been calm and collected talking to her parents’ friends and canceling the party. It was what everyone expected of her, and more importantly what she demanded of herself. She took a deep breath, then another, locking her arms across her chest. Nick meant nothing to her anymore, so why was she feeling so emotional?

“No problem,” he interrupted. “You didn’t even know your sister had invited me, did you?”

“Well, actually no.”

Now that the initial shock of seeing him was wearing off, she remembered the months of heartbreak after he’d left her. She wasn’t a girl to put her hand on a hot burner twice.

“Well, thank you for coming by.”

“Actually, seeing you is only a bonus. I didn’t know you worked here. I’m chasing a lead on a story.”

Nick always had an ulterior motive—the warm glow she was feeling at seeing him again was replaced by icy suspicion.

“Here?” she asked.

“Your firm represents someone I badly need to interview.”

“We don’t divulge client information.”

“Yes, I’ve already been told that, but the receptionist hinted you might be able to help me.”

Mary, the receptionist, was fifty-seven and seven times a grandmother. Was there no female who was immune to Nick’s charms? At least Liv knew she was.

“She was mistaken,” Liv said.

“If I could explain—”

“I’m sorry, Nick, but William Lawrence Associates keeps all client information confidential.”

“Let me tell you what I’m after, then I’ll accept your decision, whatever it is,” he said.

He was relentless. Soon she was going to be wrapping her sweater ties around his gorgeous neck. “You aren’t going to talk me into betraying a client,” she said.

“I don’t even know if you still represent this one. Let me take you to lunch,” he urged. “We can talk about it.”

“Thank you, no. I don’t have time to go out for lunch.”

“Then let me take you to dinner, unless you have to hurry home to someone,” he said.

“No, I live alone, but dinner isn’t a good idea.”

“We’ll go someplace close and quick.” Another thing hadn’t changed. He didn’t like to take no for an answer.

Liv noticed Brandi Jo standing in the doorway watching with wide eyes. Did she think Liv was so old she was on the shelf?

“All right,” Liv said impulsively. “Meet me down in the lobby at five-thirty.”

“I didn’t know you had company,” Brandi Jo said, moving over to her computer table and openly checking out Nick.

Brandi Jo’s buttocks had a life of their own under the clingy skirt, and Nick couldn’t help but notice her backfield-in-motion bid for his attention.

“This is Nick Matheson, sportswriter for the Post,” Liv said dryly. “He’s just leaving.”

“I’m Brandi Jo Willis, Miss Kearns’s intern.” She directed a high-wattage smile Nick’s way.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, to his credit not rising to Brandi Jo’s bait. “I’ll see you at five-thirty, Liv.”

He backed toward the door and left without giving Brandi Jo the appraising look she usually received from men.

Liv realized that she’d let all her stored-up annoyance with the intern trap her into meeting Nick for dinner. For a moment she’d enjoyed showing the little sexpot that she could attract men too, but it was a short-lived triumph. It was a really bad idea to see Nick again for any reason. She was totally over him and wanted to stay that way.

3

STANDING IN the lobby of the Syracuse Building where she worked, Liv stared at a tiny butterfly in the design on one of the elevator doors, a detail she hadn’t noticed in the five years she’d worked there. Of course, she’d never stood in the lobby for nearly twenty minutes. Dana and several other people stopped to ask if Liv needed anything as she waited and waited for Nick to arrive. Time meant nothing to Nick, one more reason why she was fortunate their relationship had ended.

Even the two uniformed security guards sitting in the cubicle where they monitored cameras were beginning to look at her too frequently for comfort. She knew the routine, of course. At six sharp the door would be locked. Then no one, not even fast-talking Nick Matheson, could get in without buzzing and showing a special identity card.

She’d had it with waiting. She turned up her coat collar and braced herself to fight Chicago wind and commuter crowds. If the snow kept falling in big fluffy clumps, the lot where she’d left her car would be snowed shut before she got there for the last lap of her trip home. She hoped her temperamental little compact, seven years old and counting, would start.

Nick stepped out of the snowy darkness just as she opened the door. She met him on the pavement where wet slushy snow was already as high as the ankles of her boots.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I got held up.”

He was wearing a red squall jacket, the hood hanging down and filling with snow. Nick never covered his head in less than a raging blizzard, Liv remembered. She had to resist an urge to brush silvery flakes from his hair.

“I only wanted to tell you I can’t have dinner,” she said. “The way it’s snowing, I’ll be lucky to get home before the streets drift shut.”

“You drive into the city? Where do you live?” he asked, stomping snow from his boots.

“Haley Park. I take the train, but I have to drive home from the station.”

“Have dinner with me, and I’ll drive you home. You can take a cab to your car in the morning.”

“No thanks to both. I’m going to take the Metra.”

“It’s no trouble. I’ve got four-wheel drive, and I pretty much go in your direction anyway. I live in Ira Heights.”

Nick took her arm as the door behind them opened. A couple came out, and she got a glimpse of the man, tall and broad-shouldered with a big square face, a felt derby and a tan wool overcoat. She opened her mouth to acknowledge the president of William Lawrence Associates, but Billy wasn’t looking in her direction. He was too busy gazing fondly down on Brandi Jo’s sleek blond head.

She should’ve known.

Liv scooted around Nick and started to walk away before Brandi Jo saw her, not that the intern wasn’t fully focused on her conquest. Liv feared her job was toast. The intern had one more semester before graduation, then Billy might slot her into Liv’s position.

The restructuring was a ruse as far as she was concerned. They were setting her up to fail. If she couldn’t attract the kind of new clients Billy wanted, he’d use it as an excuse to replace her with Brandi Jo. The whole staff would shake their heads and say, “Poor Liv couldn’t hack it.”

“Where are you going?” Nick asked. He was half running and half sliding to keep up with her on the slushy sidewalk.

“You wanted dinner. Let’s have dinner,” she said, too upset about Brandi Jo to worry about catching a train.

“I had in mind a little Italian place,” he said. “We’re going in the wrong direction.”

She wanted to explode. Had he conveniently forgotten how they’d loved romantic Italian dinners? It was the worst possible restaurant choice after what he’d done to her five years ago. She stopped and took a deep breath.

Her parents were splitting up. Her job was in jeopardy. Now Nick had barged back into her life and wanted her to do something that could violate client confidentiality. She might as well pig out on pasta and get fat.

“Fine,” she said sharply. “Where is it?”

She’d retreated far enough so there was no danger of catching up with Billy and Brandi Jo. Dinner with Nick was just what she needed to cap off a perfectly awful day.

NICK OFFERED LIV his arm, but she stubbornly refused it even though the sidewalk was as slippery as a toboggan run. The way she was stomping along, she was cruising for a fall. She was so hostile he had second thoughts about dinner.

“Hey, slow down,” he said. “No rush to get to the restaurant. The Milano won’t be crowded on a night like this.”

Maybe he was crazy to take her to a cozy little place. The last thing he wanted was to start something with her. She took life much too seriously for him. Breaking up with her once had been hard enough. He still had residual guilt and absolutely did not want to go through that again. Maybe if she hadn’t been standing there in her office in a lacy bra…

Sometimes a good memory was a pain. He could recall every important play in a game and write a story about it with minimal notes, but he could also remember the rosy-brown pebbling around Liv’s nipples and the way they used to harden under his tongue. The downy auburn hair on her mound was the softest thing he’d ever touched, and he hoped she hadn’t started shaving it as his last girlfriend had. Bristles were a turnoff, not that he would ever have sex with Liv again.

“How far is this place?” Liv asked, still sounding angry.

“Another block.”

They were waiting for a stoplight along with a few other people with heads bowed against the blinding snow.

Nick needed to concentrate on the favor he wanted from Liv. She wouldn’t be easy to convince, but instead of planning a good argument, he was remembering her dewy-eyed look after sex. He even remembered the cute little mole on her butt and the bright red polish she’d worn on her toes when they’d celebrated Christmas Eve in the middle of the night under her parents’ Christmas tree. The next day she’d blushed every time he hinted at it, but he’d never unwrapped a package as exciting as Liv.

She barged past the steps leading down to the Milano. He caught her arm to stop her.

“Here’s the restaurant,” he said.

“Ah, basement cuisine. Charming.”

“You didn’t used to be sarcastic.” He took her elbow because snow had drifted onto the concrete steps, and he didn’t want her to slip.

“I used to be—” She broke off whatever she’d intended to say.

He opened the door and let her go ahead of him. Hopefully they could get through the meal without a trip down memory lane. He wasn’t proud of the way he’d broken off their relationship, but it wouldn’t do his cause any good to rehash it.

The restaurant wasn’t crowded. Less than half of the round tables with green-and-white-checkered tablecloths were occupied. Nick spotted an empty one against the far wall.

“Okay if we sit over there, Tony?” he asked the lean, hawk-nosed waiter with a white apron tied tightly around his waist.

“Sure thing, Nick.”

He guided Liv over to the table, leery of putting his hand on her arm again. Tonight he had to concentrate on getting her help. When he took her coat, he noticed Liv was wearing a black turtleneck like armor under her sweater.

“He knows you by name?” she asked. “Have you been working in Chicago long enough to be chummy with waiters?”

“I’ve been at the Post since September. Once people find out I’m a sportswriter, they like talking to me. Everyone in Chicago thinks and lives sports.”

“I don’t,” she said dryly.

“You used to love baseball,” he reminded her.

“I’ve grown up. I don’t have time for games.”

He was pretty sure she was playing one now, but he didn’t know what the rules were yet. She knew he wanted something from her. If she hated him so much, why was she here? He was a little nervous about it, which was pretty unusual for him.

Tony came over to the table with spicy Italian sausages standing on end in a basket, a tradition at the Milano, and a small loaf of hard-crusted bread on a wooden board.

“What can I get you and the pretty lady to drink, Nick?”

“A bottle of Chianti, unless you’d like something else?” he asked Liv.

“Whatever you want,” she said indifferently.

She seemed determined not to enjoy having dinner with him, but Nick liked a challenge. Liv was going to have a good time if he had to do handstands on the table to amuse her. He realized he wanted to please her, and it had nothing to do with his job.

He sliced the bread and pushed it toward her, then picked up a sausage and chewed it with relish.

“These are delicious. Try one.”

She hesitated. Given her mood, he expected a lecture on eating fatty food, but instead she chose one of the meat sticks and delicately nibbled at it.

“It is good.” She sounded surprised.

He watched her lips pucker around the finger-shaped sausage. If she was trying to torment him, she’d succeeded. She looked sexier munching the sausage than she had in a skimpy bra, and he was getting hard against his will. He adjusted the tablecloth to make sure it was covering his lap.

“Try the bread,” he suggested.

He wasn’t sure how he could persuade her to help him, but he had to stay focused. Liv was pretty much his last chance.

Tony came with the wine, popping the cork before he set it on the table. He poured an inch of the red liquid into a goblet and handed it to Nick.

Nick was no connoisseur, but he knew the taste test was part of the ritual. He sipped and pronounced the wine satisfactory, then watched as the waiter poured for Liv.

“Cheers,” Nick said, raising his glass.

“Could we see a menu, please?” Liv asked, halfheartedly raising her glass to his.

“There aren’t any menus,” Nick quickly said. “Tony will tell us what’s good today.”

“You got a game to cover tonight?” the waiter asked, not concealing his disappointment at their unseemly haste.

Nick knew a good Italian dinner was supposed to be an event that took hours. The Milano was a great place to bring a date when he was trying to get lucky. A couple of bottles of wine and some groping under the table, and anything could happen.

That wasn’t why he was here with Liv. She was still the kind of woman who wanted to settle down—not that he didn’t plan to himself sometime in the future, but definitely not now. First he wanted to make a reputation and get a shot at a local column, then maybe syndication or a chance to be an editor. He wasn’t as driven as some reporters, but he was ambitious.

“My friend has to catch a train,” Nick explained.

“Yeah, I guess the weather is going to get worse,” Tony said. “Lousy climate for human beings. If the Cubs ever leave town, I’m outta here.”

“So what do you recommend?” Nick asked, trying not to watch as Liv devoured another sausage with puckered lips and licked away the grease with the tip of her tongue. Lips like hers were wasted on a stick of meat.

“Prawns in garlic butter and linguini with clam sauce.”

Tony was telling them what to have, not offering choices, but he never steered Nick wrong.

“Sounds great,” Nick agreed. “Is that all right with you, Liv?”

He knew she loved prawns, and linguini with clam sauce was one of her favorites. He was surprised when she rejected the waiter’s suggestions.

“I’d like a plate of spaghetti with meat sauce and garlic bread. Lots of garlic bread.”

She smiled sweetly at the waiter and gave Nick a defiant look. He had a bad feeling. She wasn’t going to be convinced of anything tonight. Worse, he was more interested in talking with her than in convincing her to help him. He remembered how much he used to enjoy her lively conversation and humorous take on things.

By the time he’d refilled her wineglass three times to his one, Nick was pretty sure he was going to strike out on enlisting Liv’s help. Among other things, his timing was bad. She wasn’t taking her parents’ divorce at all well.

“Are your parents really happy now?” she asked after they’d pretty much covered their careers for the last five years including her worries about losing her job.

“I think so,” he said, glad he could give her some reassurance. “Mom seems to like her new husband. Dad’s wife is forty trying to look twenty, but they enjoy going to flea markets and auctions together.”

Tony brought their meals in record time. Nick loaded up on prawns and pasta because the waiter, who was also part owner, took it personally if customers didn’t stuff themselves. Liv inhaled the spaghetti and drank more wine with uncharacteristic gusto.

“I’m really good at what I do,” she said. “I should be vice president instead of that prick Boz.”

Nick suspected she was drunk. The prim-and-proper Liv that he knew thought a prick was something you got from a thorn.

Would he be evil if he took advantage of her unhappiness at work to get what he wanted? His editor would say, “Get the story regardless of what you have to do.” But this was Liv, and he wasn’t sure how far he should go.

“I’m supposed to loosen up, be more spontaneous…. Kind of like you,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Is that why you were doing a striptease in your office?”

“He wanted me to ask my intern for hints on how to dress!” She put down her fork and bristled with indignation. “That blond babe is after my job!”

Nick laughed. He couldn’t help it.

“It’s not funny, Nick! I love my job. I don’t want to look for a new one.”

“I can’t imagine anyone being dumb enough to fire you,” he said, meaning it. “You’re smart, clever and—”

“Dull, conservative—”

“Never dull,” he interrupted. “I was never bored with you.”

“I wish I knew how to be like you…reckless, daring, spontaneous. Remember when you talked me into driving to Milwaukee in the middle of the night? We both had tons of work for school, but we drove halfway there for no reason at all and ended up in a bar in some little town in Wisconsin.”

He remembered all right. When they got back, they’d had fantastic sex in his apartment. He’d never forget the rocking chair or the way she’d thrown aside all her inhibitions for a change.

“It was fun. You were fun.”

“You made me have fun. You always had all the good ideas.”

He didn’t want to play the remember-when game with a woman he’d once been crazy about. But whatever else Liv was, she wasn’t spontaneous. She couldn’t stand to be out of control in any situation. He’d literally bolted for his life when she started mentioning marriage. In her mind it had been the next logical step in their relationship, but it wasn’t for him. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just enjoy things the way they were.

“I wish you could tell me how to be spontaneous,” she said.

She sounded deeply unhappy, and he was sure the wine had nothing to do with it.

“I don’t think it’s something you can learn.”

“You could show me how to loosen up.” She sounded surprised by her own idea. “We can make a deal. Just a little help with a work problem.”

He shrugged dismissively, not at all liking the way this reunion with Liv was going. Did she mean what she was saying?

He could think of lots of ways she could loosen up—all of them fun for him. He’d start by burning all her cotton panties. Come to think of it, she’d look spectacular in a black thong. And she’d have to get rid of her sex-only-in-bed mentality. He wondered if Tony had a storeroom they could use. Or he could ride home on the train with her.

But he was pretty damn sure his fantasies had nothing to do with the loosening up she had in mind.

“I’m good at work problems. That’s what I do, crisis management at William Lawrence Associates. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to change the way they want me to, and Brandi Jo will get my job.”

“Brandi Jo?”

“My intern,” she said, sounding more like the cranky woman he’d brought to the restaurant. “You met her in my office. If you can show me how to loosen up and be spontaneous, I’ll do whatever I can for you.”

“I’ll walk you to Union Station, and we’ll talk about it,” Nick said, signaling Tony for the bill.

“We’ll help each other,” she said emphatically.

“You may want to think about it a little more first,” he warned.

“No, I make good snap decisions.”

He fervently hoped Liv would be stone cold sober by the time they got to the station so they could talk rationally. As for wanting to sleep with her, what man wouldn’t?

His memory was too vivid for comfort. He remembered all the things about her that turned him on, especially the way she liked to tease his ear with her tongue and run her nails over his skin. Maybe because she’d been so cool and restrained at first, it had been doubly exciting when she lost her initial inhibitions. He could remember the first time she’d tasted him with her tongue as clearly as if it had been yesterday. He’d given up a lot when he left Liv. Part of him still regretted it.

He took a deep breath and stood up. He had a story to get, but no way would he get involved with Liv again. She was beautiful, clever and amusing, but she was a woman who wanted commitment.

To do his job, he had to be available whenever there was a sporting event to cover. That meant lots of night work and few free weekends. He hadn’t met any woman who would put up with his hours, and he didn’t want a life punctuated by arguments and guilt trips. More importantly, he didn’t want to be responsible for another person’s happiness. A good relationship demanded a whole lot of compromise. His father had never been able to do it, much to his mother’s sorrow. He didn’t have any reason to believe he’d be better at it.

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