February’s menu

BARONESSA GELATI

in Boston’s North End

In addition to our regular flavors of Italian gelato, this month we are featuring:

 A scrumptious taste of Italian-American beauty

Convent-bred Colleen Barone is full of sugar and spice and everything nice…except for a naughty twelve-year obsession with the college sweetheart she would never forget.

 A supersized serving of Irish charm

Self-made tycoon Gavin O’Sullivan has overcome poverty, a tough neighborhood and a dysfunctional family, but can he ever fill the huge hole that Colleen Barone left in his heart?

 An unexpected mix of flavors

The fortunes of the Barone family have been more sweet than bitter, leading many to doubt the validity of the family’s Valentine’s Day curse. But when the introduction of their newest ice cream flavor—passion fruit—is sabotaged on V-Day, the clan rallies to turn down the heat of bad publicity and salvage their company’s reputation. Perhaps there is something to that curse after all….

Buon appetito!

Dear Reader,

Revel in the month with a special day devoted to L-O-V-E by enjoying six passionate, powerful and provocative romances from Silhouette Desire.

Learn the secret of the Barone family’s Valentine’s Day curse, in Sleeping Beauty’s Billionaire (#1489) by Caroline Cross, the second of twelve titles in the continuity series DYNASTIES: THE BARONES—the saga of an elite clan, caught in a web of danger, deceit…and desire.

In Kiss Me, Cowboy! (#1490) by Maureen Child, a delicious baker feeds the desire of a marriage-wary rancher. And passion flares when a detective and a socialite undertake a cross–country quest, in That Blackhawk Bride (#1491), the most recent installment of Barbara McCauley’s popular SECRETS! miniseries.

A no-nonsense vet captures the attention of a royal bent on seduction, in Charming the Prince (#1492), the newest “fiery tale” by Laura Wright. In Meagan McKinney’s latest MATCHED IN MONTANA title, Plain Jane & the Hotshot (#1493), a shy music teacher and a daredevil fireman make perfect harmony. And a California businessman finds himself longing for his girl Friday every day of the week, in At the Tycoon’s Command (#1494) by Shawna Delacorte.

Celebrate Valentine’s Day by reading all six of the steamy new love stories from Silhouette Desire this month.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Sleeping Beauty’s Billionaire
Caroline Cross

CAROLINE CROSS

always loved to read, but it wasn’t until she discovered romance that she felt compelled to write, fascinated by the chance to explore the positive power of love in people’s lives. She grew up in Yakima, Washington, the “Apple Capital of the World,” attended the University of Puget Sound and now lives outside Seattle, where she (tries to) work at home despite the chaos created by two telephone-addicted teenage daughters and a husband with a fondness for home-improvement projects. Pleased to have recently been #1 on a national bestseller list, she was thrilled to win the 1999 Romance Writers of America RITA® Award for Best Short Contemporary Novel and to have been called “one of the best” writers of romance today by Romantic Times. Caroline believes in writing from the heart—and having a good brainstorming partner. She loves hearing from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 47375, Seattle, Washington 98146. Please include a SASE for reply.

Meet the Barones of Boston—

an elite clan caught in a web of danger, deceit…and desire!

Who’s Who in

SLEEPING BEAUTY’S BILLIONAIRE

Gavin O’Sullivan—As owner of a luxury hotel chain, he was used to handling megadeals, beautiful women and a jet-set lifestyle. But Gavin never got used to the heartbreak he suffered because of the supposed snobbery of a Barone beauty.

Colleen Barone—Seven years as a nun and her work as a high school counselor couldn’t erase the feelings Colleen still harbored for her college sweetheart. One look into his bedroom-brown eyes and she was again twenty…and in love with Gavin.

Carlo and Moira Barone—They’ve always wanted only the best for their brood, but when it comes to matters of the heart, Mama and Papa Barone are still learning that “the heart has reasons that Reason doesn’t know.”

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

One

“Hey, Colly, what’s the matter? Why’re you stopping?”

Colleen Barone only dimly registered her second cousin Matthew’s inquiries. The nine-year-old’s voice seemed far away as, her feet rooted in place, she stared transfixed at the tall, black-haired man who had just entered the reception hall.

Gavin O’Sullivan. Even among the throng of notable guests helping to celebrate her brother Nick’s wedding—and so far she’d seen four U.S. senators, the current governor of Massachusetts and two of his predecessors, a bushel of Fortune 500 CEOs and a smattering of Hollywood movie stars—he stood out. And while Colleen wished it was merely because of his chiseled good looks or the impeccable tailoring of his expensive black suit, she knew better. There was simply something about the aloof way he held himself, the serious line of his sensual mouth, the reserve in his coffee-colored eyes, that set him apart.

But then, that was Gavin. Always so intense, so unpredictable, so alone.

Of course, there’d been a handful of brief exceptions to the latter. Once upon a time, for the three years they’d played soccer together at Madison Prep, he and Nick had been best friends. And then later, during her second year of college and his last, he and Colleen had shared for a little while what could only be called magic.

An ache, brief but savage, squeezed her heart. It had been twelve years since their last meeting, and the relationship had ended badly. Yet suddenly she longed to cross the space separating them, slip her hand into Gavin’s and say something to make him smile.

If only it was that easy…

“Colleen!” Matthew’s earnest voice coupled with his sharp tug on her hand jerked her back to reality.

Tearing her gaze from the man across the room, she looked down at her young companion. “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m hungry, remember?”

As if someone had hit a switch, the totality of the reception hall snapped into focus for her. She heard the band playing, registered the noisy, shifting presence of the hundreds of guests, saw the impatience on her young relative’s face. “Oh, Mattie, I’m sorry. Of course you are.” Pushing away an edge of dismay—just how long had she been staring at Gavin, anyway?—she summoned a smile. “Lead the way.”

“All right.” His equanimity restored, the youngster tightened his grip on her hand and set off like a tugboat at full throttle. He chugged steadily past clumps of chatting guests and skillfully avoided knots of family members, not stopping until they finally arrived at the buffet, a vast spread laid out over a river of tabletops covered with crisp white linen.

The boy’s gaze darted from the steaming casseroles to the heaps of Italian meat sliced paper thin, from stacks of golden calzones to platters of strawberries dipped in pale chocolate. He exhaled with gusty appreciation. “Wow.”

Wow was right. In her usual over-the-top fashion, Colleen’s mother, Moira, had made certain there was enough food on hand to feed all of Boston. Yet Colleen, who’d typically forgotten to eat that day and had been ravenous only a few minutes earlier, realized she no longer had an appetite.

The reason was obvious, and she felt a prick of annoyance at herself. Not that she intended to let on. Although Matthew probably wouldn’t care, she refused to allow Gavin’s unexpected presence to affect her behavior. After all, the time they’d been together had happened many years ago; neither of them was the person they’d been.

She knew she wasn’t. After a difficult, painful struggle she’d learned to accept herself. She’d carved out a life rich with friends and a job where she felt she made a difference. And though there were times she was lonely and she still had her share of doubts and fears, frustrations and longings—life after all, was a constant and ever-changing challenge—in the ways that mattered most she was at peace for the first time ever.

So quit acting like a drama queen and eat, her practical side chided. Squaring her shoulders, she handed Matthew a gold-banded china plate, then took one for herself. “It looks good, doesn’t it?” she said as she began serving them.

“Oh, yeah.”

Thirty-five minutes and one return to the buffet line later, Matthew leaned back and exhaled in satisfaction. “That was really, really scrumpdillyitious,” he announced.

Her lips quirked. “Yes, it was.” Which was perfectly true as applied to the pathetically small amount she’d managed to get down. She set down her fork, grateful she could finally quit rearranging what was left on her plate.

Matt started to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, then apparently thought better of it as she raised an eyebrow at him. Sighing, he took a cursory swipe of his face with his napkin, tossed the linen square on the table and idly began to swing one leg.

He was silent for what was for him an uncharacteristically long moment. “Colleen?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you feel okay?”

She glanced over at him in surprise. “Sure.”

“You’re not mad at me or something?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

He stared with sudden fascination at a spot of Alfredo sauce he’d dripped on the tablecloth and gave a slight, one-shouldered shrug. “I dunno. It’s just…you’re sort of quiet. For you. And you didn’t eat very much, either. And earlier, when we were coming to get our food and then you stopped, you got a real funny look on your face. Kind of like Jordan Crenshaw did when I dared him to eat a dead frog.”

“Gosh.” Ignoring a concern that her earlier turmoil had been so apparent, she deliberately made her voice light. “And here I thought I was looking pretty good today.”

Matt’s head jerked up. “Oh, yeah! You do! For a girl. That is…” Flustered, he broke off. Heat stained his cheeks, but at least he was looking at her now, even if his expression was far too earnest. “It’s just…I mean…it’s just that usually you don’t act like other grownups.”

She’d certainly heard that before. Only normally it was from people her own age. “Ah.” What the heck. She might as well take the plunge. “In what way?”

“Well…” He cocked his head, considering. “You really listen to me when we talk. And you never make me feel like you’d rather be somewhere else, with somebody else.”

She blinked, gratified.

“And you don’t act like you’re smarter than me just because you’re old.”

That certainly put things in perspective; she swallowed a sudden bubble of laughter and did her best to look solemn. “Gee, maybe you’d better find me a cane. I wouldn’t want to topple over when I stand up and fall in the punch bowl and embarrass us both.”

For half a second the boy looked horrified. And then he realized she was kidding, and his eyes took on an impish gleam. “Naw. You’re not that old.” He did his best to match her deadpan delivery. “But if you were gonna fall down, we’re a lot closer to the wedding cake. Now, that’d be really cool.”

“Matthew!” Her protest was ruined by her sputter of laughter. “No wonder your mom says you’re a menace.”

He looked inordinately pleased. “Really? She said that?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Before she could add that her cousin Janice had then said how crazy she was about the little rascal, his gaze settled on something behind her and he straightened like a bird dog who’d spotted a covey of quail. “Hey, it’s Jeremy and Sean!” Like Matt, the two boys were distant cousins from Colleen’s mother’s side of the family and had recently become objects of Matt’s veneration by virtue of having birthdays and officially becoming teenagers. “Can I go say hi?”

“Of course.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He shot to his feet and disappeared almost before she gave her consent.

Fondly Colleen watched him go, relieved when the older boys welcomed him warmly. Looking away as a waiter approached, she declined an offer of champagne, taking a sip of her water, instead, as the young man quickly cleared away her and Matthew’s plates.

The reception really had turned out to be a lovely affair, she reflected. A few tables away her brother Joseph was involved in an intense conversation with Uncle Paul, while her younger sisters, Rita, Gina and Maria, stood clustered together near the buffet, hands gesturing and faces alight as they chatted with one another.

Out on the dance floor, Nick glided into view, his arms securely cradling his bride, Gail. Hands clasped, heads together, the two were engrossed in each other. Colleen felt a wash of pleasure at their obvious happiness. Before meeting Gail, Nick hadn’t had the easiest time when it came to love and romance.

A tendency that seemed to run in the family, she mused as she found herself searching the crowd for Gavin’s black hair and broad shoulders. Assuring herself the sudden hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach was relief rather than disappointment when he was nowhere to be seen, she brushed a crumb off the table and told herself firmly she’d played hooky long enough.

At the very least, she should go check on “the aunts”—the contingent of widowed, black-clad, elderly ladies all gathered together at one big table like a flock of crows. Or, if she really wanted to feel virtuous, she could always seek out her mother….

Quit that, Colleen. Swallowing a sigh—was she ever going to outgrow the irreverent streak that too often got her in trouble?—she pushed back her chair, stood, squared her shoulders and turned.

And found herself gazing straight into the unsmiling face of Gavin O’Sullivan.

It wasn’t fair. Twelve years, and she looked exactly the same, Gavin thought grimly. Dainty. Delicate. A doe-eyed waif with flawless skin and the hint of a dimple in one soft cheek.

The only thing different was her hair. Gone was the ebony sheaf that had once fallen in a silken tumble to her waist. In its place was a cropped, tousled cap that somehow made her neck seem more fragile, her straight little nose finer, her densely lashed blue eyes even bigger.

Not that he gave a rip. His sole reason for seeking her out was to get this encounter over with. He’d come to celebrate Nick’s wedding, and he was damned if he was going to spend his time worrying about inadvertently bumping into her. Better by far to take the direct route, where he called the shots. Just to make sure that she or anyone else who might recall they’d once had a thing for each other would be absolutely clear he was long over her.

He summoned the polite, impersonal smile that was his stock-in-trade in social settings. “Hello, Colleen. It’s been a long time.”

For a second longer than was strictly polite her gaze remained riveted on his face. Then she seemed to catch herself and, as if recalling her manners, smiled and said, “Gavin. How nice to see you.”

He’d forgotten what an appealing voice she had. Soft, a little husky, with a warmth that wrapped gently around whomever she was addressing like a well-worn flannel blanket. Too bad it was merely part of her act.

“Does Nick know you’re here?” For an instant she sounded almost nervous, but then her voice evened out and he knew he must’ve imagined it. “Have you talked to him yet?”

What did she think? That he was still some ill-mannered inner-city kid who didn’t know how to behave at a fancy wedding? “Sure. I saw him when I went through the reception line.”

“Oh. He must be so pleased that you came.”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that. I do know I’ve enjoyed seeing him again.”

“Of course.” Although her pleasant expression didn’t alter, a shadow darkened her eyes, and he knew she’d heard the slight but deliberate emphasis he’d put on him.

He felt a flick of satisfaction.

In the next instant he asked himself what in hell he was doing. It had been years since their breakup, damn it. And while being dumped by Colleen had been hard at the time, it was nothing compared to some of the other things he’d endured in his life. Losing a girlfriend just wasn’t in the same category as being raised, if it could be called that, by an alcoholic single mother in one of Boston’s toughest neighborhoods. Or getting himself not just through high school but also through college. Or even having to learn about art and culture later in life because such “civilized” things had taken a back seat to survival when he’d been younger.

What was more, the intervening years had been good to him. He’d transformed himself from a dirt-poor charity case to a rich, respected, successful hotelier whose extensive holdings provided jobs for hundreds of people.

And he certainly hadn’t lived like a monk while he’d done it. In the time since he and Colleen had parted ways, he’d dated his share of women. Most of them, at least lately, tended to be either up-and-coming actresses, members of what was left of European aristocracy or international supermodels.

So maybe he should try not to act like some petulant kid; maybe he could even see his way clear to give little Ms. Barone a break. After all, there was a chance, slight though it was, that he might not be where he was if she hadn’t chosen to stomp on his heart all those years ago.

“Dance with me,” he said abruptly as the band struck up a new song.

Her eyes widened and for a second something that looked almost like panic gleamed in their sapphire depths. “I beg your pardon?”

What the hell. So he wasn’t a saint; but what could it hurt if by acting like an adult he also gave her a taste of what she’d thrown away? He deliberately softened his voice. “Dance with me, Colleen. Please?”

She hesitated another instant, then her face smoothed out as she apparently decided he was now upwardly mobile enough to warrant her attention. “All right.” Flashing him a quick smile he might have deemed shyly beguiling had she been anyone else, she headed for the dance floor.

He fell in behind her. Refusing to debate the wisdom of what he was doing, he forced himself to concentrate on the slow but catchy beat of the love song the band was crooning—and not the supple line of her back. By the time they reached the outer circle of dancers, he was ready. Taking Colleen’s slender hand in his much bigger one, he slid his other palm to rest on the small of her back, pressed her close and led her into the dance.

Given the awkwardness of their reunion, the acrimony of their former parting and the disparity of their heights, their coming together should have been more than a little graceless.

Instead, from their first step they were perfectly matched, melting together in a rhythm that was as instinctive as breathing—or sex.

“Oh, my,” Colleen murmured.

“What?” Even to his own ears, he sounded a little terse, but then, the last thing he’d expected was the pleasure that was currently sizzling along his nerves.

“I’d just…forgotten.” She raised her chin and met his gaze, an unexpected and oddly self-effacing expression on her fine-boned face. “It’s been a long time since I danced. I’d forgotten how nice it is.”

Nice? That was the last word he’d use to describe the awareness tingling through him like ungrounded electricity. “Yeah. Right.”

She cocked her head. “When did you finally learn?”

“What?”

“To dance. As I recall, you didn’t…before.”

Now there was a diplomatic choice of words. For a second he was tempted to make her squirm, to politely inquire, “Do you mean before you discarded me like yesterday’s newspaper, with no more explanation than we didn’t suit and you didn’t want to see me anymore?”

But then he reminded himself of his decision not to be petty. Which was no doubt good since a second later the band launched into a complicated instrumental riff that sounded as if it might keep them together longer than he’d been counting on.

What wasn’t good was the discovery that he wanted in the worst way to look away from Colleen’s gaze so that he could bury his face in the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder and drink her in, inhale her scent, taste her skin, savor the flavor of her on his tongue. Just like that, any sort of distraction, including conversation, seemed like a damn good idea. “I took lessons. Arthur Murray.”

“You’re kidding.” She couldn’t hide her amazement.

Annoyed and not sure why, except that it pissed him off royally to be lusting after a woman he didn’t like, he retorted, “I’m dead serious. Elliot insisted.”

“Elliot?”

Terrific. If ever there was a subject he didn’t care to discuss with her, this was it. “Elliot Sutherland,” he said repressively. Determined to distract her long enough to retake control of the conversation, not to mention his treacherous body, he executed a complicated series of steps.

She followed effortlessly, not missing a beat. “I apologize if I ought to recognize his name, but I don’t,” she said easily. “Is he a friend?”

“Yes.”

She continued to look at him, the picture of interest—and endless patience. Clearly, she wasn’t going to drop the subject.

“Elliot was my boss.” And the closest thing to a father I ever had. Not that she needed to know that. Or would care if she did. “He owned the Independence Hotel downtown and he gave me my first real job in the business.” Not to mention the mantle of his chosen successor. Thanks to Elliot’s having noticed Gavin’s savvy business mind and solid work ethic, today Gavin stood before Colleen a wealthy hotelier with five-star lodgings all over the country. He’d done his best to make Elliot proud, adding hotels to the chain over the years. But he never lost sight of his humble beginnings.

“Elliot’s and my backgrounds were similar, so he took an interest in me. In addition to teaching me everything I know about business, he also insisted I learn some other things.”

“Like how to dance?” she said softly.

“Yeah. Like how to dance. And dress. And use the right fork and choose the right wine at dinner.” Try as he might, he just couldn’t keep the trace of sarcasm out of his voice. “Hell, he even made sure I’d know how to behave at a big society wedding.”

She flinched, just as he’d intended. Yet rather than experiencing satisfaction, he felt more than a little ashamed of himself. Colleen might be a spoiled, social-conscious snob, but he was no bully. Nor was he likely to make her regret giving him up if he kept behaving like a callow jerk still smarting from a long-ago rejection.

Which he wasn’t. He’d gotten past that a long time ago.

Yeah? Then prove it. See if you can’t locate a little of the Irish charm Clarice and Caroline and Angelina and the rest of your dates are always prattling on about.

He drew Colleen slightly closer. Ignoring the treacherous leap of his pulse, he swung her around and reversed direction as they reached the edge of the dance floor. “So what about you?” he inquired, doing his best to sound mildly curious and nothing more. “Did you get your teaching degree?” Given her chic little haircut and stylish suit, it was easy to imagine her teaching French or Nineteenth-Century Romantic Poets to a giggly group of teenage girls at some posh private school.

Some of the tension left her body. “Yes, I did.”

“So what are you doing these days?”

“I run a counseling program for gifted but at-risk kids at Jefferson High.”

He missed a step. “You what?” Surely he hadn’t heard her right.

Her voice held a totally unexpected hint of wryness. “Don’t look so horrified.”

“I’m not. Just…surprised.” That was putting it mildly. Jefferson was his alma mater, a tough school in an even tougher neighborhood. Given Colleen’s privileged, sheltered, parochial-school background, he would’ve thought she was joking if not for the calm, steady way she was gazing up at him. “When did you start?” Even if she was being serious, surely this had to be something recent, some sort of fleeting, poor-little-rich-girl scheme to help the needy and downtrodden.

“This is my third year.”

For a moment he was so stunned he couldn’t think what to say. “And your family—your parents—are all right with it?” he finally managed. He simply couldn’t imagine the fashionable Moira Barone allowing such a thing.

Colleen gave a slight shrug. “They’re not wild about it. But then, they were so over-wrought when I decided to leave the order that they consider my subsequent errors in judgment these last three years minor in comparison.”

Her voice was so matter-of-fact it took a moment for her words to sink in. “You left… What order? What the hell are you talking about?”

All solemn blue eyes, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“After we broke up…and after college, I joined the Sisters of Charity. For seven years I was a nun.”

Two

“Hey, lady.” The cabbie turned to give Colleen a quick, questioning glance over his shoulder, then twisted back around to peer through the windshield at the street ahead. “You sure you gave me the right address?”

Jarred from her thoughts, she contemplated the back of the man’s balding head and told herself to focus. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

He snorted with disbelief. “You’re kiddin’, right?” He lifted a hand off the wheel and gestured at the surrounding area. “Take a look around. In case you haven’t noticed, this ain’t exactly Beacon Hill.”

She dutifully turned her head although she already knew what she’d find outside. With each block they passed, the sidewalks grew narrower, the store signs less refined, the building facades dingier. More and more steel and iron grills secured by chains and padlocks protected businesses; more upper-story windows were barred.

Wryly she conceded the cabbie had a point; the area didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to either Beacon Hill or the upscale neighborhood where Nick and Gail’s wedding reception had just been held.

Yet as she noted the eclectic mix of people on the street, some standing and chatting, some coming and going from various bars, cafés and delis, some clearly intent on getting somewhere else, she felt a distinct fondness for the area. It might not be squeaky clean nor even particularly attractive, but it was very much alive, with no pretensions. It was also home.

“You’re right. It’s not Beacon Hill. But we are in the right place. My street is the third one after the next light. When you reach it, go right, and my building is a few blocks down, just past a small park.”

The man parted his lips as if to make yet another disapproving observation, then seemed to think better of it. He shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Colleen swallowed a smile, suspecting his sudden lack of opinion had more to do with the sizable tip he’d been promised by her father than a sudden appreciation of the neighborhood. Carlo Barone had not only insisted on calling her a cab, but had told the driver he’d get an extra twenty if he saw her to her door. Then, ignoring her protests, he’d pressed a wad of bills into her palm as he’d handed her into the back seat, given her a tender kiss on the cheek and told her to take care of herself and “not be such a stranger.”

Dear Papa. They’d always had a special bond, no doubt in part because she’d been the only girl among the four boys in the family until she’d been five and Gina had arrived. Even so, it had been a distinct shock when she’d eventually come to realize that her decision to join the Sisters of Charity had sprung not from a true vocation on her part, but from a desire to fulfill her father’s long-held dream for her and, to a lesser extent, to please her mother.

And? prompted the gentle voice of her conscience.

She shifted on the vinyl-covered seat. Ever since she’d admitted to herself—and God—that she wasn’t meant to be a nun, she’d vowed she’d always be honest with Him and herself, no matter how difficult or humbling.

So quit avoiding the other reason you knew you weren’t meant to stay in the order. Admit that despite the passage of time, you never completely quit having feelings for Gavin. That for all these years, a part of you has continued to long for him—the sound of his voice, the scent of his skin, the warmth of his touch…his presence in your life.

The shudder of pleasure she hadn’t allowed herself at the time swept through her now as she recalled how it had felt to be held in his arms on the dance floor tonight. She squeezed her eyes shut, thanking the Almighty for lending her the strength to appear composed, to keep the conversation light, to not make a fool of herself and blurt out to Gavin that she’d never stopped missing him.

She also thanked God for helping her keep her chin up when, moments after telling Gavin she’d spent most of the past decade as a nun, he’d fled. Or close enough. Conveniently for him, the music had ended a few seconds after her revelation. Murmuring an uninflected, “I see,” he’d glanced at his watch and grimaced. “I’m sorry to be abrupt, but there’s a phone call I need to make.” He’d looked up, flashing her a duplicate of the polite, impersonal smile with which he’d first greeted her. “It’s been nice seeing you, Colleen. Thanks for the dance.” Then he’d turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone on the dance floor.

“Jeez, lady, is that what you mean by a park?”

The cabbie’s incredulous question put a merciful end to Colleen’s recollections. She snapped her eyes open, grasping at the chance to concentrate on the present, even though she knew she was only postponing the inevitable. Like it or not, she was going to have to deal with the caldron of feelings her encounter with Gavin had stirred up.

But not yet. “Pardon me?”

“I said, is that the park you were talking about?” He waved at the dark patch of ground that stretched between the lighted brownstones like a dark gap between a row of pearly teeth.

“Yes, it is.”

“Huh.” He met her gaze in the rearview mirror as he slowed the taxi and pulled to the curb. “Where I live, we’d call that a vacant lot.”

She did her best to look serene. “Everyone is entitled to his opinion.” Besides, she hadn’t a doubt that once the bulbs she’d planted came up this spring and she added a few trees, a couple of birdbaths and a bench or two, it would look much more parklike, something the cabdriver couldn’t possibly be expected to know.

“Yeah, that’s true. That’s why we live in a democracy.”

Frowning, she realized someone was sitting on her front stairs. “Actually, the United States is a republic,” she said automatically as she reached for the door handle. “What do I owe you?”

The man rattled off the amount on the meter. “Plus two sawbucks for—”

“Seeing me to the stoop. I remember. But it’s really not necessary as it appears I have company. Here’s the fare—” she leaned forward and thrust the money at him “—and your twenty, plus an extra five for being so nice.” Flashing him a bright smile, she scooted out onto the sidewalk. “Have a lovely night.”

“But your old man said—”

“Good night,” she said, firmly shutting the door. Then, taking a deep, calming breath and composing herself, she turned just as the shadowy figure climbed to its feet, revealed by the streetlight to be a tall, dark-haired teenager. “Brett? Is that you?”

Hunching his shoulders, the youngster thrust his hands into his front pants pockets. “Hey, Ms. Barone.”

Muscles she hadn’t known she’d tensed slowly relaxed, while questions crowded her tongue. Oh, dear. Why was he here at this hour? Had he been in a fight? Was he hurt? In trouble with the law? Had he had another argument with his mother? Or had the woman kicked him out again because she was “entertaining” one of her boyfriends?

Yet as she crossed the sidewalk and started up the steps, Colleen knew better than to ask, at least not right away. Of all the students she counseled at Jefferson High, Brett Maguiness was both the most talented and academically gifted—and the most private.

He was also her favorite, although she was careful not to show it. In her heart of hearts, however, she couldn’t deny that there was something about the moody youngster with the guarded eyes that had pulled at her from the instant they’d met at the start of the previous school year.

“Goodness, but it’s cold out here.” With a shiver that wasn’t feigned, she stepped past him to unlock the door to the vestibule. “Have you been waiting long?”

He hiked his shoulders in the nonchalant shrug she considered his trademark. “Awhile.”

She let it go, since it wasn’t really important. “Well, what do you say we get inside where it’s warmer?” She pushed the outer door open and proceeded to the inner one, trusting him to follow.

Moments later they were walking down the short hallway to her ground-floor apartment. The sound of a violin concerto drifted sweetly from the floor above. Brett made a vaguely rude noise. “Sounds like the geezer’s having his usual wild night.”

“The geezer has a name, and you know it,” she said mildly. “It’s Mr. Crypinski.” The older man, a retired transit worker, owned the converted brownstone and lived on the second floor.

“Huh. Creepinski is more like it.”

She glanced at the teenager, startled by the rancor in his voice. “Did something happen between you two?”

“Nothing important.”

“Then you won’t mind telling me about it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. If you gotta know, I buzzed him and asked if he’d let me in so I could wait for you in the vestibule. And you know what he said? He said that I might have you fooled but he knew a shiftless young thug when he saw one.”

“Oh, dear. I can’t imagine…” Though gruff, her landlord had never been anything but kind toward her. Yet she also knew Brett well enough to know he never made things up. “I’ll talk to him.”

“No.”

“Brett—”

“No. He’s probably hoping you’ll do just that so he can call me a wuss or something. So just forget it, all right?”

She considered an instant, then nodded. “Okay.” She’d simply have to find a different way to approach the problem, she decided as she worked the locks on the front door and pushed it open. Switching on a light, she shed her coat and hung it and her purse on the brass wall rack. She turned, glad to be home in her very own space.

Not that there was a lot of it, she acknowledged. Like the lot it was built on, the converted brownstone was long and narrow front to back. Her portion of it consisted of the postage-size entry, with the bedroom, bathroom and utility room stretching down one side of the house, and the living room, kitchen and pantry down the other.

What it lacked in size, it made up for in character, however. The old wood floors had aged to a burnished, golden hue and the high plaster ceilings boasted ornate crown molding.

But Colleen’s favorite feature was the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows at the far side of the living room. Her brother Joe might consider “all that glass a break-in just waiting to happen,” but Colleen loved being able to look out on her small garden. Like the park next door, it wouldn’t be long before the first crocuses began to appear, followed by the constantly changing tableau of blooming flowers, bushes and trees that would go on until the first fall freeze.

“Would you put the kettle on while I go change?” she asked Brett. She could hardly wait to shed her high heels and panty hose.

“Sure.”

“Help yourself to a glass of milk or a soda. And there’s some lasagna in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Who made it?”

Headed toward her bedroom, she stopped, turned and made a wry face at him. “My sister.”

“Great.”

Amused, she watched as he hurried toward the kitchen. Due to the brownstone’s high ceilings and wide doorways, she could see him perfectly well as he turned on the light and yanked open the appliance door. “Someday my cooking’s going to improve and you’re going to be sorry for your attitude,” she warned.

He straightened and turned, a casserole dish in one hand, a carton of milk in the other, and flashed her a grin. “I’m not holding my breath.”

Even as she warmed at the sight of that rare, sunny smile, her stomach clenched. The brightly illuminated kitchen revealed what she hadn’t seen before. The corner of the boy’s right eye and the cheek below were bruised and puffy.

She parted her lips to ask what had happened, then clamped them shut. She and Brett had been down this road before during the past six months and she knew what to expect. At her very first question, his smile would vanish and the usual guarded look would come over his face. Next he’d claim that he’d run into a door, or something else equally as lame. Then he’d make an excuse to leave.

And if she reported, as she had the last two times, her suspicions that he’d tangled with one of his mother’s boyfriends, he’d vanish. He’d go to ground on the streets, not showing up at school for weeks. And when he finally did return, he’d stick stubbornly to whatever story he’d told initially.

“Hmm.” Somehow she managed a smile. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And with that she twisted around and slipped into her room. Shutting the door, she leaned back against it and allowed herself a sigh of frustration.

Darn it! How could she justify collecting a paycheck, much less live with herself, if she couldn’t find a way to provide help when it was needed? Brett was such a good kid at heart, but if something in his life didn’t change soon and for the better, there was a more than good chance she’d lose him. He already had two strikes against him—an absent father and an alcoholic mother. Add to that his tendency to keep things bottled up inside, and it was a recipe for disaster.

If only she could find—and convince him to accept—a good foster home. Or even provide him with a role model, someone to show him that real men didn’t have to resort to violence to get their way, that he could rise above his beginnings if he stayed in school, applied himself and didn’t give up.

Like a genie escaping a bottle, an image of Gavin popped into her mind. With absolute clarity, she recalled the warmth that had crept into his voice when he’d talked about the older man who’d helped him get started in the hotel business.

Transfixed, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Of course! What Brett and the rest of her kids needed were mentors. People who came from similar backgrounds, who’d faced some of the same things they confronted every day and had succeeded, anyway. What’s more, Gavin would be the absolutely perfect match for Brett.

She tried to push the idea away, but it wouldn’t budge.

Yet lodged with it was the recollection of the coolness that had been in Gavin’s voice when he’d spoken to her, the reserve with which he’d treated her, the hurried way he’d said goodbye the instant it was politely feasible. A dull ache blossomed in the region of her heart as she faced a truth she’d been trying to avoid for hours.

Whatever feelings he’d once had for her were dead. The best thing she could do for both of them was keep her distance so they could both get on with their lives.

And yet, if he could help Brett…

She instinctively glanced heavenward. “I don’t know if this is part of Your plan for me, but I’m not making any promises,” she warned Him, her feelings as tangled as a ball of yarn tossed into a roomful of kittens. “Except that I’ll think about it.”

For now that would have to be enough.

A nun.

Gavin stared unseeingly at the columns of January revenue figures laid out on his desk.

A nun. The word—and all it implied—had been rattling around in his head for the past four days, surfacing at odd moments to ruin his concentration.

And he was damned if he knew why. After all, as he’d proved at Nick’s wedding reception, Colleen meant nothing to him.

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