“Marriage.”

She stared up at him, into those unreadable eyes. “What?”

“We’re going to be married. Tomorrow.” His words were clipped. She thought, crazily, that they might have been arranging a dental appointment. “At noon.”

She waited for him to laugh. When he didn’t, she gave one bark of hysterical laughter for the both of them.

“You’re crazy.”

He grabbed her arm as she turned away and spun her toward him. “It’s the only solution,” he said coldly. “My son is going to have two parents. A father, and a mother.”

Four brothers:

bonded by inheritance, battling for love!

Jonas Baron is approaching his eighty-fifth birthday. He has ruled Espada, his sprawling estate in Texas hill country, for more than forty years, but now he admits it’s time he chose an heir.

Jonas has three sons—Gage, Travis and Slade, all ruggedly handsome and each with a successful business empire of his own; none wishes to give up the life he’s fought for to take over Espada. Jonas also has a stepdaughter; beautiful and spirited, Caitlin loves the land as much as he does, but she’s not of the Baron blood.

So who will receive Baron’s bequest? As Gage, Travis, Slade and Caitlin discover, there’s more at stake than just Espada. For love also has its part to play in deciding their futures….

Sit back now and enjoy Slade’s story, and be sure to look out next for The Taming of Tyler Kincaid. In this sensational, longer, value-read, Caitlin finally meets her match in the mysterious Tyler. But is he Jonas’s long-lost son, the fourth Baron brother? Available February (#2081), in Harlequin Presents®

Slade Baron’s Bride
Sandra Marton

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

SLADE BARON figured the blonde in the green suede suit had to know that her skirt fell open each time she crossed her legs.

They were fine-looking legs, too. Long, tanned and trim.

He was waiting out a weather delay in East Coast Air’s first-class lounge and he’d noticed her when she’d first entered, about half an hour ago. Every man in the room had noticed her. They’d have to have been neutered, to ignore a woman that desirable, especially when there was nothing else to look at besides the rain, pelting against the window.

As beautiful as she was, she looked completely businesslike, carrying a computer case in one hand and a carry-on in the other, the same as almost everyone else who was waiting out the summer storm. But then she sat down, right opposite Slade, took a book from the outside pocket of her carry-on, crossed her legs…and the proper-looking suede skirt revealed a slit that went straight up to her thighs.

She knew it, too. She crossed, and recrossed those long, gorgeous legs damned near every two minutes. And Slade was in just the right place to admire the view.

Every other man in hailing distance was doing the same thing. Why wouldn’t they? There was no point in staring out at the rain, or at the bolts of lightning that sizzled across the charcoal sky. Looking at the Departure Board wasn’t much better. Delayed, delayed, delayed, was what it said, what it would say until the storm passed over.

Slade had already gone through the notes for his presentation, read the Business section of the Boston Globe, phoned Edwin Dobbs at the Beaufort Trust in Baltimore. It was either watch Blondie or go nuts with boredom.

Blondie was the winner, hands down.

She looked up from her book, caught Slade’s frankly appraising glance and smiled. He smiled back. She put her head down again, flipped a page, then gently slid one leg against the other. The skirt fell open another couple of inches. Slade folded his arms, narrowed his eyes, settled back and let his imagination take over.

What did the skirt still conceal?

Black lace, probably. He’d known a lot of women in his thirty years, more than his fair share, his brothers said teasingly, and he was sure that Blondie was the black lace type. On the other hand, a delicate pink would look great against that tan.

Those long legs scissored, and there it was. Black lace, just a flash, but enough to make the guy sitting a couple of chairs away groan. The poor sap covered it well, changing the groan to a cough, but Blondie knew.

She lifted her head, looked straight at the guy, then at Slade. She smiled. He smiled. And when she repeated the I’m-wearing-lace-panties routine, Slade picked up his computer case and his carry-on bag, rose from his chair, started toward her…

And stopped. Just stopped, halfway across the floor.

The blonde’s brows lifted. She waited. Hell, he could feel everybody waiting, watching, trying to figure out what was going on. A man would have to be comatose not to have understood the invitation, and dead not to accept it.

Slade wasn’t comatose or dead, but he was going to pass. He hadn’t known it until a second ago but now he did, the same as he knew it was his only choice. Memory had deadened the pleasant sense of anticipation and turned it to anger. Not at the blonde, or the weather.

Slade’s anger was at himself.

Frowning, he strode past the blonde, who looked after him with a sigh of disappointment. He went past the reception desk where some bozo with a loud voice and a red face was bitching about missing his flight, out the door and into the general waiting area.

Ahead, through the windows, he could see flight 435 to Baltimore squatting beside its gate like some big, wet gray bird. People milled around. It was noisy, crowded and not even the air conditioning could keep up with the heat and humidity.

Slade kept on walking, straight through the building, until he reached the end of the corridor. He stopped, stared out the window again and told himself to stop being an idiot.

“It was eighteen months ago,” he muttered. “A year and a half. And that’s as good as forever, in any man’s life.”

A muscle knotted in his cheek. He put his computer and his carry-on at his feet, pulled his cellular phone from his pocket and called his office.

“It’s me,” he said when his secretary answered. “Any messages?”

There were none but he hadn’t really expected any, considering that he’d phoned only half an hour or so earlier. He disconnected, started to punch in the number for the Beaufort Trust but stopped when he realized he’d just done that only a little while ago, too. He picked up his computer, started to look for a public phone and changed his mind. There were probably no urgent e-mails, either.

He took the nearest chair, sighed and turned on the machine.

Solitaire would eat up some time. It always gave him a laugh, how many well-dressed business types sat hunched over their computers on a long flight, playing endless hands of the game.

He could be industrious, call up his designs for the new world headquarters the Beaufort Conglomerate wanted him to build in Baltimore.

Or he could just stop being an idiot and deal with reality.

Slade frowned, switched off the computer and put it away.

What had happened in Denver was old news. There was no reason all those memories should have come flooding back. The blonde with the slit skirt was nothing like Lara, nothing at all. And even if the situations were similar—the weather delay, the first-class lounge, a man and a woman just looking to kill some time—even if all that was the same, it wouldn’t have ultimately ended the same way.

A year and a half later, he wouldn’t be sitting around, remembering what had happened, and wondering why in hell he should still be remembering it at all.

“Dammit, Baron,” Slade said, through his teeth.

A man standing nearby shot him a funny look, picked up his suitcase and moved away. Slade couldn’t blame him. Guys who sat around airports, looking out at the weather and talking to themselves, were guys sane people avoided.

He wondered what the man with the suitcase would think if he walked over and said, Listen, pal, there’s nothing wrong with me. It’s just that I picked up this babe a long time back. We had a night of mind-blowing sex, and I still can’t get her out of my head.

Which was crazy. One hundred percent, loony-tunes crazy. Because the whole incident had been nothing. A meaningless one-night stand. Meaningless, Slade thought, and stared out at the rain.

But it wasn’t rain he saw. What he saw, in his mind, was snow.

Snow, heavy and thick, each flake the size of a five-cent coin. Snow had begun falling from the leaden Colorado sky to blanket the field on that December morning. His plane had made an unscheduled landing because another storm had put a monkey wrench into the schedule of every airline flying east of Denver.

He’d been sitting out the delay in yet another handsome, anonymous, first-class lounge.

An hour delay, the voice over the loudspeaker kept repeating, even after the hour had stretched to two and then three. The storm hadn’t been expected but it wasn’t anything to worry about. Things would be back on schedule as fast as East Coast Air could manage.

Except the snow kept falling, and the sky got darker and darker. And Slade’s impatience grew.

He was heading home to Boston after a long weekend’s visit to his brother in California. It had been a great couple of days filled with laughs and volleyball along the beach outside Travis’s Malibu house. Trav, dependable, as always had even lined up Saturday night dates that had been world-class.

Now, Slade had thought, sitting in the lounge and stewing, now, he was going to ruin that good time by spending Sunday evening snowbound, trapped at Denver International.

He’d sighed, told himself to stop being a jerk. The freaky storm was nobody’s fault. He was a pilot, had been since he was a kid. He, of all people, knew that sometimes there was no arguing with the weather.

The key to getting through this without going nuts was finding something to do. He’d already checked his e-mail. He’d read Time from cover to cover. What next? he thought wearily…

And then he saw the woman sitting across from him.

He figured she must have come into the lounge in the last few minutes, while he was reading. Otherwise, he’d have noticed her the same way every man in the room had noticed her. They were all trying to be casual, giving her cautious looks from behind their newspapers, but Slade had never believed in being cautious about anything.

Besides, a woman like this deserved a man’s complete attention.

Her hair was somewhere between gold and red. Strawberry blond, probably, but it seemed a tame way to describe a color that reminded him of early autumn mornings. He couldn’t see her eyes—she was looking down at the portable computer in her lap—but he had the feeling they’d be a deep blue. She was wearing what he’d heard women refer to as a man-tailored suit, very proper and demure, but it didn’t look all that demure on her, not even the skirt, which hung primly to her crossed knees.

He could sense her irritation as she poked at her computer. It was the same brand as his, he noticed. She said something under her breath, looked up—and he saw not just her eyes, as deep a blue as he’d imagined, but a face as spectacular as any that had ever been in his dreams.

Slade didn’t hesitate. He picked up his things, walked the few feet to her and grinned.

“Here you go, darlin’,” he said.

The look she gave him would have turned the snow outside to ice. “I beg your pardon?”

He smiled, gave the guy sitting in the next chair a pointed look and nodded his thanks when the man fidgeted a couple of seconds, then got up and moved off.

“I,” Slade said, settling into the newly vacated seat, “am the answer to your prayers, Sugar.”

Her eyes turned even colder. “I am not named ‘Sugar.”’ She looked him up and down, her pretty mouth curling with disdain. “You’re out of your league, cowboy. If those boots of yours are made for walking, you’d better let them walk.”

“Ah,” he said wisely, “I see. You think this is just an old-fashioned pickup.”

“My goodness.” The woman batted her lashes. They were dark, thick and impossibly long. “And you’re going to try to tell me it isn’t, is that right?”

Slade sighed, shook his head, opened his computer case and took out his spare battery.

“It’s painful to be misjudged, Sugar.” He held out the battery, his expression one of wide-eyed innocence. “You need a battery for your computer and I just happen to have an extra. Now, does that sound like a pickup line to you?”

She looked back at him for what seemed forever. Just when he thought she was going to send him packing, he saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, you’re right,” he said. “But you have to admit, it’s creative.”

She laughed, and he laughed, and that was the way it all began.

“Hi,” he said, and held out his hand. “I’m Slade.”

She hesitated, then took his hand. “I’m Lara.”

Lara. It seemed just right for this woman. Soft, feminine, yet with a certain strength to it. It was a pleasant contradiction in terms, just like her handshake, which was strong, almost masculine. Still, her fingers were long and delicate, and her hand seemed lost in his.

A tiny electric jolt passed between them.

“Static electricity,” she said quickly, and pulled back her hand.

“Sure,” Slade said, but he didn’t think so. And, from the flush that rose in her lovely face, he didn’t think she thought so, either.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your, uh, your conversation.” He smiled. “The one you were having with yourself. I didn’t actually hear what you called your dead battery, but I have a pretty good imagination.”

She laughed. “I’m afraid I wasn’t being very polite.”

“I’m serious about giving you that extra battery.”

“Thanks, but I can do without it.”

“Well, I’ll lend it to you, then. So you can finish up whatever you were doing.”

“It’s the ‘whatever’ part that I was going for this time.” She smiled, and he told himself he’d never known that a woman’s smile could light a room until now. “I was going to play a game of solitaire.”

Slade grinned. “Computer solitaire. The wonder of the age. One card or three?”

“One, of course,” Lara said primly. “Timed, with Vegas rules.”

“The deck with the palm trees?”

She laughed. “Uh-huh. I like that little face that appears, the one that grins when you least expect it.”

“Try getting a regular deck of cards to grin at you,” Slade said, and they both laughed and began to talk, bouncing from topic to topic as strangers usually do, except he wasn’t really sure what he said, or what she said.

He was too busy watching the play of emotion on her face when she laughed, the way she had of widening her eyes when he said something amusing. He was too busy listening to her voice, which was husky and soft and sexy as hell, even though he had the feeling she didn’t know it was sexy any more than she knew that little way she had of pushing her hair back from her ear was starting to make him have to curl his hand into a fist to keep from reaching out and doing it himself.

Up close, the suit was still demure but now that he could see a hint of the body beneath it, he knew he’d never think of a suit the same way again. And her scent. Lilacs, he thought. Or maybe lilies of the valley.

“…don’t you think?” she said, and Slade nodded and said yes, he definitely did, and hoped he was saying yes to the right thing, because he hadn’t heard the question. He told himself he was being ridiculous, to get his jaw off the floor and his brain into gear.

“That’s why I think of it as The Dead Battery Conspiracy,” Lara said. “You know. You do all the right things, keep their batteries charged—”

Oh, yes, Slade thought, while he kept smiling like an idiot, yes, indeed, there was nothing like keeping your batteries charged.

“You turn them on carefully—”

Carefully? Hell, he didn’t want to be turned on carefully. He wanted to scoop her up, drag her off into a dark corner and ravish that mouth and that body.

“—but they don’t work. They never do, when you want them to.”

“No,” Slade finally said, and cleared his throat and changed the topic before he made a spectacle of himself in public.

They talked some more. Or, rather, he talked. She just listened. After a while, he noticed a strange look on her face. He wondered if he was boring her but then he realized it wasn’t that. She looked…contemplative. Yeah, that was the word. She smiled in all the right places but he had the feeling she was weighing the consequences of something important, and that whatever it was, it was beyond his comprehension.

It gave him a funny feeling, one he didn’t like. So he stopped, in the middle of a sentence, and said, “How about some coffee?”

Lara blinked. She looked back at the coffee bar, then at him.

“Yes,” she said finally. “Yes, I’d like that.”

He rose from his chair. She did, too. They walked to the rear of the lounge, poured some coffee, sat down on a small sofa in a corner and went on with their conversation about inconsequential things. Weather, and flying, and how some airports were better than others, but all the while they were chatting, he knew it was only a cover for what was really happening between them.

They were turning each other on.

That little shot of electricity came again, when he refilled her cup. Their hands brushed, and the resultant spark made them jump.

“Whoops,” she said, with a little laugh, “one of us needs to be grounded before we go up in flames.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Slade said, with a smile. “Going up in flames might be fun.”

Their eyes met and held, and then she looked away and they talked about carpets and static electricity, about everything but the tension stretching between them.

He told himself it was nothing unusual. He was a man who enjoyed women. He always had, ever since the divorced wife of a neighboring rancher back home in Texas had decided to give him herself as a gift for his sixteenth birthday. He liked women, liked the way they sounded and looked and moved. And women liked him. So yeah, he’d sat in a bar, or gone to a party, he’d looked at a woman and she at him and bam, the connection had clicked and the both of them had known they were going to end up in bed together.

But, dammit, this was different. Who was he trying to kid? He wanted this woman with a need that was almost painful. He wanted her in his arms, wanted the scent of her arousal on his skin, the taste of her on his tongue, the hot wetness of her closing around him.

And she wanted him. He could read the signs. The glow in her eyes. The rosy color in her cheeks. The way her coffee cup trembled in her hand. He wondered when she’d be ready to admit it to herself and what he could possibly do about it when she did, considering that they were trapped in this damned lounge with the rest of the world.

“…of the world,” Lara said.

“What?”

“I said, it seems as if we’re trapped in here, and the world has come to a stop.”

“Yes.” Slade nodded. “Yes, it does.”

They both fell silent. He saw the way she looked at him, from under her lashes, and how she looked away, and he knew it was time.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly.

Color flooded her face but she smiled. “Thank you.”

“What does your hair look like, when it’s loose?”

He saw a pulse flutter in the hollow of her throat. “What?”

“Your hair. Is it long? Does it fall over your shoulders, and your breasts?” He took the cup from her and put it on the table beside him. “This isn’t just another pickup line,” he said. “You know it’s not.”

He looked into her eyes and what he saw made his body harden. She knew what he was thinking, that he was imagining what it would be like to strip her of that oh-so-proper suit, take down that carefully tied-back hair, touch her and kiss her until she cried out with need for him.

And in the middle of all those crazy thoughts, another announcement blared from the public-address system.

All flights were grounded, for at least the next few hours. Passengers who wished to secure overnight arrangements were to come up to the desk.

Lara cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, and gave a forced laugh, “well, that’s that.”

She was right. It was over, and he was glad. Whatever insanity had been going on between them was finished.

“Yes.” He smiled politely. “Are you going to wait it out here or try for a hotel?”

“Here, I think. How about you?”

“I’ll hang in here,” he started to say, but he never finished the sentence. “The hell with this,” he growled. “Come with me.”

Something flashed in her eyes and he thought, for a heartbeat, she was going to say yes.

“No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

He looked at her left hand, saw no ring. “Are you married?” She shook her head. “Engaged?” She shook her head again. Slade moved closer, until they were a breath apart. “Neither am I. We won’t be hurting anyone.” He reached out and took her hand. She let him do it, though he felt the tremor in her fingers. “Come to bed with me, Lara.”

The color rose in her face. “I can’t.”

“We’ll be incredible together,” he said, his hand tightening on hers.

She shook her head. “I—I don’t even know you.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve known me forever, the same as I’ve known you.” His voice was rough and low. “As for the details…I’m an architect. I live in Boston. I’m straight, I’m not married, not committed to anyone. I’m twenty-eight years old, I just had my annual physical and my doctor says I’m healthy enough to outlive Methuselah. What more do you need to know, except that I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you?”

And then—he’d never forgotten this—and then she’d looked at him, and something in that blue gaze changed. He’d felt as if he were being evaluated, not only as a man coming on to a woman but in some way he couldn’t figure out. She looked at him with that strange expression on her face, the way she had an hour or so before.

It made him uneasy, but the uneasiness was swept aside by a hot rush of longing when she touched the tip of her tongue to her lips.

“It’s—it’s crazy. Even talking like this—”

He lay a finger lightly against her mouth. He wanted to kiss her instead but touching her was all he dared to do in this public place without losing what little remained of his control.

“I’ll get a taxi. There’s a hotel not far from here where I’ve stayed before. They know me. They’ll find us a room.”

“A taxi. And a hotel, in weather like this?” She made a little sound that might have been a laugh. “You’re very sure of yourself, Slade.”

“If I were sure of myself,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t be holding my breath while I wait for your answer.”

He could still remember the moment. The noise, all around them. The shuffle of feet and the press of bodies, as weary travelers headed for the desk, or laid claim to chairs and couches. And, in the middle of the confusion, her silence. The tilt of her head, as she looked up at him. That unreadable something, back in her eyes.

“Yes,” she said. Just that one word, but it was enough.

He had no memory of leaving the lounge, or of flagging down a taxi. He could hardly recall the ride to the hotel, he only remembered stepping through the doors, his arm hard around her waist, and telling her that he had to leave her for a moment while he made a quick stop at the drugstore in the lobby.

“No,” she said, looking up at him. “It’s not necessary.”

He remembered, too, the first shot of pleasure he’d felt at those words, knowing there’d be no barrier of latex between them…and then the surprisingly harsh jolt of anger when he realized that she took care of her own birth control needs because she had sexual relationships apart from the one she was about to have with him.

It was more than anger he felt. It was the sharp bite of primitive male possessiveness. But by then they were in the room with the door closed on the rest of the world, and he stopped thinking and reached for her.

She panicked. “No!” Her voice quavered. “I’m sorry, Slade. I can’t do this.”

He framed her face in his hands. “Just kiss me,” he whispered. “Kiss me once, and I swear, if you want to leave, I won’t try to stop you.”

She didn’t move, she just looked up at him through wide, fear-filled eyes. He thought of something he’d stumbled upon years ago, back home at Espada. A stallion had broken loose from his stall and trapped a mare. He remembered the arch of the stallion’s neck, the wild, rolling eyes. And he remembered the mare’s terror, and how that terror had suddenly become something else, once the stallion came over her.

“Lara,” he whispered. Slowly, carefully, watching the wary apprehension in her eyes, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. It was difficult, holding himself in check, but he did it, brushing his lips over hers until her mouth warmed and opened beneath his.

“Slade,” she sighed, and the sound of his name on her lips made him groan.

His arms swept around her and he gathered her close. She rose toward him, looped her arms around his neck, buried her hands in his hair.

“Please,” she said, “oh please, please, please…”

And then he was carrying her to the bed, undressing her, letting down that glorious hair and doing everything he’d wanted, everything she’d wanted, and more.

The storm became a blizzard. It raged across the mountains all that day and night. And they spent all those minutes and hours in bed.

It was like a dream. Lara, in his arms. Her scent, on his skin. The warmth of her, curled against him whenever they dropped into exhausted sleep. He told himself how lucky he was, that making love with this beautiful stranger while a winter storm raged outside would be an incredible memory in years to come.

Toward dawn, something—the moan of the wind, perhaps—awakened him. Lara was asleep in the curve of his arm. He watched her and thought about how, when the storm ended, they’d go their separate ways. She lived in Atlanta, and she was an auditor. That was all she’d told him about herself. He thought, too, of the way she’d made it clear he didn’t have to worry about condoms and the angry feeling because she had a life he knew nothing about ripped through him again.

He tried to imagine her leading that life, living in a house he’d never seen, laughing with friends he didn’t know. Dating men he didn’t want to think about. Lying in arms that weren’t his.

Something tightened around his heart. He woke her with kisses, and with the touch of his hand on her breast.

“Lara,” he whispered.

Her eyes opened and she smiled sleepily. “Slade? What is it?”

What, indeed? She lived in the South, he in the Northeast. What was he going to say? That he’d fly down to see her every weekend? He didn’t see any woman every weekend. Well, yeah, he’d been known to establish relationships that lasted a couple of months, but getting involved with a woman who lived in the same city wasn’t like getting involved with one who lived hundreds of miles away.

“Leave a toothbrush here,” she’d say, “and some clothes.” And then she’d expect him to show up on Fridays instead of Saturdays, and leave on Monday instead of Sunday, and who knew? Sooner or later, maybe she’d say, “You know, I’ve been thinking that I could move up to Boston…”

“Slade?” Lara curved her hand around his stubbled jaw. “What’s the matter?” She smiled. “You look like a little boy who just found out there really isn’t a Santa Claus.”

He forced a smile to his lips and said he’d been hearing snowplows for a while now, that the roads were probably clear. And that he’d been thinking how terrific this had been and how he hoped that someday, if they could work out the details, they might find the time to get together again.

“Ah,” she said, after the barest hesitation, “yes, that sounds good.”

He wondered if he’d hurt her feelings but she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him. She touched him. She made him wild for her and he rolled her beneath him and took her again. When it was over, he lay holding her close. He thought of how much he wanted more of this, more of her. It didn’t have to be every weekend.

He smiled, brought her face to his, and gave her a slow, tender kiss.

“I don’t know your address,” he said softly, “or your phone number.”

And she smiled and stroked a lock of hair back from his eyes.

“I’ll write it all down,” she whispered, “in the morning.”

But when he awoke, in the morning, it was to sunshine, the sound of snowplows and cars and jet engines screaming overhead—and to an empty place in the bed.

Lara was gone. No note. No message. He didn’t even know her last name.

She’d run out on him while he slept, and he’d been furious. He’d tried telling himself she had no way of knowing he’d wanted more than the one night, but it didn’t take away the feeling that he’d been—well, that somehow, he’d been used.

What he did know was that what he’d felt making love to her, the sense that something special was happening, had been his imagination. Sex with a beautiful stranger, every man’s fantasy, was all it had been. And, as he’d flown home, he’d thought about how this wasn’t just going to be a great memory, it would be one hell of a story. I got snowed in in Denver, he’d say, and I ended up in bed with this incredibly hot babe for almost two days.

Except, he never told that story, not to his partners or even to his brothers. And now, all these months later, he was standing at the window in an airport terminal and wondering why he should still dream about the weekend and the woman because he did, dammit, he dreamed about her, about how it had been to make love to her, the stranger with the soft, sweet mouth and the deep blue eyes. He remembered how she’d felt, in his arms. The little sounds she’d made when he moved inside her, when she arched toward him, wrapped her legs around him…

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re pleased to announce that we are now boarding all flights.”

Slade dropped back into reality, realized he was a long way from his gate and ran for his plane.

CHAPTER TWO

LARA sat in her office overlooking the Baltimore harbor and told herself the next couple of hours were going to be a piece of cake.

She was ready. More than ready, after two weeks of preparation. She’d gone through the proposal for the new headquarters building more times than she could count. And she’d found the flaws she needed to keep Slade Baron out of Baltimore, and out of her life.

Slade Baron. How perfectly the name suited the man. Lara puffed out a breath, reached for her coffee mug and brought it to her lips. No way he’d have gone through life with a name like Brown or Smith. “Baron,” with all the medieval entitlements it suggested, suited a man like that just fine.

The mug trembled in her hand. She whispered a short, sharp word and put it down before she ended up spilling coffee on her suit. The last thing she needed was to walk into that meeting feeling anything less than perfectly put together.

She’d be fine. Just fine. Of course she would. Lara stroked her hand lightly over the folder on her desk, pushed back her chair and walked to the window. She had a wonderful view from here, straight out over the harbor. A corner office, she thought, with a little smile. It had taken her six long years to work up to one but she’d done it. She had everything she’d ever wanted. A career. A title. A handsome little house in a pleasant neighborhood. And the joy of her life, the very heart of her life…

The intercom buzzed. She swung around and hit the On button.

“Yes, Nancy?”

“Mr. Dobbs’s secretary phoned, Ms. Stevens. Mr. Baron’s plane finally got in. He should be here soon.”

Lara felt her stomach lurch. She touched her fingertips to her forehead, which felt as if somebody with a jackhammer had been working away at it most of the morning.

“Thank you, Nancy. Let me know when the meeting begins, please.”

“Of course, Ms. Stevens.”

The panic was threatening to overwhelm her. Be calm, she told herself again. She’d done what she had to do, that night eighteen months ago in Denver. Heaven knew she didn’t regret it. Slade had been a means to an end, that was all. Just a means to…

His arms, hard around her. His mouth against hers. The feel of him deep within her, and the way he’d held her afterward, as if he cherished her…

Lara shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. There was no point in thinking that way. She didn’t have to romanticize what she’d done. Slade had gotten what he’d wanted and so had she, and now she had to make sure it stayed like that.

She let her gaze wander out over the water. The day was muggy, the sky filled with clouds. The weather had been very different, when she’d met Slade. Lara closed her eyes. She didn’t want to remember that day…

That day in Denver.

The sky had been a dirty gray, and the snow as thick as feathers spilling from a torn pillow. Lara, trapped in the waiting area at the Denver airport, had felt impatient and irritable.

It was her thirtieth birthday, and this was one hell of a way to celebrate it.

Nothing had gone right for her that entire week, starting with not one but two baby showers for women she worked with, and ending with an ultrapolite kiss-off from Tom. Not that the relationship had gone beyond dinner and the theater but still, it wasn’t pleasant, getting an earnest speech about how she was a wonderful woman, an intelligent woman…

What he’d meant was that they weren’t getting anywhere. She didn’t make men think about white picket fences and wedding rings. Other men had given her the same message, and she thought about that while she waited for the snow to let up.

She knew Tom was right. She had nothing against men. Maybe she was a little cool, a little distant. She’d been told that by a couple of guys. Maybe she didn’t think sex was the mind-blowing experience other women did, but so what? She liked men well enough.

It was just that marriage was something else. In her heart, she knew she really didn’t want to be anybody’s wife. She was self-sufficient and independent, and she’d seen, firsthand, what a mess a man could make of a woman’s life. Her mother, and now her sister, could have been advertisements extolling the benefits of spinsterhood.

No, marriage wasn’t for her, but motherhood was. She’d known that ever since her teens, when she’d earned pocket money baby-sitting. Having babies was more than a biological need: it was a need of the heart. There was something indescribably wonderful about children. Their trust in you. Their innocence. The way they gave their love, unconditionally, and accepted yours in return.

Lara had all the love in the world to give, but her time was running out. She was thirty, and she figured she had about as much chance of having a child as an Eskimo had of getting conked on the head by a falling coconut. Thirty was far from middle-aged but there were times she felt as if she were the only woman in the world who didn’t have a baby in her arms or in her belly, and that most of the women who did were years her junior.

Like the two girls she worked with. Goodness knew she wished both of them well but watching their excitement at their baby showers, she’d felt an awful emptiness because she’d suddenly known she’d never share that special joy. She knew single women adopted babies all the time but, perhaps selfishly, Lara yearned for a child of her own. She knew about artificial insemination, too, but the thought of knowing little about the prospective father made her uneasy. She’d even considered asking someone like Tom, someone she liked and respected, to make her pregnant, but there’d been an item on the TV news about a man who’d agreed to just such an arrangement until he saw his son. All of a sudden, he’d changed his mind. Now, he was suing for joint custody.

“If I’d picked up a stranger in a bar,” the girl had said, her eyes red and teary, “some guy with looks and enough brains to carry on an intelligent conversation, I’d have my baby but I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Lara sat thinking all these things on that fateful afternoon in Denver, while she waited for the snow to stop.

The public address system bleated out guarded encouragement from time to time, but you didn’t need a degree in meteorology to see that the storm was getting worse instead of better. After a while, she collected her computer and her carry-on, made her way to the first-class lounge, found a seat and settled in. Her mood was as foul as the weather. She took out her computer and turned it on. Solitaire was mindless; she could play it until her brain went numb.

Except that her computer wouldn’t start. The battery was dead. It was the final straw, and she glared at the damned thing, contemplated hurling it to the floor, then settled for telling it what she thought of it, under her breath.

She heard a soft, masculine chuckle, and then a man’s voice.

“Here you go, darling,” he said.

Lara looked up. A man was standing in front of her. He was tall, he was probably what some women would call handsome, and if he thought she was in the mood for some fun and games, he was about to have his smug little smile stuffed right up his nose.

She drew herself up and looked at him as coldly as she could.

“I beg your pardon?”

But not coldly enough, apparently. His smile broadened and he shot a pointed look at the person seated in the chair next to hers. Lara lifted her brows. Obviously he was accustomed to having things his way. Well, she thought as the wimp beside her gave up his seat, this bozo was in for a big surprise.

“I am the answer to your prayers, Sugar,” her unwanted visitor said. He had a drawl of some kind. Not Southern; she knew Southern drawls. Western, maybe. That would explain the lean, rangy look to him, and those ridiculous cowboy boots.

“I am not named ‘Sugar,’” she said coldly. “You’re out of your league, cowboy. If those boots of yours are made for walking, you’d better let them walk.”

He grinned. It was, she had to admit, a nice grin on a nice face. Definitely handsome, if you liked men who looked as if they’d just ridden down from the hills, despite what had to be a hand-tailored suit and a Burberry raincoat. Not that any of that changed the fact that she wasn’t interested.

“Ah,” he said, “I see. You think this is just an old-fashioned pickup.”

Lara gave a wide-eyed stare. “My goodness,” she said sweetly, “isn’t it?”

The stranger sighed, as if she’d wounded him deeply. Then he opened his computer case and took out a battery. She saw, right away, it was the duplicate of hers.

“It’s painful to be misjudged, Sugar,” he said. “You need a battery for your computer and I just happen to have an extra. Now, does that sound like a pickup line to you?”

Of course it did. Lara started to tell him he was wasting his time. But his eyes were twinkling, and what was the harm in admitting she saw the humor in the situation? A few minutes of conversation might make the interminable delay seem less onerous.

“Yes,” she said, and smiled, to show she wasn’t really offended.

“Well, you’re right. But you have to admit, it’s creative.”

She laughed, and he laughed, and that was the way it all began.

“Hi,” he said, and held out his hand. “I’m Slade.”

She hesitated, then took his hand. “I’m Lara.”

A tiny electric jolt passed between them.

“Static electricity,” she said quickly, and pulled back her hand.

“Or something.” He smiled again. “I couldn’t help but overhear your, uh, your conversation. The one you were having with yourself. I didn’t actually hear what you called your dead battery, but I have a pretty good imagination.”

She laughed. “I’m afraid I wasn’t being very polite.”

“I’m serious about giving you that extra battery.”

“Thanks, but I can do without it.”

“Well, I’ll lend it to you, then. So you can check your e-mail, or whatever.”

“I did that, just before the stupid thing died. Actually it’s the ‘whatever’ part that I was going for.” She smiled. “I was going to play solitaire.”

His brows lifted. They were dark brows, winged a little at the ends, and went nicely with his black, silky-looking hair. “Computer solitaire. The wonder of the age,” he said with a dead-serious expression. “One card or three?”

“One, of course. Timed, with Vegas rules…”

“The deck with the palm trees?”

Lara laughed. “Uh-huh. I like that little face that appears, the one that grins when you least expect it.”

“Ah, the wonders of the chip,” the stranger said, and they fell into easy conversation—except she really wasn’t quite sure what either of them was saying.

She thought about that electrical jolt she’d felt when she’d put her hand in his. It hadn’t been static electricity at all; it had been a tingling sense of sexual awareness. She’d never felt it before but that didn’t mean she was incapable of recognizing it.

And why not? This man, this stranger named Slade, was, to put it simply, gorgeous.

Tall, dark and handsome. Three little words but, when applied to him, spectacular. Coal-black hair. Smoky-gray eyes shaded by thick, black lashes. A blade of a nose set above a firm mouth and a square, dimpled chin. And even inside that custom-tailored suit, Lara could tell he had the kind of body the guys at her health club sweated for but never quite managed to achieve. He had a nice sense of humor, too, and he was intelligent…

And, just like that, the voice of the girl in the TV interview zipped through her head.

If I’d picked up a stranger in a bar, some guy with good looks and enough brains to carry on an intelligent conversation…

Lara knew she was blushing but she couldn’t help it. A stranger in a bar? My God, what was wrong with her? Here he was, this hunky stranger, looking for a way to pass the time while the snow kept them trapped in the airport, and here she was, thinking that he’d be the right man to father her baby.

Not that there was anything wrong in thinking about it, because she’d never do such a thing. Of course not. Have sex with a stranger? Not her. But she knew how easy it would be. An exchange of business cards, the suggestion that he look her up if he came to Atlanta or even something more specific, say, a deliberate plan to meet somewhere for a weekend…

Lara let her thoughts drift. No, it wouldn’t be difficult at all. He was interested in her, that was obvious. And he had a way about him that suggested he’d be good in bed, that he’d know how to bring a woman pleasure. Not that pleasure mattered, in a situation like this. It was all hypothetical, and you didn’t need to enjoy sex just to get pregnant. Still, he’d know all the right moves.

She knew she was blushing again but she couldn’t help it. Such wacky thoughts to be having, especially for a woman who had a sexual past uninteresting and unvaried enough to almost be embarrassing. But as long as she was indulging herself in this fantasy, there was no harm in imagining that he’d be good in bed. After all, she’d only have the one chance at getting pregnant. Weren’t there statistics that showed orgasm increased those chances?

Something must have shown in her face because suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he stopped talking and just stared at her. She was on the verge of grabbing her stuff and fleeing when he asked her if she wanted some coffee.

What she wanted was to stop thinking these insane thoughts.

Tell him no, she told herself, and then get up and walk away…

“Yes,” she said, “I’d love some.”

He rose from his chair. She did, too. They walked to the rear of the lounge, poured some coffee, sat down on a small sofa in a corner and she tried, really tried, to concentrate on what he was saying and to stop thinking nonsense, like how it might feel if he kissed her.

Thoughts like that had never occupied her mind before.

They did, now.

And when he refilled her cup and his hand brushed hers, she felt as if she’d been shot through with a low-voltage electrical charge. A stranger in a bar, she thought again, and she forced a little laugh.

“Whoops,” she said. “One of us needs to be grounded before we go up in flames.”

She knew, instantly, it was the wrong thing to say. It sounded like a come-on and she hadn’t meant it like that…had she?

It was obvious what Slade thought. His eyes darkened, and a little muscle knotted just beside his mouth.

“Going up in flames might be fun,” he said in a voice that sent shivers up her spine.

She felt a tremor go through her, and she began chattering inanely about something else. Anything, to lessen the growing tension. He could handle this; he was that type of man, the kind who probably left swooning women behind him wherever he went. But she couldn’t. She felt as if she were letting her sanity slip away.

Silence built between them.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly.

So are you, she thought, and blushed. “Thank you.”

“What does your hair look like, when it’s loose?”

The intimacy of the question stunned her. “What?”

“Your hair. Is it long? Does it fall over your shoulders, and your breasts?” He took the cup from her and put it on the table beside him. “This isn’t just another pickup line,” he said softly. “You know it’s not.”

She looked into his eyes and what she saw was her undoing. No man had ever looked at her this way, had ever made her feel this way. Desirable. Sexy. Seductive. She knew what he was thinking, that he was imagining what it would be like to undress her, take down her hair, kiss her and stroke her and make her sob out his name…

An announcement blared over the loudspeaker. Thank God, Lara thought, and focused her attention on the disembodied voice.

All flights were grounded until further notice. The airline would try to make arrangements for overnight accommodations for passengers who wanted them.

Lara cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, and gave a forced laugh, “well, that’s that.”

Slade nodded, and she was sure he understood what she meant. “Yes.” He smiled politely. “Are you going to wait it out here?”

“Uh-huh. How about you?”

“Yes,” he said, and then, so quickly that she wasn’t sure it had happened, his eyes went from smoky-gray to deepest charcoal. “The hell with this,” he said. “Come with me.”

Lara didn’t pretend not to understand. “No,” she whispered, “I can’t.”

“Are you married?” She shook her head. “Engaged?” She shook her head again. Slade moved closer, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. “Neither am I. We won’t be hurting anyone.” He reached out and took her hand. She let him do it, though she knew it was a mistake. “Come to bed with me, Lara.”

There it was, out in the open. What he’d been thinking, what she’d been thinking. And here was her chance. But she wouldn’t take it. Sleep with a strange man, deliberately try to get herself pregnant without his knowledge…

“No.” She shook her head and said the words again. “I can’t.”

“We’ll be incredible together,” he said in a husky whisper.

“I couldn’t,” she stammered. “I—I don’t even know you.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve known me forever, the same as I’ve known you.” His voice was rough and low. “As for the details…I’m an architect. I live in Boston. I’m straight, I’m not married, not committed to anyone. I’m twenty-eight years old, I just had my annual physical and my doctor says I’m healthy enough to outlive Methuselah. And I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you.”

Lara looked at him. She felt as if she’d stepped into another dimension, a dimension in which anything was possible and everything was acceptable. Who would she hurt, if she went with him? He wanted her. She wanted a child.

No. No, it was worse than crazy, it was immoral. Wasn’t it?

She swallowed dryly, then licked her lips.

“It’s—it’s crazy. Even talking like this”

He put his finger lightly across her mouth. She shuddered at the feel of it on her skin. A lazy lick of flame began curling through her blood. Oh, it would be so easy…

“I’ll get a taxi,” he murmured. “There’s a hotel not far from here. They know me. They’ll find us a room.”

“A taxi. And a hotel, in weather like this?” She made a sound that she hoped was a laugh. “You’re very sure of yourself, Slade.”

“If I were sure of myself,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t be holding my breath while I wait for your answer.”

She looked up at him, and thought of what it would be like to go with him. To have him touch her. Not just because she wanted a child but—be honest, Lara—but because he was the most exciting man she’d ever met, because she was dizzy with wanting to be in his arms…

“Lara?”

She took a deep, deep breath. And she said, “Yes.”

He took her to the hotel. His arm lay heavy around her waist, anchoring her to him as if he thought she’d change her mind and run away. He started to stop at the shop in the lobby and she knew it was so he could buy condoms.

She took an even deeper breath and told him it wasn’t necessary.

He didn’t question her, but the press of his hand at her waist grew more possessive as he led her to their room.

She didn’t panic until he shut the door and locked it. When he turned toward her, she looked at him and saw a stranger.

What am I doing? she thought frantically. Her heart thumped with fear.

“No!” she said, “no, I can’t do this.”

Perhaps if he’d tried to talk her into it, or if he’d pulled her into his arms, things would have ended differently. But he did neither of those things. He took her face in his hands, his touch sure and gentle. And he kissed her so tenderly that it made her feel breathless.

His mouth was wonderful, soft and warm on hers. She felt the fear slipping from her body, felt something hot and exciting take its place. She wrapped her hands around his wrists and, slowly, the kiss changed, grew hungry and demanding, and she moaned and looped her arms around his neck.

Now, she thought, now, before I lose courage…

“Please,” she whispered, “oh, Slade, please.”

And he carried her to the bed, undressed her, let down her hair and fulfilled every middle-of-the night dream she’d ever had, and some she’d never dared imagine.

The storm became a blizzard. Lara didn’t care. She never left Slade’s arms, never wanted to. She forgot the reason she’d come with him and remembered only that he was the lover she’d always longed for.

He was everything, the perfect fantasy, and yet he was real.

She fell asleep at last, exhausted, her head on his chest, and awakened to his kisses at dawn. She looked up at him and knew she’d been a fool to think she wanted him only so he could give her a baby. She still wanted that but now she wanted more.

She wanted Slade, in her arms and in her life. And, if the past hours meant anything, she thought he might want that, too. In fact, there was a darkness in his eyes that she suspected came of the realization that the long, wonderful night was going to end.

She smiled, to let him know she didn’t want it to happen, either. “Slade? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I mean, the storm’s over.” He smiled, and her heart plummeted because suddenly she knew she’d misunderstood what she’d seen in his eyes. It wasn’t fear that the night would end, it was panic that she might want more than he wanted to give. “Lara, this was wonderful. Maybe—maybe we can manage to get together again sometime.”

She felt the sting of tears in her eyes and hated herself for it. She reminded herself that he’d made her no promises, that she’d wanted no promises, and she smiled and assured him that would be great. She had the awful feeling he was going to apologize for having hurt her feelings and she stopped him by reaching for him, touching him, and making him forget everything but the need to possess her again.

When it was done, he made an attempt at sincerity.

“I don’t know your address,” he said. “Or your phone number.”

“I’ll give them to you in the morning,” Lara had answered, but she’d known she was lying. She’d waited until he fell asleep. Then she’d dressed and let herself quietly from the room.

She hadn’t gone with him for passion, she’d gone for what he could give her. For a child. That was all she’d wanted from him…

Wasn’t it? she thought, as she stared out at the Baltimore harbor.

Lara swung away from the window. Her intercom was buzzing. She cleared her throat and reached for it.

“Ms. Stevens? Mr. Baron’s arrived. He’s in the conference room, with the directors. Mr. Dobbs says would you please join them now?”

“Thank you, Nancy.”

She sounded calm. That was good. She looked it, too, she thought as she took out her compact and peered into it. But her hand trembled a little as she smoothed back her hair.

“Don’t be an idiot, Lara,” she told her reflection. She was prepared. She knew what she had to do and how to do it. She’d get Slade Baron out of Baltimore so quickly it would make his head spin. As for facing him—that wasn’t a problem. What she’d felt for him, what she’d thought she felt, had never been real.

Lara smoothed down her skirt, plucked the folder from her desk and left her office.

CHAPTER THREE

LARA swiped the palms of her hands against her skirt as she rode the elevator to the conference room level.

Stop it, she told herself angrily. The advantage was hers. Slade wouldn’t be expecting to see her. He hadn’t known her last name, any more than she’d known his. He was going to be the one who would have to work at showing no reaction to the discovery that Beaufort’s chief auditor was the woman he’d slept with on a snowy night in Denver.

She had to calm down, otherwise she’d not only lose that advantage, she’d never be able to carry this off. Slade would see her panic and he, smug male animal that he was, would take it as a sign that she was overcome with excitement at seeing him again.

Overcome, yes. But not with excitement. With fear. And there was nothing to fear. Nothing.

The elevator door slid open. Lara took a breath, squared her shoulders and strode down the hall.

“They’re waiting for you,” Dobbs’s secretary chirped.

Lara took her chances and tried a smile. “Thanks.”

It worked. The secretary didn’t leap to her feet and run, screaming, to the elevator, which, Lara supposed, meant she really was smiling and not just pulling her lips back from her teeth like a rabid dog baring its fangs. But that was certainly how it felt.

The massive doors to the conference room stood open. Lara’s heart thudded. She hesitated in the doorway while she scanned the room for Slade. Where was he? The room was big. Huge, really. Six months ago, when she’d transferred from the Atlanta office to this one, she’d attended a meeting in it and been amazed at the room’s enormity.

There he was, standing at the windows with his back to her. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see his face. She knew him just the same. His height. The width of his shoulders. That midnight-black hair. And the way he stood, with a sort of sexy, king of the universe arrogance.

It was Slade, just as she remembered him. Slade, the fantasy-lover whose arms had held her all through that long-ago night. Whose arms still held her in the dreams she acknowledged only in the darkness before dawn…

Slade, whose long, lean body suddenly stiffened.

She held her breath, told herself it was impossible he’d sensed her presence but even as she gave herself all those reassurances, she knew. She felt like a trapped animal as he turned toward her.

A dozen reactions raced across his handsome face. Surprise. Shock. Then a slow, sexy smile of delight.

Oh, God.

The room spun; her vision narrowed but she stood her ground, looked at him coolly and then looked away. He wasn’t going to seduce her again. Not this time, not even into complacency. The sooner he understood that, the better.

“Ah, there you are, Ms. Stevens.”

Lara tilted her chin and turned away, toward Edwin Dobbs.

“Mr. Dobbs,” she said pleasantly. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“No, no. You’re right on time.” Dobbs took her arm and moved her forward, and a good thing he did, Lara thought, because it felt as if she were walking on a carpet made of marshmallow. “I believe you know all the members of the board.”

“Certainly. How do you do, Mr. Rogers? Nice to see you again, Mr. Kraemer.”

She smiled. She shook hands. Answered yes, the weather was unusually cool, participated in the mindless chitchat the directors undoubtedly thought would make them seem like regular fellows.

Inside herself, she trembled.

She’d caught Slade off balance—that look on his face, before he’d realized he had no effect on her anymore, had said it all. The trouble was, for one heart-wrenching moment, she’d wanted to smile back, to run across the room and into his arms.

“…our new architect, Mr. Slade Baron.”

Lara’s heart banged into her throat. Dobbs had led her across the room, to Slade. And Slade had stopped smiling. He was looking at her as if he’d moved a rock and uncovered a new species of life.

“Mr. Baron,” she said politely, and held out her hand.

“Such formality, Lara,” Slade said, just as politely, and clasped her fingers in his.

Dobbs’s eyebrows rose. “Do you two know each other?”

“No,” Lara said.

“Yes,” Slade said, at the same instant, and laughed. “I suspect what Lara means is that we don’t actually know each other very well. Isn’t that right, Lara?”

Lara looked up at him. He was smiling now, but there was a tiny muscle dancing at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were as gray as a storm-tossed sea.

“Yes,” she said stupidly, because Slade had taken command of the game. All she could do was follow where he led and hope to hell she could get out in one piece. “We, uh, we don’t know each other very well,” she parroted, and pulled her hand from his.

Dobbs nodded thoughtfully. “Isn’t that interesting? Ms. Stevens, you never said a word about knowing Mr. Baron.”

“No. Ah, no, I didn’t. You see—you see—”

“Well, she couldn’t.” Slade flashed a lazy grin. “Considering that we never did get around to exchanging last names.”

Oh please, Lara thought, please, let the ground open up and swallow me.

“We met at an airport, oh, a year and a half or so ago, and ended up spending a bit of time together. Isn’t that right, Lara?”

“The weather,” she said jerkily. “It was—”

“Snowing. My oh my, it surely was.” Slade laughed politely. “I don’t think I ever saw that much snow before, Mr. Dobbs. But your Ms. Stevens is a clever lady. Between us, we found lots of ways to pass the time.”

“Did you, now?” Dobbs said, with a puzzled smile.

“Oh, yes. We…But I’ll let her tell you all about it.”

Dobbs looked at Lara. Lara licked her lips. “I—I can’t imagine you’d be interested in—in the details, sir.”

“Of course he is,” Slade said.

“Of course I am,” Dobbs echoed, his brows still lifted.

“There I was,” Slade said, “trying to figure out how I could possibly make the time do anything but crawl.” He looked at Lara, the smile still on his face but his eyes as flat and cold as ice. “And then, fortunately for me, your Ms. Stevens and I struck up a conversation.”

“About nothing,” Lara said, with a tight little laugh. “You know how it is, Mr. Dobbs, two strangers just—just dealing in a lot of small talk, to pass the time.”

“But,” Slade said lazily, “as it turned out, we had a lot in common. Ms. Stevens’s battery needed charging. And mine just happened to be fully charged.”

Lara could feel her face burning. “Computers,” she said wildly. “That’s what he’s talking about. We both use the same kind. And my battery died. And he said I could borrow his. And—and…”

She fell silent. Slade was smiling. It was the most polite smile Lara had ever seen but there was nothing polite in what he was really saying. She could read the subtext. A woman wasn’t supposed to sneak out of a man’s bed the way she had, even if she was just a one-night stand. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to turn up in his life again, especially not in a business setting.

His ego was on the line—but so was everything that meant anything to her. The realization gave her the courage she needed.

“Anyway,” she said, and flashed a brilliant smile, “Mr. Baron was kind enough to offer his services.” She turned the thousand-watt smile on Slade and saw, with a thrill of pleasure, that he hadn’t expected such a quick recovery. “I must admit,” she said briskly, “I’d forgotten all about your generosity. How nice to see you again, and to be reminded of it.”

“Well,” Edwin Dobbs said, and cleared his throat, “now that we’ve made all the introductions…Mr. Baron? Would you like to begin your presentation?”

“Of course,” Slade said, and wondered if anybody but Lara knew he was lying through his teeth.

He’d done this a thousand times, so it required no thought. Open his computer, turn it on, use a projector to bring up screen after screen of dazzling design and detail, pointing out all the elements while the board members followed along, entranced.

And a damn good thing he had done it a thousand times, Slade thought grimly, or he’d be standing here like a fool, steam coming out of his ears and nonsense coming out of his mouth.

“Our auditor has been going through your proposal,” Dobbs had told him, before the start of the meeting. “I’ve asked her to join us so we can be sure we agree on the projected costs of your design, Mr. Baron.”

“No problem,” Slade had said politely.

Just then, he’d gotten a strange, prickling sensation along his spine. Someone was looking at him, he’d thought, and he’d turned to see her in the doorway. Lara. The woman he couldn’t get out of his head, and he’d thought how incredible it was that he’d found her again.

Every cliché about it being a small world had tripped through his mind. He’d felt the smile begin spreading across his face as he waited for her to see him—but when she did, the coldness in her eyes tumbled him straight back to reality.

She’d known he’d be here.

Of course she’d known. Dobbs had given her his proposal. She had the file under her arm, and Slade knew what was in it. All the design data. And all his personal data. His name. His phone number. His address.

And, just in case there was any doubt, his photo.

Lara had known who he was, that she’d be seeing him today, and she’d kept that knowledge to herself. No phone call. No e-mail. No letter saying, Slade, guess what…?

She’d deliberately let him walk into this setup, as if he were an enemy. Not only hadn’t she wanted to see him again, but she’d deliberately set things up so he’d walk in here and—

And what?

He still had no idea.

What had he stumbled into? It was shock enough to see her after all this time and to realize he’d be working with her, but why was she so icy? He wasn’t the one who’d slunk out of that bedroom.

“…can see that I’ve incorporated your wish to maintain tradition with an awareness of the forward-looking principles of the future…”

Was he still making sense? Evidently. The directors’ attention was still fixed on him.

But not Lara’s.

She sat next to Edwin Dobbs, her hands folded neatly on the polished surface of the conference-room table. Their eyes met, and a coldness swept through Slade’s blood. She was watching him as if he were standing at his own gravesite with a shovel in his hand.

“…a reflecting pool, here, in the atrium garden…”

Her face was a perfect blank.

What in hell was going on here?

He flashed back, again, to that moment he’d first seen her in the doorway. The shock of it had smashed into him like a hot poker and, yeah, the pleasure, too. There’d been other women in his life since that night, sure, but the thing was, there’d been nobody quite like her.

And he’d thought, I’ll tell her that, after this meeting ends, I’ll say, Look, now that fate brought us together again, what are you doing this weekend?

Until he saw her looking at him as if she were a cat and he was a portion of breast of sparrow. He didn’t like it, not one bit. This was the woman who was going to advise the Beaufort bank directors on the reliability of his figures?

It wasn’t going to happen.

He wanted to tell her that, to say, I see that look in your eyes, Sugar, and believe me, you are the very last person on the planet I’d ever trust. You might be a firecracker in bed but…

Man, she surely was.

He could remember the heat of her, in his arms. The little tricks she knew that almost had him thinking she was sweet and innocent, that she’d never done anything like shacking up with a stranger before. Those little moans of hers, and the way she’d touched him at first, kind of shy and questioning…

Hell.

Slade caught himself, frowned and took a quick look around the conference table. He half expected to see Dobbs and the others staring at him as if he’d lost his mind but they were all intent on the pictures on the screen.

Thank God for small favors.

His libido might have been in a Denver hotel room but the part of his brain that mattered was on automatic pilot. He’d finished his presentation and it had gone well. He could tell by the pleased expression on Dobbs’s face, and by the little buzz around the table.

Lara’s face was still a polite mask.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Baron,” Dobbs said. “That was most illuminating.”

Might as well cut straight to the chase, Slade thought, and looked at Lara.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But Ms. Stevens looks as if she has some questions.”

“Yes,” Lara said, “in fact, I do.”

She didn’t just have questions, she had statements and speeches, and pages of mind-bending figures. Slade had read her right. She had an agenda all her own. She wanted him out of here, and she’d do anything to accomplish it.

Within minutes, the conference table was buried under piles of paper. Articles. Clippings. Printouts. She had documentation that probably went straight back to the design of the Pyramids, all of it detailing the financial disasters that could befall a project between its plan and its completion. She had more stuff in her briefcase than he had in his office back in Boston, and she distributed it with the gusto of a clerk handing out free cereal samples in a supermarket.

Slade could smell the stink of doubt oozing into the air. Furrows appeared in the foreheads of the men who’d been beaming at him only moments before. And, in the midst of it all, Lara looked up, caught his eye and gave him a tight, condescending smile.

He smiled right back.

It was either that, or kill her.

What was with this woman? Wasn’t it enough that she’d left him high and dry in that hotel room? Did she need to make him look like a jerk here, too?

He could see himself vaulting the table, grabbing her and shaking her until her teeth rattled…or, better still, backing her against the wall, thrusting his hands into that silky mass of hair until it tumbled down over her shoulders, kissing that irritating little smile off her mouth. He could almost feel the smoothness of her jacket, the silkiness of her blouse and then the hot satin of her flesh as her breasts filled his hands.

That would tell her that she might be able to fool these idiots but she couldn’t fool him, couldn’t sit there and pretend that memories of that night hadn’t stayed with her. Was that her problem? Did she think running him out of town would eliminate those images? Or was this payback for that little speech he’d made about hoping they’d bump into each other again, sometime?

Either way, she’d made a mistake. If this was a battlefield, he was prepared to fight.

He waited patiently while she spoke, keeping his expression neutral, his hands in his pockets so nobody would see he’d knotted them into fists. Eventually she ran out of numbers, and she looked at Dobbs.

“I’m sorry to have to make all these negative comments, sir,” she said, with what Slade knew the others would accept as genuine regret. “Mr. Baron’s design is excellent, I’m sure. I just don’t see that Beaufort can go ahead with this project within the defined budgetary constraints.” She looked at Slade. “Unless,” she said politely, “I’ve missed something…?”

Her smile, her voice, made it clear such a thing was impossible.

The room was silent. Dobbs and the other men looked from Lara to Slade.

“Well, Mr. Baron,” the chairman said, after clearing his throat, “I’m sure you have some comment to offer.”

Slade nodded. “Yes,” he said evenly, “I do.”

He walked across the room, knowing every eye was on him, stalling a little to make sure he regained his composure. When he reached the windows, he took a deep breath and turned around. The men were watching him with interest but the look on Lara’s face had gone from smug anticipation to wary concern.

“My compliments, Ms. Stevens. That was quite an interesting presentation.” He flashed a quick smile around the table, one that made it clear he’d have offered similar praise to a precocious three-year-old who’d managed to get all the way through her ABCs. Slade looked at Dobbs and his smile faded. “Interesting—but inaccurate. Ms. Stevens seems to be confused on several key points.”

It took him less than five minutes to refute her arguments, actually, to reduce them to rubble. In Lara’s zeal to run him out of town—and Slade was sure that had been her intention—she’d made mistakes. She knew lots about numbers but nothing about architecture. And she sure as hell had underestimated him as an adversary.

When he’d finished, the room was silent. After a moment, Dobbs looked around, engaged the others in some kind of unspoken communication, then put his hands, palms flattened, on the table.

“Well, Mr. Baron, it’s obvious you’ve done your homework.”

Slade smiled pleasantly. “I always do,” he said, and thought that this was probably the first time in his life he’d come up with anything positive he could attribute to his old man, who’d done what he could to beat that philosophy into the seat of his pants.

“Wantin’ ain’t enough, boy,” Jonas would say. “You got to go in prepared to win.”

Well, he’d wanted to win this commission. And he’d come prepared, not for a personal attack, which this damned well was, but for the usual nit-picking of bean counters. It was just that he’d never expected the bean-counter to be a blue-eyed, strawberry-blonde named Lara.

It made the victory he knew was his all the sweeter. He’d have stood on his head, if that’s what it took, to teach her that she couldn’t make a fool of Slade Baron a second time. Because, dammit, she had made a fool of him, sneaking out of his bed that way, and it was time he admitted it.

Dobbs pushed back his chair and stood, an obvious signal that the meeting was over. Everyone else rose, too, including Lara.

“Thank you for your input, Ms. Stevens. You certainly raised some important issues and the board will take them under advisement.”

Lara nodded stiffly. “You’re welcome, sir.”

Dobbs came around the table and clapped Slade on the back. “I hope you don’t think our Ms. Stevens gave you too difficult a time.”

“No, not at all.” He looked at Lara. Her face was expressionless as, he hoped, was his. He still couldn’t figure out why she’d tried to sabotage him. None of the reasons he’d come up with really made sense…unless she was involved with some other guy.

Slade’s jaw tightened.

Yeah, that would explain it. She was seeing somebody else and suddenly, here he was, walking, talking proof of the fact that she’d once spent a hot night with a strange man.

He looked at her left hand, and saw a thin gold band on her ring finger.

Years before, when he was a kid, a bronc had bucked him off. He’d hit his head, hard. All Slade could ever recall of the incident was going down into a spinning whirlpool of darkness. That was the way he felt now.

Married. Lara was married.

He tore his eyes from her hand, dragged air into his lungs. Okay, she was married. So what? It was nothing to him. What they’d shared had been sex, that was all, and it had happened a long time ago. She’d gone her way, he’d gone his, and now she had a husband.

At least that explained things, though she flattered herself if she thought he’d want her again, want her badly enough to threaten to tell her husband about them. But there was no “them.” There never had been and besides, the day he had to coerce a woman into bed was the day he’d check himself into a retirement home.

It just plain infuriated him that she’d thought she needed to protect herself by screwing him over. He wanted to tell her that—but she’d already packed up her things and left.

Running out seemed to be Lara’s thing. Well, she wasn’t going to get away with it this time.

Slade shook hands all around. Dobbs walked him to the door.

“We’ll be in touch soon, Mr. Baron.”

Slade nodded. “That’s fine. Oh, by the way…your Ms. Stevens made some references to purchasing procedures that were inaccurate.”

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