She can’t resist him forever…

Sean Donovan is a man on a mission—to discover who is behind the popular relationship column that has transformed his family-owned magazine into Miami’s hippest glossy. But Tate Dennison isn’t the sassy columnist the hardworking bachelor expected. Nor is he prepared for the flash fire of passion the stunning single mother arouses.…

The hunky magazine executive wants to mix business with pleasure, but Tate has one hard and fast rule: never fall for the boss! The once-burned advice columnist has no intention of becoming the devastatingly attractive playboy’s latest conquest. But what woman can resist Sean’s charms? Once she’s sampled his kisses, can Tate protect her heart—even when a sabotage plot threatens the Donovan empire and their possible future together?

“So you’re afraid of getting involved with the boss?” he said.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she snapped.

“Really?”

He moved closer, and she backed right into the hallway wall until there was nowhere else for her to go. Her arms shifted to a defensive stance folded over her chest. She took that stance often enough that he was beginning to read the warning signs. But it wasn’t going to stop him, not this time. He pressed even closer. “Are you sure you’re not afraid of me? Of what I make you feel?” he whispered, lowering his face closer to hers.

“You don’t make me feel anything,” she said, but her breath was soft and airy.

“I don’t make you feel like you want to be made love to? Like you want my hands on your body, my lips on yours?”

She shook her head, her lips clamping tight as she swallowed.

“Prove it,” he said, touching his lips lightly to hers. “Prove you’re not afraid.”

His lips slid along hers once more.

“How?” she breathed against him.

“Kiss me. Just this once, Tate, kiss me.”

ARTIST C. ARTHUR

was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, where she currently resides with her husband and three children. An active imagination and a love for reading encouraged her to begin writing in high school, and she hasn’t stopped since.

Determined to bring a new edge to romance, she continues to develop intriguing plots, racy characters and fresh dialogue—thus keeping readers on their toes! Visit her website at www.acarthur.net.

Surrender to a Donovan

A.C. ARTHUR

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

You’ve already met Dion of the Miami Donovans, and now you’ll get to see his younger brother fall in love.

Sean is the younger brother, the more serious and business-minded Donovan, with a heart of gold that he’s been waiting to share with the right woman. Enter Tate Dennison, a single mother with a troubled past. I love writing stories with children because I feel they add another dimension to what’s emotionally at stake when two people fall in love. Little Briana weaves an impenetrable knot around Sean’s heart from the start, making it hard for Tate to resist him.

I hope you’ll enjoy this segment of the Donovans.

Happy reading,

AC

This book is dedicated to all the readers who have taken the Donovan family into your hearts. I am so grateful to you for allowing me to share these stories.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Prologue

He never dreamed, at least not this vividly. But he felt everything as if she were rubbing her hands over his skin right at this very moment. He tasted the sweetness of her lips on his and caught himself puckering with the thought.

With a groan and a sigh, Sean tossed in bed, flopping over on his back, one arm on his bare chest, the other on the pillow above his head. Okay, it was a dream. He’d awakened and now it was over. It was still night, so he closed his eyes once more and prayed that, whoever she was, the temptress did not invade the remainder of his rest....

She eased her way toward him, on her hands and knees. His body was on full alert. She did not speak, didn’t really have to. Sean knew what she wanted, because he wanted the same thing. He reached for her, held her hips as she pushed one leg over to straddle him. Her breasts were full and heavy as he palmed them, her sighs music to his ears as she arched to his touch. When she came down over him, her center sucking his arousal deep, deep inside, he let out a low moan.

She moved on top of him, creating a rhythm that brushed along his body like fine silk. His hips joined in as if this were their routine. She rode him hard, with an uninhibited desire that pushed him closer to the brink. And when she let her head fall back, her mouth open as a scream of pleasure echoed through the room, Sean felt his own release brewing. With rapid pumps, he emptied himself into her.

As she collapsed onto his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, he felt like he’d lost something else to her as well.

The next time his eyes opened it was morning, his body was covered in sweat, and his heart was beating frantically in his chest.

In the shower he berated himself for having a schoolboy’s sex dream. Dressing for work, he vowed to make more time in his busy life for women. Either that or he’d end up in the nuthouse like his great uncle Javier, who died with one of the mental hospital’s nurses on top of him.

Chapter 1

Numbers didn’t lie.

Sean Donovan had learned that lesson early in life—somewhere around third grade, when he thought he could change the grade on his report card from a 75 to a 95. His father, Bruce Donovan, had been skeptical about the one grade on the report card that had been made in blue ink versus the remaining ones in black ink. The conference with his teacher had sealed Sean’s fate, as Mr. Crutcheon had meticulously added up every one of Sean’s test grades in his class. Then he divided and came up with the average grade. It was a 75.

“Numbers don’t lie, son,” his father had said to him with his solemn, you’re-in-big-trouble voice.

Those three words had stuck with him all his life, and Sean had never tried anything as deceitful as that again. Luckily for him, his mother, Janean, had selected his punishment instead of his father. Janean’s mind leaned more toward the manual labor type of punishment, while Bruce was standing stern on the corporal punishment ladder. It was his older brother, Dion, who was usually on the receiving end of their dad’s punishment. Sean had never envied his big brother that.

As a Donovan, Sean was a descendent of men who began their fortune in oil refineries and then branched out into such areas as the military, casino ownership, real estate, mass media, and the one that had given the family name worldwide attention—philanthropy. His father was one of six brothers whose families stretched across the United States, and their father came from a family of four brothers and two sisters. To put it mildly, the Donovans were deep. They were well-known and respected. Which Sean sometimes thought of as a blessing and a curse.

While he loved his job as managing editor at Infinity magazine, a division of DNT, the Donovan Multimedia Network, there were days when he wished he would have done something else with his life. He’d gone to Columbia, his father’s alma mater, and had majored in English with a minor in finance—even though he really had a deep love of history. That love probably wouldn’t have lasted into a career, but sometimes, actually—days like today—he wondered what if.

Sean’s office at Infinity was huge, located on the corner of the third floor of the Excalibur Business Center, which was owned by DNT. The walls were a rich mahogany color with chocolate-tone carpet lining the floors. The furniture was heavy and gave the room an old law firm feel. It could be considered somber and professional. The somber part would not be an exaggeration.

Sean held a piece of paper in one hand, while his finger skimmed down a column of numbers on another sheet that lay on the desk. Numbers do not lie, he said to himself once more.

Infinity was picking up major distribution numbers, which was a good thing. But so was Onyx, Infinity’s rival magazine.

Onyx was owned by Sabine Ravenell, and it provided entertainment news about African American celebrities. Just last year they’d begun an up-and-coming segment that boosted their sales. Now, they were neck and neck with Infinity.

Actually, he thought, dropping the paper onto his desk and dragging his hands down his face, Infinity still had a lead on Onyx. But not big enough to suit Sean’s standards.

“Bad news, huh?” Dion Donovan said, coming into Sean’s office and closing the door behind him.

Sean had been so deep in concentration that he hadn’t even heard the door open. Then again, his older brother rarely knocked on his door anyway, and Gayle, Sean’s assistant, had long since stopped announcing him. He never gave her time to do so before barging into the office.

“Let’s just say it’s not good,” Sean replied, sitting back in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing here so late?” A glance at the clock on his desk told him it was past seven.

“Come on, man. You know I don’t punch a clock around here.” Dion had taken a seat, propping one ankle up on his knee and sitting back in the chair.

He looked a lot like their father, with his tall stature and serious dark eyes. But that’s where the similarities ended. Dion was the epitome of good looks. He was every girl’s fantasy, with his broad, sculpted body and chiseled face. In fact, Dion was considered the gorgeous brother, while Sean had succumbed to the comments that he should be a cover model with his so-called quiet and sophisticated good looks. He didn’t much care for those comments. And to be frank, the attention made him uncomfortable. Dion, on the other hand, was more than content with all the fanfare his looks garnered.

“You don’t punch a clock, but you’ve got a beautiful woman at home waiting for you. That should be enough to have you running for the elevator at closing time.”

Three months ago, Dion had announced that he was in love with Lyra Anderson, the woman who had grown up with them. One month after that, Dion and Lyra were married in an intimate ceremony at the Big House—Sean and Dion’s parents’ house in Key Biscayne, Florida.

To Sean, Lyra was his little sister, and she had been since the day his mother had brought her home saying she was spending the night. Lyra’s mother, who had just recently died in a car accident, had been on drugs and couldn’t properly care for Lyra. So Janean Donovan had done the honors. But for Dion, Lyra had not been a little sister—she’d been more like the other half to his whole. Sean could see that in his brother’s eyes each time he mentioned Lyra.

“She’s working late, too. I’m picking her up in half an hour and then we’re going out to dinner. You want to join us?”

Sean traced a finger along his chin. He needed to shave, he thought as he felt the usually lightly trimmed hair there. “Last time I checked, being a third wheel was no fun.”

“You’re not a third wheel. You’re family. Plus, we can talk about what’s bothering you.”

He shook his head. “Nothing but the usual. Trying to keep a step ahead of Onyx.”

“Yeah? Is Ravenell still riding you about selling?”

He nodded. “She is.”

“But she doesn’t call me or Dad,” Dion said, leaning back to let his finger run against his chin as well.

To an outsider, the two similar men rubbing their goatees in the same way might have been strange. To them, it was the norm. Sean and Dion were very close, as were the other members of the Donovan family that resided in Miami with them. It was no wonder they had similar mannerisms when they spent so much time together.

Sean shrugged. “I don’t know what’s in her head.”

Dion chuckled.

“What?” Sean asked quizzically. “Private joke?”

“Man, how can you know so much about numbers and sales and distribution and know absolutely nothing about females?”

“I know that she’s working my nerves by constantly asking to buy Infinity. I’ve told her a million times we’re not interested in selling.”

“She keeps asking you because she’s got a thing for you,” Dion said, his eyebrows hitching up and down as if he were waiting for Sean to catch on.

When Dion’s mind wasn’t on Infinity, it was most likely on sleeping with women. Or at least, that had been the case before Lyra returned from L.A.

And now that Sean knew what his brother was thinking, he had to frown. “Then I’d hate to break the bad news to her,” he said. “Ravenell is not my type.”

Dion laughed so hard Sean thought he would fall out of the chair. Sabine Ravenell was likely in her early forties, but that was a modest guess on his part. In her younger years she’d been an actress and had a couple of adult movies that garnered her some fame. This put her name on the charts and built her fan base, which consisted mainly of college boys looking for the next best thing to a Playboy magazine to keep them company at night. Now, she still had the vivacious and bawdy attitude of a woman of her background. Did she have a thing for Sean? Probably. Did he give a damn? Of course not!

“Right,” Dion said, still trying to regain his composure.

“But her sales are looking good,” he said contemplatively.

“How’d you get your hands on her sales figures?”

It was Sean’s turn to smile now. “I have my connections.”

Dion nodded. “Yeah, I guess the same way she seems to know what’s going on in our camp. Listen, the real reason I stopped by was to ask if you’ve had a chance to speak to Parker.”

Parker Donovan was their cousin, son of Reginald and Carolyn. Uncle Reginald had always had his hands more into DNT, so it made sense that his sons would follow in his footsteps. Parker did a lot of scouting for new programs, while Savian focused on upcoming business ventures and spotlighting entrepreneurs. Regan, the youngest of Uncle Reginald’s children, and the only girl, worked at Infinity, heading up the fashion and entertainment portions of the magazine. She, along with Camille, who was married to Adam Donovan of the Las Vegas branch of the family, were currently developing a reality TV show that would center around the life of a fashion designer. Meanwhile, under Savian’s watchful eye, the men were charged with developing a show that would transform Infinity magazine’s print success to television.

“I had a message from him when I came back from lunch, but I haven’t had a chance to call him back.”

“You actually took a lunch?” Dion asked with another raise of his brows.

Sean was getting tired of his brother’s assumptions and innuendos. “What does Parker want? Since you’re in here at this time of night asking about him, it must be important.”

“He wants to talk to you about adding the relationship column to the magazine show. Says the online version is getting lots of traffic.”

That was true. Sean had seen that for the past three months there had been a rise in the mail coming in for the “Ask Jenny” column. Then eight weeks ago, after their monthly meeting, he’d decided to expand the column from its quarter page to a full page to see what would happen. The change had gone over well.

“There’s a good following there. Do you read the column?” Sean was curious, since his brother usually kept his finger on every inch of the magazine. As editor-in-chief of Infinity, it was his job to know everything that went into the magazine as well as the feedback they received.

“I’ve read it. Jenny sounds like she’s been through a lot—knows the ropes,” Dion said with a slight chuckle. “It’s just what women in the twenty-five to thirty-five demographic are looking for. Honest and brash.”

Sean was nodding as he listened to his brother, thinking about the last “Ask Jenny” column he’d read recently. “Real,” he said. “That’s the tone I picked up when I read it. She sounds like a real woman, with real issues of her own.”

“Right. So let’s think about how that might play out on television. Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz have shows—why shouldn’t we look into putting our own relationship guru out there?”

“It definitely has merit,” Sean agreed.

“Good,” Dion said, standing. “So I’ll tell Parker you’re going to talk to her, and we’ll met up later this week to see if it’s something to really look into.”

“Wait a minute. I’m going to talk to who?”

“Jenny, or whatever her name is that writes the column. Is it really Jenny?” Dion asked with a quizzical look on his face. “That’s probably not smart to have her real name out there.”

Sean was standing now, pulling his suit jacket from the back of his chair and slipping his arms inside. “No, her name’s not Jenny. And why aren’t you or Parker talking to her? Better yet, why not just call her into a meeting with all of us?”

Dion was at the door when he turned to give Sean an appeasing look. “She’s not going to bite you, Sean. You know, if you weren’t my brother, I might start to question this aversion you have to women.”

Sean tossed a teasing jab at his brother, his fist landing on Dion’s biceps. “You know better,” he said. “I can talk to women just fine. I do it on a daily basis.”

“Yeah, but those women aren’t analyzing the good, bad and ugly truths about men. Good luck with that one,” he said, then walked through the door.

“Man, I’m a Donovan,” Sean said, following his brother out to the elevators. “I don’t need luck.”

Chapter 2

Dear Jenny,

I’m confused. I am a 32-year-old woman with two sons living with my 35-year-old boyfriend, who has three children from a previous relationship that also live with us. I work a full-time job and take care of the house and the children. My boyfriend is an entrepreneur—trying to open his own barber shop. We’ve been together for ten years.

I want to get married. He doesn’t understand why what we have is not enough. I want commitment and love and stability for our family. Especially since I don’t mind taking care of his kids as well as the ones we share together. I’m not even complaining about having to pay the bulk of our household bills myself. I am a Christian and have been taking all our kids to church for years, but my boyfriend never comes with us.

There is this life I want with a family and a household built on Christian love and respect. Then there’s this feeling that I’m still shacking up, and as my girlfriends keep reminding me, “settling” for less because he obviously does not want to commit to me.

Last Valentine’s Day my boyfriend proposed. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to show everyone the diamond ring he gave me. I immediately went out and bought wedding books and started writing down my plans for the wedding. But when I asked him about setting a date he said he wanted to wait. It’s been more than a year, and we’re still waiting. Problem is, I don’t know what we’re waiting for.

Can you help?

In love and confused.

Tate Dennison read the letter for the second time. That was her process—Nelia, the editorial assistant on this floor, received the mail and routed each piece to whichever staff writer they went to. The second floor of the Excalibur Building was dedicated to the writing staff of Infinity magazine. Once Nelia had gone through the mail, she brought Tate her stack. Tate then separated the letters into two piles—male and female questions—because she needed a different type of focus when answering each letter.

Was this the way she thought she’d be using the journalism degree she’d received from Morgan State University in Maryland? Of course not, but it paid the bills.

It was nearing five-thirty in the afternoon and already she’d answered four letters, attended a staff writers’ meeting and let the graphics director talk her ear off for about an hour. The one thing she hadn’t done was answer her cell phone again. It had started ringing around noon and continued every half hour. The first couple of times she’d answered the unknown number, but then she grew tired of the hang-ups and turned the ringer to vibrate. Still, she’d kept an eye on the ringing each time, just to be sure it wasn’t the day care calling about her daughter.

To say she was tired would have been an understatement. But she was here trying to get more work done. Recently, the magazine had begun printing ten responses in her column per month. But Tate liked to be ahead of the game. She’d learned there was no other way to be.

Because she’d been sitting so long, her feet had started to go numb, so Tate walked to the end of her small office. It probably used to be a closet, she thought, as she skirted around the desk that took up the bulk of her space. Immediately she was face-to-face with the bookshelf that served as an organizer and held all her mail, past columns, along with copies of the letters she’d responded to and pictures of her inspiration squeezed in for good measure.

Her daughter, Briana Suray Dennison, stared back at her with plump cheeks and a tiny toothed grin. She was Tate’s star and moon, the reason she’d taken this job and lived in Miami. Briana was basically Tate’s reason for living at all. Three months ago, she’d turned two, and her baby chatter was becoming real words like mama and no. Tate rubbed a finger over the picture, touching the chubby cheeks she loved to kiss and nuzzle. She loved her daughter’s smile and the simply joyous look she always had in her eyes. It never failed to make Tate’s heart ache.

They were supposed to be a family living happily ever after. And here she was in another state, thousands of miles away from the only family she had left in Maryland. All because of him. No, she corrected herself, moving here and starting over had been her decision. Leaving their family high and dry had been Patrick’s. She wouldn’t take the blame for what wasn’t her fault.

She’d loved him enough to alienate herself from her relatives because they didn’t care for him. Had loved him enough to marry him and have his baby. And he’d used her enough to take their savings and all the furniture in their house. Now, nine months after his betrayal, she knew Patrick had never loved her. Their three-year marriage had been a complete lie. And that was fine. She’d resigned herself to that fact, even if Briana’s smile reminded her of it every day.

Another reminder of the mess her marriage had turned out to be was writing this damned column. Each morning she came in to another stack of mail, another stack of someone else’s relationship problems. And she was the one charged with helping them, when she hadn’t been bright enough to see the signs of her own union falling apart. If that wasn’t ironic, she didn’t know what was.

“Okay, get it together, Dennison,” she berated herself. Taking a deep breath, she thought about the letter she’d just read for the second time, about the circumstances and the issues she needed to address.

There were a few. For instance, why was “In love and confused” the only one with gainful employment in this household? What she needed to do was make this boyfriend of hers get a job. “A real job at that,” she said aloud and then chuckled and moved on to the next issue.

“Excuse me?”

The deep male voice startled her, and Tate jumped, backed up and slammed her leg into the side of her desk.

“Damn it!” she swore, leaning over to rub her leg and looking up just as the owner of the voice had moved in to catch her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, touching a hand lightly to her shoulder and leaning over slightly to look at the leg she was rubbing.

The full skirt she had on today was a thin paisley material, and it fell between her legs as she rubbed. She realized with a start how much of her thigh she was actually showing and hurriedly pulled it down.

“I’m fine,” she said, clearing her throat. “Just fine. Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. Then he took a step back, stood straight, his eyes trained directly on her.

Tate prayed a big gaping hole would open in the middle of this tiny office floor and swallow her up. Embarrassment spread across her cheeks and down her neck in a heated rush. “How can I help you, Mr. Donovan?”

Yes, she told herself in a stern voice, this was Sean Donovan, the boss, or at least one of the bosses. Tate knew that the Donovans owned Infinity and several other media ventures in the Miami area. She’d done her research when she’d applied for the position. He was the younger of the two brothers, the more serious and intense one. Dion was the tall and dangerously handsome one.

For a minute or two—she couldn’t really count right now, but she knew that it seemed like a really long time—he stared at her without speaking.

“Sir?” she prompted, her palms starting to sweat. It was a horrid nervous habit she had. Either her hands sweated or she tripped over her words as if her mind had drawn a blank or her tongue had suddenly become too big for her mouth.

“Call me Sean,” he said. If it were possible, his voice sounded even deeper than it had just seconds ago. “And you’re Mrs. Dennison?”

“Yes, I’m Ms. Dennison.” She clapped her lips shut, appalled that she’d actually stressed the Ms. “I’m Tate,” she said in an effort to correct herself.

“You write the ‘Ask Jenny’ column?”

She nodded. “I do.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets and began looking around her tiny office. He wore a slate-gray suit and a crisp white shirt with an aqua-blue tie. The colors seemed to highlight the buttery tone of his complexion. His head was completely bald, his goatee, full and trim around the bottom half of his face. He was startlingly fine up close, and Tate had to gulp to keep from drooling.

When he stopped looking he turned to her again. Tate shifted from one foot to the other. His stare was intense, as if he were looking straight through to her soul. Her heart hammered, and the palms of her hands sweated profusely.

“Forgive me for staring,” he finally said. He looked away only because he was shaking his head. Then his eyes, the warm brown orbs, seemed to zoom right back in on her. “I just pictured the writer of this column a little differently.”

A ping of offense vibrated through Tate’s chest, and she stood a bit straighter, staring at him with a little more heat than she had been. “I don’t understand your meaning.”

“I thought you’d be older,” he said abruptly.

“Well, I thought you’d be more professional,” she said.

Again her lips clamped shut. Tate needed this job, desperately. But she wasn’t about to be disrespected for the sake of a paycheck.

His hands came out of his pockets and went up into the air as if she’d been trying to stick him up.

“My fault,” he said. There was a twinkle in his eyes, sort of like they were smiling at her. Because his mouth certainly was not. He had the same quizzical expression he’d had when he came in. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Just that from reading the column and the advice provided, I assumed the writer was a more mature, experienced woman.”

“I assure you, Mr. Donovan, I’m very mature. And experience doesn’t make up for common sense. I graduated third in my class with a degree in journalism. I minored in English and have worked on two widely distributed newspapers before coming to Infinity. Is there a problem with my work?”

He was shaking his head before she gave him a chance to answer. “Absolutely not. In fact, I was coming to get a feel for the possibilities.”

As he spoke he took a step closer to her desk. Now, he didn’t look as imposing as he had seconds ago when he’d made his “older” remark. Still, Tate’s thighs began to quiver, and her heart beat a quick rhythm in her chest. She flared her fingers, made a move that she hoped seemed natural and wiped her palms on her skirt. “What kind of possibilities?”

“Maybe we can discuss them over dinner,” he said, his fingers touching the edge of her desk as he leaned forward slightly.

He was a very tall man. And Tate considered herself tall for a woman, at five feet nine inches. Even so, she had to look up at him, into those eyes that seemed so deep and so assessing.

“No,” she snapped. “I can’t go to dinner with you.” She spoke quickly and moved her arms for some unexplainable reason. The action sent her hands flailing until one smacked into a picture frame on her desk, sending it toppling over.

Of course it would fall right in front of him, and of course he’d pick it up and look at it instead of just setting it upright. Or just leaving it alone and getting out of her office.

“Who’s this?” he asked, examining the picture.

Now she was flustered and offended all over again, even though she’d never really calmed down. He’d asked the question as if he deserved an answer. He was her boss, not her man. She took one deep inhale and slowly released the exhale. Okay, she was overreacting. He was only asking a question. Actually, he was asking a lot of questions, but he was the boss, so he could do that.

“It’s my daughter,” she said, reaching for the picture. It took everything in her not to snatch it from him.

“She’s cute. How old is she?”

He didn’t give her the picture.

“Two.”

He looked up at her, one eyebrow arching as he asked, “And you’re not married?”

“You don’t have to be married to have a baby. But for the record, yes, I was married to her father when she was born. Now, I’m not.” There, he could go now. She touched the edge of the frame in an effort to take it from him.

He held firm.

“So you’re divorced?”

“Yes. I mean, almost. I mean, was there something I could do for you, Mr. Donovan?” She snatched the picture from him and wasn’t really sure she cared what he thought at that moment.

“You can call me Sean. I’ll let you get home to your daughter. But I’d like to talk to you about the column. I’ll have my secretary call you with some available times for us to meet.”

He’d already stepped back from her desk and was headed to the door when she said, “That’s fine.”

Her words stopped him, and he turned back to look at her. “Yes, that’s very fine,” was his parting reply.

Tate dropped into her chair, clutching the picture of Briana to her chest and let out another deep breath. That was a tension-filled meeting. A confusing meeting. A “damn-oh-damn, that man is too damned fine” meeting.

Chapter 3

They’d tried mashed potatoes for dinner. That had gone over well, Tate thought with a smirk. At two years old, Briana already had plenty of personality. And along with that personality came a pickiness with foods. Tate had mistakenly assumed that any type of baby food would do as long as she didn’t have an allergic reaction to anything. She was sadly mistaken.

Briana did not like any of the green vegetables. The result was green splatters all over the kitchen floor, the high chair and whatever Tate was wearing that day. Miraculously, Briana herself remained untouched by the ill-smelling guck. Tonight Tate had tried another tactic—she’d whipped up some homemade mashed potatoes and mixed them with the ingredients from her mother’s chicken soup recipe. Briana wasn’t a fan of the broth, so Tate’s plan was to see if she’d eat the chicken and vegetables if they were submersed in another texture. The first few spoonfuls had gone okay, so Tate had relaxed and let herself enjoy the bonding time with her daughter.

Then Briana made a face that originally Tate thought was funny but soon became concerned about. She looked like she wanted to cry but couldn’t quite get it out. Afraid she might be choking, Tate hurriedly scooped her out of the high chair and began patting her back. Maybe her windpipe had been clogged. But as soon as Tate began patting Briana’s back, there was an explosion—both from her mouth and inside her diaper. It had taken the last hour and a half to clean all of Briana and put her to bed and clean the kitchen.

Now Tate was ready for some “me time.” Only there was nothing to do. She’d thought of running a hot bath and soaking with a good book to read, but the thought of going back into the bathroom made her temples throb. Opting for a quick shower instead, she entered her bedroom and was about to switch on the television when something caught her eye. Tate looked toward the two windows on the side of the room. The blinds were pulled up to the halfway mark, and navy blue valances that matched the comforter on her bed covered the top.

Before she could stop herself, Tate yelped at the sight of a masked face pressed against the window. Moving quickly to her nightstand, she picked up the softball bat she kept against the wall between the stand and the bed. She’d played second base in high school and now gripped the bat in her hands as if she were ready to hit a home run. Nervous legs carried her closer to the windows, but as she approached she felt a tingle of relief. There was no one there. Hurriedly, she pushed the blinds farther upward to check the locks on each window and then pulled on the blind strings until they were completely unwound and the edges were dangling on the floor. She could do without sunlight tomorrow morning.

With a sigh and a nervous chuckle, she berated herself for overreacting. As tired as she was, she could have seen sheep running around her room. She went to the television and turned it on.

Tate had only been in Miami for six months and had just recently gone over to the dark side and ordered cable. So far, so good.

She climbed into the full-sized bed she’d finally purchased after sleeping on a futon for the first five months of her time here. The first thing that caught her eye on the screen was that vaguely transparent DNT logo at the bottom left of the screen. Donovan Network Television.

“Can’t get away from them, huh?” she said fluffing her pillows and positioning them so she could sit up and watch television until her eyes demanded she sleep.

Tate never slept well, hadn’t since the last night Patrick was with her. She convinced herself it was because she was in a strange town and didn’t know anybody. What if Briana cried out in the middle of the night? She had a baby monitor in her bedroom, and the transmitter was hooked up in Briana’s room. Still, she couldn’t shake the edgy feeling of being in a new place.

She had no idea what she was watching on television, but she didn’t change the channel. The program went to a commercial with a gorgeous woman wearing a stunning dress. She was on a fashion runway, and then the camera panned over to the guests of the fashion show and a smiling Regan Donovan. Tate knew her from work. Regan was the only female Donovan working at the magazine. She was as pretty as the model, especially when she smiled, which she was doing right now as she announced a new show coming to DNT.

“With photography by Lyra Donovan and judging by Camille Davis Donovan of CK Davis Designs, one lucky woman’s dreams will come true. The Fashionista promises to bring you everything you’re looking for in reality television—beautiful women, great clothes, sexy men and drama, drama, drama!”

Music followed Regan’s pitch with the date and time of the show’s kickoff running across the bottom of the screen.

Tate smiled, wondering just how it would feel to have her own dreams come true. Growing up she’d dreamed of going to college, getting a good job as a writer and having a family. It wasn’t much, but it was her dream. And once upon a time she’d had it.

Then she didn’t.

And that pissed her off. She snapped the television off and plopped down in the bed, pulling the sheets up over her shoulder. But when Tate closed her eyes, she didn’t see the normal memories from her past. The usual aching in her chest at what had been lost or what had never been hers in the first place wasn’t there. All of that was replaced by one set of intense brown eyes, one solemn look and the name of one man: Sean Donovan.

* * *

A glass of red wine in hand, Sean sat in a lounge chair watching the city skyline at sunset. He was on the wraparound patio of his penthouse condo in downtown Miami’s Marina Blue. After taking a sip from his glass, he set it on the arm of the chair and could almost hear his mother scolding him. There were two things about Janean Donovan that were a definite: she loved her family fiercely, and she demanded respect of people and their belongings, which she saw as blessings from the good Lord. The latter were her exact words.

The fabric was some type of leather, but not really leather. And that was on purpose, even though for the price he paid, Sean couldn’t figure out why. All he knew was that his mother had picked out the charcoal-gray set, which consisted of a six-section sofa and a solo chair and ottoman. The color complemented the smooth cement finish of the patio and its four-foot walls. The tinted glass doors that lead to this outside oasis were in a dark gray tone as well.

Admittedly, he loved this space. It was perhaps his favorite of the entire condo because it was so peaceful. He could sit out here and actually hear himself think. Or he could sit out here and hear absolutely nothing because it was so relaxing. The inside of the house wasn’t his absolute favorite. Not because of the décor, because again, Janean had made sure he had the best designer in Miami. And while his mother had tried to make a lot of the decisions for him, she allowed herself to be nudged when he was really adamant about something. He was her youngest child, so it had been a little harder for her to let go of him when he’d moved out. Even though that was every bit of five years ago.

Tonight his mood was somber, which wasn’t abnormal for Sean. He was the quieter of Bruce Donovan’s sons, the reserved and serious one. It was true that he preferred to be alone the majority of the time, but there were times, more lately than he cared to admit, that he craved company. He’d turned thirty last year and since that time had been seriously thinking about his future.

Along those lines, work had been really on his mind lately. Infinity was his baby. It was his father’s creation, and Dion ran the magazine with his smooth expertise. But this magazine meant something to Sean he doubted his family could ever imagine. He was in control of distribution and the daily supervision of the writing staff. He kept a close eye on their bottom line, making sure they were always operating in the black. This job was his purpose in life, the one he’d seemed born into. His father and his brother were counting on him to do his very best at all times. And so that’s what he tried to do.

But Sabine was moving in on them. Her distribution was way up, and her sales were getting dangerously close to Infinity’s. And she was trying to get close to him. Even though there was definitely no interest there. She was older than he was and carried it well, but her tone could become vicious in mere seconds, and she wasn’t worth his time.

Just like that, a mental picture of another woman appeared. She was about five feet five with a pretty caramel complexion and eyes that he presumed held every emotion she felt at any given time. She’d been flustered when he was there, then a tad annoyed. Tate Dennison was definitely not what he’d pictured when he’d thought of the “Ask Jenny” column. She was too damned pretty to be holed up in that small office all day answering questions about someone else’s relationship problems. She should be out enjoying a fulfilling relationship of her own.

Then he’d seen the picture of her daughter and a few things had clicked into place. What he hadn’t seen was a wedding ring on her finger, and that added to his assessment of her. Single mother, bitter female, believes she knows the secret behind every man and is out to expose them.

He could find that unappealing, but he didn’t. He could be just a little bit angry at the woman who took her time to write detailed articles on why a woman should ditch a man that wasn’t treating her right. Yet, he found himself more than a little intrigued.

The doorbell rang, which Sean would normally consider a distraction. Tonight, however, he thought it might actually be more like a sign that he should stop thinking about his mysterious columnist.

Pulling the patio doors closed behind him, he took his glass of wine with him as he walked through the living room and down the steps to the foyer. When he finally opened the door, it wasn’t a huge surprise to see his cousin Parker. In addition to the fact that he lived about ten minutes from Sean, Parker was a free spirit. He worked hard and played even harder, and he never stayed still long enough to grow entanglements—as some might call women with definite ideas of what they wanted from a man.

“What’s up, man? You didn’t return my call,” Parker said as he entered.

“Right, my apologies. You flying solo tonight?” Sean asked as he closed the door and followed his cousin to the kitchen.

Parker had the appetite of an entire football team, or at least that’s what they’d all thought since they were kids, when he’d been able to eat more than all of them combined.

“Nah, I’m heading to pick up this new lady.”

Sean’s kitchen was straight down the foyer, past the steps to the left and the bathroom and first floor bedroom to the right. The walls were painted a muted beige while the contemporary look of cherrywood cabinets and stainless-steel appliances added a bit of splash.

Parker was already poking his head into the Sub-Zero refrigerator.

“Jaydon seems to think I should meet this girl.”

Sean pulled out a chair and sat at the island watching his cousin pull out a beer and a piece of sweet potato pie left over from last Sunday’s family dinner at the Big House. That’s what they called his parents’ home in Key Biscayne. The entire family, or at least the Miami portion of the Donovans, usually gathered there on Sunday afternoons, after church, for dinner.

“Your ex-wife is setting you up now?” Sean asked with a chuckle.

Parker had already devoured half the pie. “Right? I was asking myself the same question. But apparently she’s some ex-model from Connecticut that was referred to DNM.”

“By whom? And what are we supposed to do with an ex-model?”

“Remember that guy Trent went into business with? What’s his name? Desdune, I think.”

Sean nodded. “Yeah, his family owns Lucien’s, those Creole restaurants. They just opened a new one in Orlando. Great food.”

“Right. Right. I remember them.”

Of course Parker remembered good food, Sean almost said.

“Well, they married into this other family from Bennett Communications. She’s the daughter, Adriana.”

While Parker emptied his beer, Sean tried to piece together everything his cousin had just said. Jaydon was Parker’s ex-wife. She ran Donovan Network Management, providing agents and talent scouts throughout the country. It still amazed Sean that his cousin, who was only a year older than he and two years younger than Dion, had been married and divorced before he’d turned thirty—a subject no one was allowed to talk about beyond the fact that the two remained friends and Jaydon still worked for them. Now, at thirty-two, Parker was a bachelor in great demand.

“I still don’t get why Jaydon’s setting you up on dates.”

“I don’t know, man. Women are crazy. She said something about maybe giving her a host job on the network. I don’t know. I’m going to check her out tonight to see if she’s got any potential.”

Sean leaned back in the chair. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Savian’s asking when we’re going to be ready to propose our idea for the magazine show. I think we’re solid, but there’s another part of the magazine we should include,” Parker said, leaning over the island to pull a napkin from the stainless-steel holder.

“I know. Dion told me you were asking about our ‘Ask Jenny’ columnist.”

Parker slammed a hand on the marble countertop. “Right. You know how many hits that column is getting online? More than any other page of the magazine. People seem desperate for the kind of help she’s dishing out.”

Sean nodded. He couldn’t argue with the facts.

“I hope she’s not some old chick, speaking from a past of broken hearts. That’s not going to be a good visual.”

“She’s not old,” Sean said.

“Good. Is she married? That’ll make her seem more stable, like she’s achieved the dream.”

He shook his head. “She’s divorced. She has a kid though.”

Parker looked like he was contemplating that fact. “We don’t have to broadcast that.”

“I just don’t know,” Sean said, even though he was not really sure what his objection to this idea was.

“Look, we’ve got to boost ratings. Reality shows are kicking butt all over the networks. We’ve got to jump in while the water’s still clear.”

“We can’t build our name by imitating others,” he said seriously. A part of the reason why the Donovan media conglomerate succeeded was by being innovative and attentive to detail. Rushing headlong into some trend could backfire on them.”

“And we won’t survive unless we’re willing to change with the times.” Parker held up his hand to stop whatever Sean was getting ready to say. “Just give it some thought. Read the column yourself and get a feel for what we can do. And I’d love to meet with the columnist, see if she’s got some thoughts on the idea.”

“I’ll check it out,” Sean said. It was his job to do just that, regardless of what a surprise Ms. Tate Dennison had been to him.

“Aren’t you going to be late for your date?” he asked Parker when he noted his cousin was once again in his refrigerator.

With a chuckle, Parker took an apple. “I’m meeting her just down the street at the Four Seasons.”

“You’re heading to the Four Seasons for dinner and you’re in here raiding my fridge like you’re starving?”

Parker laughed.

“You always shop like you’ve got a house full of kids in here. It’s either raid your fridge or drive all the way to the Big House to raid your mom’s.”

“What about your mom’s fridge? Aunt Carol loves to cook,” Sean said, as they once again made their way down the foyer toward the door.

Parker groaned. “She also loves to nag me about my past mistakes and when I’m going to fix everything by remarrying and having some kids.”

With a nod, Sean conceded to knowing exactly what Parker meant. Not that his mother was nagging him to remarry. However, Janean was definitely in the market for grandchildren. Even though Dion was now married to Lyra, there was no talk of them having children yet. Which left the attention centered firmly on Sean.

“Then mi casa es su casa,” Sean said with a smack on his cousin’s back and a chuckle.

“Right. Call me tomorrow and we’ll talk more about your columnist.”

As Sean closed the door, he couldn’t help but think of Tate Dennison as just that—his columnist. His. Shaking his head, he went back into the kitchen to find himself some dinner.

Chapter 4

She was fussing for nothing. He wouldn’t come to her office twice in one week. That presumption was based on the fact that up until yesterday, he hadn’t been to her office in the three months she’d worked there.

It didn’t matter that she now thought her dress was too tight and too short. In the mirror behind her bedroom door it had looked perfectly fine. The black bolero jacket made the white-and-black printed dress look more professional. The wide yellow belt at her waist gave it a cheerful edge. On her feet were black sandals with three-and-a-half-inch heels and straps up to the ankle. They were office attire, just as her dress was, even though it only flirted against her kneecaps.

Her clothes weren’t a big deal, she told herself again. She wasn’t in the market for a man and most definitely not a Donovan. Not that she didn’t think she deserved a good man, but Tate was just tired of the game. Boy meets girl. They go out and both try to impress each other with lies and posturing. They get married, and they have a huge, beautiful ceremony that they will likely be paying off for years after the wedding. Then come the babies and the monotony. Inevitably one would get tired of the other and the infidelities would begin. It was like one big circle that adults continuously ran through. But not her, not again.

Sean Donovan had come to her office for something yesterday, although he had never really said what. That meant he was liable to come back. She sighed, sinking into her chair. Her computer was already on, but she hadn’t yet begun to work. The trip to the kitchenette where the coffee machines were had taken longer than she anticipated because her coworkers were very curious about her personal life as well as the personal life of every other employee in the office. It was damn tiring to stand there and listen to gossip she didn’t give two cents about. But if she walked away she’d be deemed antisocial, and the work environment she was just beginning to get used to would turn sour.

Now she was going through her emails as steam circled around the top of her coffee mug that read “No. 1 Mom.” She’d bought it for herself this past Mother’s Day. If nobody else was going to appreciate her, she would have to do it for herself. Hey, hadn’t she given that advice to a reader before? Probably, she thought with a smile.

Ten minutes into the emails, after she’d transferred a couple to the appropriate subfolders and deleted a few more, she came across one that made her catch her breath.

Need to speak with you about the column. Are you available today at 4:30?

No, was her immediate thought. Her mind screamed it over and over again. But her fingers—traitors that they were—had already begun typing her response.

Yes.

She hit Send and groaned. Evidently there was reason for her to worry about how the dress looked after all.

* * *

“If you sell me Infinity, I’ll keep the name and you can keep your job,” Sabine Ravenell said in her sultry voice.

Sean tried not to laugh at her and straightened his gray-and-latte Bulgari tie. He’d worn a suit the color of milk chocolate with shoes a darker shade of brown. At his wrists, gold cufflinks sparkled. Sean was a man of detail, whether in business or his personal appearance. He paid attention to everything and strived for the best, no matter what he did.

“I have no fear that my job’s in jeopardy,” he said simply. “Infinity is not for sale.”

Sabine crossed her legs. She wore a purple skirt, short, as usual. Her purple jacket fit her bodice tightly but not in a bad way. She was definitely an attractive woman. With her light complexion and curly black hair that hung past her shoulders, she looked extremely beautiful and intoxicatingly sexy.

Nevertheless, Sean still wasn’t interested. At all.

“Everything has a price,” she told him.

“I think you mean everyone has a price. In this case, that assumption would also be wrong.”

Her elbows were propped on the arms of the chair. She tilted her head and touched a finger to her chin. It was a practiced pose, probably designed to hit a man right in the gut with a serious punch of lust. Sean felt a mild tapping of desire but squashed it.

“Look, there’s no point in continuing with these discussions. The magazine is not for sale. And if it were, you’d be coming to the wrong man to make your deal.”

She waved her other hand, the one still stroking a finger over her chin. “Dion’s got his mind on other things,” she said dismissively.

Sean knew exactly what she was getting at. More than one tabloid had reported the downfall of Dion Donovan because he’d gotten married. But Sean knew better—his brother’s personality wasn’t tied to the playboy image the press had painted on him. So the only thing marrying Lyra had done was make him extremely happy.

“Dion’s mind is always here at Infinity. Don’t let the marriage fool you.”

Sabine threw her head back and laughed. Too hard and too loud, he thought.

“You Donovan boys are certainly a treat to do business with. Dion’s content to let you handle the business with me. Why are you complaining? Not ready to live up to the Donovan name? Can’t fill big brother’s shoes?”

That finger had traced a line from her chin, down her neck to the cleavage she boldly displayed. When she licked her lips and raised an eyebrow suggestively, Sean wanted to laugh again. She was certainly pulling out all the stops with this meeting. Which in itself was laughable, since this was the third time he’d met with her to decline her offer to buy Infinity. He wondered how many more times it would take before she finally got the hint.

“I can assure you, Ms. Ravenell, I’m very confident in my position.”

“And I’m very confident in mine,” was her reply. “We need to come to a meeting of the minds. This offer is too good to pass up.”

With that remark, she uncrossed her legs, leaving them open just enough so that—if he wanted to—he could see between her legs, but that was the last thing he wanted to get a glimpse of.

“The offer is too ludicrous to consider. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting.”

He was already standing to escort her out of his office. Enough was enough. Her come-on had long since passed the line of mildly flattering to borderline disgusting. He’d be embarrassed for her if he thought she in some way deserved even that much from him. But Sean knew Sabine’s game. He knew she played it well and with many. He wasn’t about to become her next victim, no matter how hard she tried.

“Think about it, Sean. Who knows, maybe I’ll even make you my partner. You’d have Dion’s job and more money and power than you know what to do with,” she told him as she stood, flipping her hair over her shoulder with another one of her practiced moves.

“I have a job. I have money. And power is overrated. The door’s that way,” he told her with a nod of his head.

He wasn’t even going to walk her out. She’d taken up enough of his time as it was with chatter that didn’t interest him one bit.

Besides, it was almost four-twenty-five. He’d asked Tate to meet him here at four-thirty. On his desk were her last three columns, two of which had received more than eighty thousand hits on the website. He didn’t have any more time to spare Sabine or her crazy offer.

When he was alone again he picked up a piece of paper and began to read. The title was “Stuck on Stupid.” He read the article, shaking his head at the man who took his girlfriend back even after she’d cheated on him with her ex-boyfriend…twice. She stole money from him, stole his credit cards and ran up the balances, and still, when she came knocking on his door again, crying that she loved him, he took her back.

Sean’s first impulse was to concede. “You are stuck on stupid, buddy.”

Tate’s answer was a little more diplomatic.

Dear SOS,

Being in love can sometimes be construed as being stupid, but that’s a misconception. I’m quoting the Bible here: “Love is patient. Love is kind.” Love is not selfish or hurtful or devious. Your girlfriend is all of the above. So my solution for you is that for just a few minutes out of your life, you’ll have to adopt some of those same traits. You’ll have to selfishly claim your feelings as being more important than hers. Then you’ll probably hurt her feelings when you tell her to leave. Devious is what she may call you when you file charges against her for stealing your credit cards. This may not come as easily to you as it obviously does to her, but it’s necessary.

He stopped reading when a knock sounded at his door. Leaving the papers on his desk, Sean stood. He straightened his tie and did a quick breath check before crossing the room to answer the door.

“Hello,” he said when she looked up at him.

“Hi,” she replied with a smile that totally took his breath away.

“Ah, come on in.” He cleared his throat after a few stalled seconds. “Have a seat.”

Closing the door, Sean watched her walk to the guest chair across from his desk. It was wrong, or at least it should have been, the way he watched the sway of her bottom in the fitted dress. Yesterday her dress had been more full and she’d been leaning over, so he couldn’t really get a good look at her body. Not that he had been trying to.

But today, this dress left no doubt in his mind that she was a very attractive woman. The heels she wore made her toned calves look almost succulent, while the bright belt at her waist gave her an hourglass shape. He needed to get behind his desk before making any further assessments or risk the possibility of a sexual harassment suit when she looked up and his thoughts were clearly betrayed through his growing erection.

She started talking the minute he sat down. “I’m not sure what this is about. I haven’t missed a deadline, have I?”

“No. Nothing like that,” he began, shaking his head as he gathered up the papers, stacking them neatly. “I’ve been reading some of your columns.”

She sat up straight and he noticed that he couldn’t see up her skirt, unlike with Sabine. Her hands were folded in her lap and she looked at him quizzically with those eyes. Deep brown eyes that made him want to ask how her day was, what she’d had for lunch, what she planned to have for dinner.

Sean cleared his throat once more and tried to reroute his thoughts. “You’re very insightful and tend to hit the mark with stunning accuracy without being too preachy. There’s a good tone to the column. I really like that,” he told her. “We really like that. And by ‘we,’ I mean upper management.”

She nodded as if following the conversation but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Her hair hung just past her shoulders, straight as an arrow and black as night, with honey-brown highlights. Yesterday, he remembered, it had a little curl to it. He blinked to keep from staring.

“As you know, we’re an affiliate of Donovan Network Television.”

Her head moved in another nod. Her hands didn’t move, weren’t shaking nervously, just sat perfectly still. She was patient; she’d waited for things before and was used to it, he surmised. Then he figured he’d just blurt it out, since the thought of making this woman wait wasn’t very appealing to him.

“We’re thinking of possibly adding a slot to an entertainment program that’s still in development. The slot would consist of you giving your relationship advice on air.”

Tate wanted to gasp. She wanted to ask him if he was serious or if he was sure he had the right person. Instead she cleared her throat and sat up even straighter. “You want the ‘Ask Jenny’ column to go live?” she asked, as panic and excitement fought for a prominent position inside her stomach.

“We think it would go over well. How would you feel about that?”

“What would be the format?” she asked over the lump in her throat. This was definitely not what she’d expected when she came to his office. Not at all.

“I don’t know. We haven’t really gotten that far in the planning. I wanted to see how you’d feel about doing a television show. I mean, obviously that’s not the job you applied for.”

“Obviously,” she said, then she smiled because she didn’t want him to think she was being sarcastic. “I mean, I have a degree in journalism, so I don’t know much about television.”

“So you like writing the column?”

She nodded. “I do. I’ve always loved writing.”

He sat back, watching her closely. Too closely for Tate’s comfort. But she wouldn’t show how nervous she was. She couldn’t afford to. It was her firm belief that once a man knew your weakness he’d exploit it, and you. As for Tate, she’d been there and done that.

“Do you enjoy giving advice to the lovelorn?”

It was a simple question. She shouldn’t have felt like he was really asking her something deeper, more personal. Yet, the way his calm, assessing eyes held her gaze, she couldn’t help but feel a little exposed.

“I like giving new insight into situations. Sometimes when you’re the one involved, you can’t see the truth or realize other alternatives to help you react to the truth. That’s what my advice provides, an alternative to the relationship they’re currently involved in.”

“But you believe in love?” he asked, still sitting back in his chair, his fingers rubbing over his goatee. “I mean, you’ve been in love before, so you’ve had some experience in the area?”

“Yes,” Tate answered, a little less enthusiastically than she’d been speaking before. “I have been in love.” Then, because she knew this line of questioning might be just a bit out of context, judging by the way he was still looking at her, she asked him, “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Donovan?”

Chapter 5

He was only minutely surprised by her question. Candor came easily to this woman. She was polished and intelligent and confident, all traits he admired in a woman.

The fact that she was extremely attractive hadn’t escaped him either. Before he’d known it, his questions had taken a personal edge, and his interest in her had gone just beyond what might be appropriate.

“I have never been in love with a woman,” he told her and wondered what it was about her that made it so easy to be honest.

She nodded as if that was the answer she’d expected. “It’s an adventure, I’ll tell you that,” she said lightly.

Her eyes said something totally different. The deep depths said it was also painful. Whoever she’d been in love with had hurt her, badly. That thought made Sean angry.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked. Her eyes widened as if she thought the question was sudden or surprising. Sean didn’t think it was either. Whatever he did or said came after much thought on his part. He’d been thinking about this woman since first seeing her yesterday afternoon. For Sean, that meant something.

“Ah, no,” she began after a few seconds of blinking and staring at him in awe. “I don’t think that would be appropriate, considering we work together.”

He smiled. “You’re not going to get into trouble. I’m the boss, remember?”

Her smile came easily, and deep dimples in both her cheeks twinkled at him. “That’s precisely why I said dinner would be inappropriate.”

He could do nothing but nod. Her response was logical and most likely one he would have used himself if a female at the office had come on to him. But this was different. He didn’t know why specifically, he just knew that it was.

She was looking at her watch when he thought to say something else in response, so he said instead, “Am I keeping you from another engagement? Another dinner date perhaps?”

It hadn’t been established whether she was involved with someone. He wanted to know the answer, but then again he didn’t.

“I need to pick my daughter up from day care,” was her reply.

Her daughter, right. He’d forgotten she had a child. “Then let’s go,” he said, standing from his desk and retrieving his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

She looked as if she were going to argue, then she stopped with a shrug and left the office.

* * *

The parking garage was accessed by taking an elevator to the lobby floor of the building and using an enclosed walkway. Tate always parked on the highest floor, afraid that the lower ones weren’t as protected from theft. Sean rode the elevator up to level four with her in silence, silence for which she was grateful.

There was so much going through her mind at the moment. His offer of a television show, his interest in her work, and, of course, him asking her out to dinner. Where had that come from? She had no clue. Before yesterday, she’d never seen this man in person. She’d heard of him and his family, of course, but she would have never guessed he’d heard of her in any capacity. Yes, her immediate supervisor seemed pleased with her work, and she’d assumed the growing number of letters signaled she was doing a good job. But she could never have imagined anything to the extent of this type of promotion. Get a grip, she told herself. Her life was a perfect example of how all good things did not necessarily have a positive outcome.

“My car’s this way,” she said when they stepped off the elevator.

Her voice echoed in the enclosed space, and she quickly closed her mouth. On the cement floor her heels clicked. Beside her Sean held what she thought were his own car keys. His brown suit hung over long, muscled limbs, and an intoxicating manly cologne tickled her nostrils. A better-looking specimen she had yet to see up close and personal, and a small part of her treasured the moment—even if it was a totally professional one.

“Nice car,” Sean said as they approached her midnight-blue Volvo.

She almost said she’d won it in the divorce settlement but figured that little tidbit of information was better kept a secret. “I like reliability,” she said.

He nodded. “I can relate to that. Where does your daughter go to day care?”

Retrieving her own set of keys, Tate initiated the automatic door locks and reached for the handle. “Little Darlings Day Care. It’s on Biscayne.”

She leaned into the car to place her purse and bag inside when she glimpsed the passenger-side window. “Damn it!” she cursed before remembering she wasn’t alone. Then on impulse she tried to right herself and banged her head on the interior roof of the car.

“Are you all right?” she could hear Sean asking from behind as his hands went to her hips.

She backed out of the car with Sean’s assistance. Her hand went to her now throbbing head. “Sorry. Yes, I’m fine. But my window is broken.”

“What window?”

She used her thumb to point toward the other side of her car as she started walking in that direction. Sean followed her and was once more privy to her cursing when she noted the back passenger window was also broken.

“Great. Just great,” she said, stepping on shattered glass.

Sean had pulled his cell phone from his pocket and was already talking to someone. Tate was lifting a hand to the door handle when she felt his strong fingers at her wrist.

“Don’t touch anything else. If it was a break-in, the police will need to dust for prints,” he told her.

“A break-in. Right,” she said. With a clutch in her chest, she leaned forward to look through the broken window.

Her gasp made Sean move in closer. “What’s wrong?”

With a hand to her throat, Tate said, “Briana’s car seat is gone. Who would break into a car to steal a baby’s car seat?”

“Come on,” Sean said, moving her away from the car. “Let’s stand over here and wait for the police.”

The police arrived in minutes and did what they called “processing the scene.” They took pictures and did something that would lift prints. Questions were fired at her left and right. “What’s missing?” “What time do you get to work?” “Do you get here the same time every day?” “Park in the same spot?” On and on and on it went until she wanted to scream.

She still needed to pick up Briana, and now her only mode of transportation was being detained. Sean insisted on having the windows fixed, and since she didn’t have the extra five hundred dollars—which was her insurance deductible—Tate didn’t refuse his offer. It was when he offered to take her to get Briana that she tensed a bit more.

“That’s not necessary. I can take a cab,” she told him.

He was already shaking his head. “You’re not taking a cab all the way down to Biscayne and then back to your house,” he said adamantly. “I’m having the car towed the minute the cops are finished. The windows should be fixed by tomorrow afternoon.”

“It’s not a big deal. I can take a cab tonight and then again in the morning to get to work,” she said, afraid to calculate the cost of doing both. Infinity paid her a decent salary for a writer, but that salary had to stretch to cover rent on her apartment and all the expenses that entailed, as well as day care and food for her and Briana. She wasn’t completely destitute, but there wasn’t a whole lot of breathing room within her budget. Still, the thought of her boss going out of his way like that just didn’t feel right to her.

“You’re not taking a cab, and that’s final,” he said in a tone that was supposed to emphasize his words.

It did, to an extent. Tate figured it was rude to continue to turn down his generosity, and that surely wouldn’t bode well as far as her new promotion. So she let the officers get her purse and bag out of the car as she stood across the garage waiting. When they were done and the tow truck had arrived, Sean gave the driver his business card and told him to have the auto-glass shop call him first thing tomorrow morning. She didn’t bristle too much—after all, the garage was a part of the building owned by the Donovans. If her car was vandalized on their property, he might feel responsible.

But when he ushered her to his metallic Mercedes CLS63 coupe, she sucked in a breath.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like my car?” he asked with a half smile that made her insides quiver.

She was shaking her head as he opened the passenger door and motioned for her to get in. “That’s not it,” she said, sliding into the leather seat. “I’m just trying to figure out how Briana’s going to sit in a backseat that’s not much bigger than her.”

* * *

So his car wasn’t equipped for a baby, Sean thought as he drove through rush-hour traffic downtown. That’s because he was a single man with no children. Still, that didn’t stop him from looking through his rearview mirror to the small backseat of the car every few minutes.

Tate hadn’t said another word after getting in and buckling her seatbelt. She wasn’t happy with the developments, he could tell. But there was no way around this. He wasn’t about to let her get a cab to the day care and then to her house. Despite the cost, he just wouldn’t have been able to sleep tonight knowing he’d watched her do such a thing. Especially since he had no other plans for tonight. There was no reason why he couldn’t take the time to pick up her daughter and drive them home. It was a simple act of kindness, he told himself repeatedly.

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