Playboy’s Ruthless Payback by Laura Wright

“I want you.”

“I realise that,” Olivia said cautiously. “There’s just one problem.”

“And what would that be?”

“Your relationship with my father.”

Mac’s brows lifted just slightly, then he scowled.

“He called this morning and said you might be stopping by.”

“Did he?”

“Yep.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Now, Mr Valentine, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

Like Lightning by Charlene Sands

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” Maddie said.

Trey spread his hand through her hair, coppery waves spilling over his fingertips, soft and smooth and silky. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, Maddie,” he whispered. “I’m gonna need a better thank-you.”

Maddie slipped her hand inside his shirt, stroking his flesh until his skin sizzled. Then she lifted her head and gave him the best thank-you of his life, a long, hot, sexy kiss that knocked the breath out of him.

“Was that better, Trey?”

“Better,” he croaked, barely catching his breath.

Maddie stared deeply into his eyes and every shred of willpower he could muster wasn’t enough for the intoxicating look of desire she cast him. “Ah, Maddie,” he whispered, brushing his lips to her ear, “how am I supposed to keep my hands off you now?”

Playboy’s Ruthless Payback

LAURA WRIGHT

Like Lightning

CHARLENE SANDS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PLAYBOY’S RUTHLESS PAYBACK

by

Laura Wright

LAURA WRIGHT

has spent most of her life immersed in the world of acting, singing and competitive ballroom dancing. But when she started writing romance, she knew she’d found her true calling! Born and raised in Minneapolis, Laura has also lived in New York, Ohio and Wisconsin. Currently, she has set down her bags in Los Angeles, California, and, although the town can be a little crazy at times, Laura is grateful to have her theatrical production manager husband, two young children and three dogs to keep her sane. During her downtime, Laura loves to paint, play peek-a-boo with her little boy, go to the cinema with her husband and read with her daughter. She loves hearing from her readers and can be reached at PO Box 57523, Sherman Oaks, CA 91413, USA.

Dear Reader,

What would you do if someone set out to ruin your reputation? Take down your business? Destroy everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve? Is your blood boiling yet?

These are the questions I wanted to have my hero, Mac Valentine, face. I wanted to see how far he would go, how ruthless he would be in destroying the man who set out to destroy him.

Honestly, I’ve felt Mac’s anger – that roaring sound of injustice that rings in your ears every time you think about how you’ve been screwed over. Maybe you have, too, and you want your payback. But after you have it, is the satisfaction of making that person pay enough? Does it heal you?

Let me know what you think about Mac and Olivia’s story. And, if you want to share your story, I’d love to hear it. E-mail me at laura@laurawright.com.

All my best,

Laura

To Daniel, thank you for seeing me through

this book. You’re the best!

One

“Congresswoman Fisher is on line two, Derek Mead is still holding on line three and Owen Winston is on line four.”

MacValentine relaxed in his chair. His executive assistant, Claire, stood in the doorway of his modern, chrome-and-leather penthouse office, an expectant look on her grandmotherly face. She had been with him for eight years and she was somewhat of a voyeur when it came to watching him work. She especially enjoyed moments like this when he was about to crush someone. She thought of him as a ruthless, unflinching businessman, and on more than one occasion he’d heard her refer to him as a black-haired, black-eyed demon who held each one of his thirty-five employees to incredibly high standards.

Mac grinned. The woman was right. The only thing she’d left out was that if any one of those employees fell short of his expectations, if they didn’t strive for the goal of making MCV Wealth Enhancement Corp. the first choice of not only the Minneapolis area, but also the entire Midwest, they were sent packing.

Behind her black frames, Claire’s eyes glistened like a child waiting for dessert to be served. “Mr. Winston says he is returning your call, sir.”

Mac palmed his BlackBerry. “Tell both the congresswoman and Mead that I’ll return their calls. This won’t take long.”

“Yes, sir.” Claire hovered in the doorway.

“And close the door when you go,” Mac said evenly. “Today is not a school day.”

“Of course, sir.” Looking thoroughly disappointed, Claire left the room.

Mac pressed the call button and leaned back in his chair. “Owen.”

“That’s right,” came the irritated voice on the other end of the line. “I’ve been holding for longer than I care to. What can I do for you?”

Satisfaction rolled through Mac at the slight tremor in the older man’s voice. He turned his chair toward the wall of windows behind him and stared out at the view of the Minneapolis skyline. “I won’t waste my time or yours asking why you did what you did.”

“Excuse me?”

“Or force you to admit it,” said Mac. “Attempting to ruin the reputation of a competing firm happens quite a bit in our game. Mostly with the older set. You guys get tired, lose your edge and the clients start looking elsewhere.”

Mac could practically see Owen’s face darkening with rage. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Valentine—”

“You can’t help it,” Mac continued coldly. “You see these hotshots coming up the ranks with cooler heads and sharper minds and you start to worry that you’re not going to be taken seriously anymore. And when you realize it’s only a matter of time before you’re forced out of business, you panic.” Mac leaned forward and said without emotion, “You panicked, Owen.”

“This is ridiculous,” Owen sputtered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mac continued as if he hadn’t heard. “A respectable man would recognize his limitations and retire, maybe play a round of golf in the morning followed by a nice nap in the afternoon.”

“A respectable businessman, Valentine.” Owen laughed bitterly. “A respectable businessman wouldn’t give preferential treatment, key information or tips to certain privileged clients. A respectable man wouldn’t give that information based on their client’s long legs and large breasts.”

It was the accusation of a desperate man, total BS, but the rumor had spread like the flu. “You are this close to a lawsuit, Winston.”

“That sharp mind of yours would never allow these observations of mine to go on the record in a court of law. Such a long, drawn-out process. Even worse for your reputation, I would think.”

It took a few seconds for Mac to respond, then a deadly calm crept over him like the blackening sky before a thunderstorm. “True enough,” he said slowly. “Perhaps legal recourse isn’t the right way to deal with you.”

“Smart man. Now it’s late and I have—”

Mac stood and walked across the room. “No, I suppose I’ll have to come up with a different way to make you pay for what you’ve done.”

“It’s after seven, Valentine,” said Owen tightly. “I have dinner plans.”

“Yes, of course—get home to your family.” Mac opened his office door and gestured for Claire. “Especially that lovely daughter of yours. What’s her name again? Allison? Olive?”

Owen didn’t answer.

“Ah, right…” Mac raised a brow at Claire. “Olivia. Beautiful name,” Mac said as he watched his assistant go to her computer and begin a search. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman, I’m told. You know, your daughter has a reputation for being a very good girl. Sweet, loves her father and steers clear of anything scandalous. Might be interesting to see how easy or how enjoyably difficult it would be to change that.”

Claire glanced up, her expression a mixed bag of respect, curiosity and horror.

“You stay away from my daughter.” The once cocky old man now sounded like an anxious pup.

“I’m not a religious man, Owen, but I believe the phrase ‘an eye for an eye’ is appropriate here.” Mac stalked back into his office. “I may be an arrogant, selfish prick, but I’m no fraud. I give every one of my clients two hundred percent, male and female alike. You went too far.”

Mac stabbed at the off button on his BlackBerry and walked to the windows. The bleak, gray light of a hostile rainstorm hovered over the parking lot and street below, making Mac feel as though his threats to Owen Winston might be so powerful they could not only affect the sexual status of an innocent young woman, but the weather, as well.

“She owns No Ring Required.”

Mac didn’t turn around to address Claire’s statement. “How do I know that name?”

“Minneapolis Magazine did a cover story on the business last month. Three women—a chef, an interior designer and a party planner—all top-notch businesswomen who have banded together to create—”

“A service for men who need the help and expertise of a wife,” he continued. “But either don’t have one or don’t want one.”

“That’s right.”

He turned around and nodded to his assistant. “Perfect. Set up an appointment with Olivia Winston for this week. It would seem that I’m in need of her services.”

“Did you read the article, sir?”

“I don’t remember…I probably skimmed it.”

“These are hardcore, upstanding women who are well-respected in the business community. They are adamantly against any and all fraternization.”

Mac grinned to himself. “Get that appointment for tomorrow morning. First thing.”

Lip pulled under her teeth, Claire nodded and left the room.

Mac returned to his desk and thumbed through the files of the clients that had gone AWOL since Owen Winston’s lies had surfaced two days ago. Who knew if they were ever going to return to his company or if their relationship with his firm was dead in the water.

Mac wanted to throttle that bastard—but violence was too quickly given and gotten over. No, it would have to be a rep for a rep. Owen had taken Mac’s and Mac would take his daughter’s.

Well-respected or not, Owen’s little girl was going to have to pay—for the loss of revenue to MCV and its employees, and for her father’s stupidity.

Two

Olivia closed her eyes and inhaled. “I’m such a genius….”

“How long are you going to make us wait, Liv?” Tess asked, her stomach rumbling loudly. “I skipped breakfast.”

Seated at the table, Mary Kelley stared at the tall redhead’s trim belly, her brows drawn together. “Sounds like a train’s derailing in there. Very ladylike.”

Tess gave Mary a teasing glare. “Give me a break, I’m starving.” She pointed to the massive yellow diamond engagement ring on her pretty blond partner’s finger. “Not all of us have beautiful men bringing us poached eggs and bacon in the morning.”

Smiling, Mary touched her growing belly, her blue eyes soft and happy. “Ethan’s very concerned about feeding his child. If I don’t have something to eat every few hours he freaks.”

Tess snorted. “That’s just a little too sweet for me.”

Mary laughed. “Oh, c’mon. You’ll change your mind about that someday. Guaranteed.”

“Doubtful. I’m too much of a loner—and I like it.”

“Well, then we have to get you to go out and socialize more.” Mary’s eyes lit up. “Maybe you’ll meet someone at Ethan’s and my holiday engagement party at the end of the month. He has some cute friends.”

“No thanks.”

“You might meet up with the right guy.”

Tess shook her head and laughed. “I don’t believe in the right guy, Mare. Now, a truckful of not-so-right guys—that’s something I believe in.”

Mary poured herself another glass of milk. “You’re not old enough to be so cynical. How many men have you dated at twenty-five?”

“Enough to know better,” Tess said seriously, then turned to Olivia. “You and I are lucky to have escaped the noose for so long, right, Liv?”

“Oh, so lucky,” Olivia drawled as she cut squares of brownie. Olivia tried to ignore the wave of envy that moved over her heart as she recalled the tenderness in Ethan Curtis’s eyes that morning when he gave Mary a goodbye kiss at the reception desk before leaving for his office. He had looked so in love, so happy, so over-the-moon excited about their baby.

Olivia didn’t begrudge her friend the beautiful man and solid relationship, but she did wonder if it was possible for someone like her to have half of that kind of happiness. In her heart of hearts, she wanted a man—someone to cook for and love and make babies with, but odds of that kind of life coming her way weren’t great. Even though she had grown up in years, she was still very much stuck to the past. In many ways, she was still that depressed sixteen-year-old who had just lost her mother to cancer, couldn’t get her father to notice her and had escaped from her pain in the most foolish ways possible—parties and boys and sex.

The shame of what she’d done and how many boys she’d allowed herself to be used by hadn’t diminished in the ten years since, but in that time she had grown extraordinarily tough. She had also become cautious and resolutely celibate. Today, her reputation was lily-white—she was a hard-nosed businesswoman who kept the secrets of her past to herself.

“All right,” Olivia said brightly, setting two extra large squares of chocolate brownie before Tess and Mary. “These will keep your mouths occupied.”

“I believe she just told us to shut up,” Tess said with a grin.

Mary picked up her brownie and sighed. “But it was in the very nicest way possible.”

“True,” Tess said, her pale gray eyes raking the gooey chocolate square. “And for another one of these I will not only give up on the guy and marriage talk, but if asked, I will gladly roll over and pant.”

“Before you do,” said a husky male voice behind them, “just be aware that you have an audience.”

Mary and Tess whirled around in their chairs, and Olivia glanced up. Filling up the doorway with a cynical, though highly amused, expression was a man with eyes the color of espresso. He was tall and broad and was dressed impeccably in a gray pinstripe suit and black wool coat. Olivia found herself clenching her fists as she felt an irresistible urge to flip up the collar of his coat and use it to pull herself against him. The feeling was so out of character that it frightened the hell out of her and made her stomach churn with nervous energy. In the past seven years, since her self-imposed exile from sex, her body had rarely betrayed her. Sure, there had been a few late nights with a good romance novel in her bed, but other than that, nada.

As she looked at this man, every inch of her screamed Caution!

“Mac Valentine?” she said, relieved that her voice sounded steady and cool.

He nodded. “I think I’m early.”

“Only by a few minutes,” she assured him. “Please come in.”

As he walked toward them, his stride runway-model confident, both Mary and Tess stood and offered him their hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Valentine,” Mary said evenly. “We were just enjoying a midmorning pick-me-up.”

“I understand.”

“Chocolate is life’s blood around here,” Mary continued warmly.

“I wondered what that amazing scent was the minute I got off the elevator.”

Tess patted Olivia on the back. “Well, that’s our resident chef’s doing. Olivia makes magic and we all get to enjoy it.”

His gaze rested on Olivia. “Is that so?”

Olivia shrugged good-naturedly. “I’ve never been good at false modesty, so I’ll just say, yes, I’m a damn fine cook.”

Amusement glittered in Mac Valentine’s dark eyes, and Olivia felt a shiver travel up her spine.

“And on that note,” said Mary, packing up the rest of her brownie and half-full glass of milk, “Tess and I will leave you in Olivia’s capable hands. Welcome to No Ring Required, Mr. Valentine.”

“Thank you.”

Tess shook his hand again, then when his back was turned grabbed another brownie, before following Mary out of the room.

Trying not to laugh, Olivia watched Mac take off his coat and lay it over an empty chair, then she gestured to the table. “Please, have a seat.” She snatched the orange platter of brownies off the counter and held it out in his direction. “Would you like one?”

He glanced up at her. “Do I have to roll over and pant?”

“Only if you want seconds.”

Mac Valentine’s eyes flashed with surprise at her quick comeback. “I’ll let you know.” Then he took a brownie from the plate.

She sat beside him and folded her hands primly. She didn’t know exactly why this man was here, but she had a feeling he brought trouble with him—several varieties of trouble. “Now, your assistant didn’t reveal much about why you’re here today when she made the appointment. Perhaps you could.”

“Of course.” He sat back in his chair. “I need you to turn my home into something far more ‘homey’ than what it is.”

“And what is it?”

“A lot of unused space.”

“Okay.”

“I have clients coming in from out of town, and I want them to feel as though they’ve visited a family man, instead of a…” He paused.

She lifted her brows. “Yes?”

His lips twitched. “Someone who has no idea what those two words really mean.”

“I see.” And she did. It wasn’t the first time she’d worked with a clueless millionaire playboy.

“I think it would be best if you saw my house for yourself.”

She nodded, her gaze darting to the untouched brownie before him. “All right. But you understand my main area of expertise is in the kitchen.”

“I was led to believe you were a multitasker.”

Why wasn’t he eating her brownie? “I am, but if it’s true homemaking you’re looking for then Tess might be a better—”

“No,” he said, cutting her off.

She paused and gave him an expectant look.

“I want you,” he finished, his face hard.

“Yes, I can see that,” she said cautiously. “There’s just one problem.”

“And what would that be?”

“Your relationship with my father.”

His brows lifted, just slightly. “I have no relationship with your father.”

“He called me this morning and said you might be stopping by.”

“Did he?”

“Yep.”

Mac studied her for a moment. “You have the reputation of being a soft-spoken sweetheart, did you know that?”

“Are you trying to tell me that I’m not living up to my reputation?”

That query produced a wry smile from him. “I think I’m going to have a bite of this brownie now.”

It’s about damn time, she thought as she watched him slip the thick dark cake between his teeth. He had large, strong-looking hands and thick wrists, and she felt a humming in her belly as she wondered what he did with his hands that garnered him such a roguish reputation.

Her father had left her with a big warning about Mac Valentine. But instead of being worried she felt as curious as a one-year-old with an uncovered wall outlet in her sights.

“Good?” she asked, pointing to the half-eaten brownie on the plate.

“Very good.”

“I’m glad,” she said evenly. “Now, Mr. Valentine, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

Three

If there was one thing Mac Valentine could spot a mile away, it was a worthy adversary. She may have been only a few inches over five feet with eyes as large and as soft as a baby deer, but Olivia Winston’s cleverness and sharp tongue clearly declared her as a force to be reckoned with.

He hadn’t seen that coming.

But then again, there was nothing he loved better than a challenge.

He watched those brown fawn’s eyes narrow, and knew she would wait all day for the answer to her question.

“Due to circumstances beyond my control,” he began, “my financial firm has lost its top three clients. I expect this to change over the course of the next few months when they realize that no one else in this town can make them the kind of money that I can, and did. But in the meantime, I need some help from you in landing a few heavy hitters.”

Olivia’s gaze flickered to the tabletop. “Do you need my help rebuilding your business or your reputation?”

“I see your father has done more than warn you about me.” She didn’t confirm or deny this, so he continued, “My business is not in any danger, but yes, my reputation has come into question and I cannot—and will not—allow that to continue.”

“I see.” Her smile turned edgy. “So, you want these potential clients to stay at your house instead of a hotel?”

“They’re the type who appreciate home and family and soft edges—” he waved his hand “—all of that.”

“But you don’t.”

“No.”

She stood and took the plate that was in front of him, the plate with half a remaining brownie on it. “I have a question for you,” she said, walking to the sink and depositing the dish there. She was small, but all curves, and when she walked it was seduction with every step. She turned to face him, leaned back against the countertop and crossed her arms over her full chest. Mac felt his gut tighten at the picture-perfect sight of her. “You believe that my dad caused your clients to leave your firm, right?” she said, arching her brow.

“Actually it was the lies your father spread that caused my clients to leave,” he corrected.

“If you think that, then why would you want to work with his daughter? Unless…”

“Unless what?”

She walked to him and stopped just shy of his chair. If he reached out, grabbed her around her tiny, perfect waist and pulled her onto his lap, what would she do?

Whoever said payback was a bitch hadn’t seen this woman.

“Unless you want to use me to get back at him,” she said in a voice so casual she might have been reading a grocery list.

He matched her tone. “Is that what he told you?”

“Yes, but he didn’t really have to.”

“And how exactly would I use you?”

She shook her head. “Not quite sure.” When she sat this time it was across from him.

“But your father has some ideas?”

“He’s worried about your…” She smiled, thin as a blade. “Obvious charms—I mean, you’re a great-looking guy. But I assured him he didn’t have anything to worry about.”

Well, this was a first. “Really?”

She nodded, said matter-of-factly, “I let him know that I would never be interested.”

Mac felt his brow lift.

She laughed. “I don’t mean to insult you, but the truth is, I would never go for a guy like you.”

“Why do you think I’m insulted?”

The question caught her off guard and she stumbled with her words. “I, well—”

“And what kind of guy do you think I am?”

She lifted her chin. “One who assumes he can have anything he wants and any woman he wants.”

Mac was not a man of assumptions, he was a man of words and deeds, and this woman was starting to piss him off. “I go after what I want, Miss Winston, but the people and things that come to me come at their own free will, I can assure you.”

“You’re just that irresistible.”

He sat back in his chair. “Do all clients of No Ring Required go through an interrogation process or is it just me?”

“You’re not a client yet, Mister—”

“Ah, Olivia.” Tess stuck her head in the office, a confused expression on her face. “Can I see you for a moment?”

“Sure.” Olivia turned to Mac. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Valentine.”

He saw, with vicious pleasure, that she was caught off guard and he couldn’t help but grin as he said, “I wish I could say I was looking forward to it.”

“If you can’t wait…” she began.

“Oh, I can wait.” He reached for his coat, and snagged his BlackBerry from the pocket. “I’ll make a few calls.”

Olivia felt like taking the man’s phone and crushing it under her heel, but she smiled and nodded. Once out in the hall, the door tightly closed behind her, she faced her anxious-looking partners.

“What are you doing in there?” Tess said in a harsh whisper.

“Talking to a potential client.”

“Insulting a potential client, is more like it,” said Tess dryly, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Tess, you don’t know the situation—”

Ever the mediator, Mary took over, her tone calm and parental. “Whatever the situation is, Liv, we could hear you all the way from our offices, and it sounded like an attack. Can you tell us what’s going on?”

Olivia blew out a breath. “He’s not a normal client. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s going to be a client at all.”

“Not after what I just heard,” Tess grumbled.

“At ease, Tess.” Knowing her partners deserved an explanation, Olivia offered them the simplest one. “He and my father are in the same business, and a few of Mac Valentine’s clients have decided to leave him and hire my dad instead. Mac thinks my father went the unethical route and told the financial community that he was doling out preferential treatment and tips to his better-looking clients.”

“Wow,” Tess began. “And did your father do that?”

“I can’t imagine. My father’s always been at the top of his profession. But the point is, Mac Valentine believes it. He thinks my father is responsible for the loss of three of his best clients, and now he’s hiring me to get even.”

Tess frowned. “What?”

“How?” Mary said, perplexed.

“I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Tess said, shooting Mary a warning glance.

“Does he have a legitimate request for us?” Mary asked.

“He’s out to bag a few new clients to replace the ones he’s lost, and he wants me to make his house homey and inviting on several levels to impress them.”

Mary put a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “If you don’t feel you can handle him, Liv, Tess or I will—”

“No. First of all, he only wants me, and secondly, I’m not about to run from this man. I’m a professional, and I’ll get the job done without getting involved.”

Mary put a hand to her belly. “Sounds familiar.”

“If I don’t take the job, I’m willing to bet this guy would find a way of letting it be known around town that one of NRR’s partners isn’t a true professional. We don’t need that.”

Both Mary and Tess begrudgingly agreed.

“Just be careful, okay?” said Mary, squeezing Olivia’s arm.

“Always.” She gave them a bright smile and a wave and returned to the kitchen.

Mac was just finishing a call when Olivia eased back into her seat at the table, an NRR contract for him to sign in her hand. She took a deep breath. “Sorry about that.”

“For leaving the room or for the insults?”

“Look, I’m going to take this ‘job’ because I am a professional and have partners who are counting on me. I’m also more than a little curious as to what you’re going to try and pull. But know this, Mr. Valentine, lay one hand on me and we’re done, understand?”

Mac looked amused. “For someone who believes herself so unaffected by a guy like me, you’re acting worried.”

“Boundaries and rules—good things to have.”

After a beat, Mac agreed. “I understand. Now, can we get down to business?”

Olivia slid the one-page contract and a pen across the table. “When would you like me to start?”

“I’m having the DeBolds to my home this weekend.”

“The diamond family?” She was surprised. The DeBolds would be a huge score and, according to her father, incredibly hard to land as clients. Mac Valentine had guts and drive, she’d give him that.

“They don’t have children yet, but they are very into family, and the lifestyle that accompanies it. I need to make them feel at home with me.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“I want home-cooked meals, family activities,” he continued. “I want them to see me as secure, a man who understands their needs and desires for the future.”

“Okay.”

“And I’d like you to stay at the house with us.”

She paused and stared at him, hoping her gaze was a cold as her tone. “No.”

“In a room upstairs, down the hall from the DeBolds.”

“And where will you be?”

“I sleep on the first floor.”

Out of patience, she stood from the table and shot him a hot look. “It’s not going to happen.”

He ignored her as if she’d never said a word, “I want you to be there with us from breakfast to evening.”

“Yes, I know. And I will.”

In his ever-present calm way, he studied her. “All right, we’ll discuss that particular detail at a later date. Now, on to something more important—this contract I’m about to sign, it guarantees confidentiality, is that right? You will not reveal anything about my business, and whom I do business with?”

“Of course.” She had loyalties to her father, but her loyalties to the business and her partners came first. “Do you have menus in mind or would you like me to plan something?”

“I’d like you to plan everything.”

After signing the contract and issuing a rather substantial check to NRR, Mac stood, towering over her like a statue. The soft scent of fading aftershave drifted into her nostrils and it annoyed her that just a small detail like his scent made her feel off balance. She found herself staring at his lips as he said, “I would like you to come by my house tomorrow, see what you have to work with and what you feel needs to be changed.”

She stepped away from him, trying to regain her cool composure. “How’s 10:00 a.m.?”

“You have my address?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him and grinned slightly. “And your number, as well.”

“Clever.” He held out his hand, and for just a moment Olivia felt this odd sensation to turn and run from him. But she knew how ridiculous and childish that thought was, and she confidently placed her hand in his.

There were no sparks or fireworks that erupted inside Olivia at that first touch. Instead something far more worrisome happened; she had an overwhelming urge to cry, as though she’d been on an island alone for ten years and had woken up to see a boat a few miles off shore—a boat she knew in her gut she wasn’t going to be able to flag down.

She broke the connection first.

“Until tomorrow then,” he said evenly.

She watched him walk out of the kitchen and down the hall, the edges of his wool coat snapping with each stride. Yes, it had been a long time since she’d met a man who affected both her mind and her body, and it was pretty damn unlucky that he happened to be an enemy of her father’s.

Thankfully, she had become quite good at denying herself.

Four

Mac had hoped Olivia Winston would be moderately attractive. After all, it would make his goal a little easier and more pleasant to achieve if the woman he was going to seduce was decent-looking. Unfortunately this woman was miles past decent—circling somewhere around blistering hot. She was also intelligent and passionate and pushed sugar. And if he had any hope of seeing his plan through to the end, whenever he looked at her he was going to have to force himself to remember the he and her father were at war. And that her unhappiness and disappointment and permanent scarlet letter would be his justice.

He slowed his car to a comfortable seventy miles per hour as he exited the freeway. But seeing her as an enemy to be taken down wouldn’t be easy. Damn, the way she’d looked at him with those fiery coffee-colored doe eyes, as though she couldn’t decide if she was intrigued by him or wanted to follow her father’s advice and toss him right out on his ass. Mac turned onto Third Street, Minneapolis’s restaurant row. Eyeing the line of cars in front of Martini Two Olives, he backed into an open parking space with one effortless movement. Light snowflakes touched down on his windshield as he spotted a tall, cool blonde through the window of the packed restaurant.

She smiled warmly at him as he walked through the doorway. Mac gave her a kiss on the cheek, and above the din of celebratory restaurant patrons, he said, “Hello, Avery.”

“Well, Mac Valentine, it’s been way too long,” she practically purred.

They took a table at the bar and ordered drinks. When a scotch neat was set before him, Mac asked, “How’s Tim? You two still in love?”

Avery blushed and smiled simultaneously. “Blissfully. And planning on starting a family next year.”

Mack leaned back in his chair and took a healthy swallow of scotch. “I’m a damn fine matchmaker. My best buddy and my firm’s geeky ex-lawyer.”

“Hey, watch it with the geek stuff. That was years ago. I’m a knockout now.”

He grinned. “Yeah. You’re all right.”

She laughed. When her laughter eased, she grew serious, her pale blue eyes heavy with sincerity. “You are a great friend, and you did a good thing. We owe you.”

“Yeah, well, I never thought I’d have to collect on that debt, but times are a little…unsure.”

“Tim mentioned something…”

“He always sucked at discretion.”

“What do you need? Anything at all.”

“Do you still represent the DeBolds?”

She nodded. “My favorite clients.”

“I’ve heard they’re shopping for a new financial firm, and I’d like to show them what I have to offer.”

Her fingernails clicked on her glass. “They might’ve heard the rumors, Mac…. And you know how they are about family, or lack of. They don’t want to deal with—”

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m planning to be everything they’re looking for and more.”

She looked unconvinced. “Five-star restaurants and over-the-top gestures won’t impress them. If you really want them to take the firm seriously, you’d need to do something—”

He put a hand up to stop her. “Let me tell you what I have in mind, then you can decide to set it up or not.”

“All right,” she said and lifted the glass of red wine to her lips.

Given the kind of man he was, Olivia had expected Mac Valentine to live in a sleek, modern type of home made of glass or stainless steel or something impervious to warmth. So it came as somewhat of a shock to find that the address he’d given her belonged to a stately, though charming, mansion on historic Lake of the Isles Parkway.

After parking in the snow-dusted driveway, Olivia darted up the stone steps and rang the bell, noting with a smile the lovely way winter’s ravaged vines and ivy grew up one side of the house in a charming zigzag pattern. The wintry November breeze off the lake shocked her with a sudden gust, and she was thankful when the door opened. A tall, thin man in his late sixties ushered Olivia inside. He explained that he was the handyman, then told her Mac would be down in a minute. Then the man disappeared down a long hallway.

Olivia stood in the spacious entryway of Mac’s home, staring at a beautiful, rustic banister and staircase, and wondering why it felt only slightly warmer inside the house than out.

“Good morning.”

Coming down the stairs like Rhett Butler in reverse was Mac Valentine. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Awareness stirred in her belly. She liked forearms, liked the way the cords of muscle bunched when a man gripped something, or someone.

“Find the place all right?” he asked when he reached her.

“Perfectly,” she said, noticing that not only did he look good, but he smelled good, too. As if he’d showered in a snowy, pine forest or something. Realizing her thoughts had taken an idiotic turn, she flipped on her professional switch and said, “Shall we get started?”

His eyes lit with amusement, but he nodded. “Come with me.”

As Olivia followed him through the house, she noticed that each room she passed was more warm and inviting than the next, with wood paneling, hewn beams and rustic paint colors on the walls. But there was a glaring problem that Mac didn’t mention as they walked—every room, from bathroom to living room to the fabulous gourmet kitchen, was bare as bones. There were no furnishings, no artwork, no tchotchkes—no nothing. It was the oddest thing she’d ever seen. It was as though he’d just moved in.

“I’m sensing a theme here,” Olivia said with a laugh as they stopped in the kitchen. “You, Mr. Valentine, are a minimalist of the first order.”

“Not totally.” He gestured to a massive stainless steel contraption on the counter. “I have an espresso machine.”

Two perfect cups of steaming cappuccino sat on the counter beside it. Olivia took one and handed the other to him. “And that’s a good thing, but it barely strikes the surface of a family home.” Her hands curled around the hot cup, feeling warm for the first time since she left the car. “I have my work cut out for me. What’s up with all this?”

He shrugged. “I never got around to buying furniture.”

It was more than that, she thought, studying him. It had to be. He hadn’t put his stamp on anything. Maybe he hated permanence or didn’t trust it. Whatever it was, it would be her first order of business. “How long has it sat empty like this?”

“I bought the place three years ago.”

She nearly choked on her cappuccino. “That’s just wrong. Where do you sleep? Or more importantly what do you sleep on?”

“I have a bed,” he said, leaning against the countertop. “Would you like to see it?”

“Absolutely. It’s my job to make sure it has that stamp of family charm on it.”

“What do you think is stamped on it now?”

“Debauchery?” she said quickly.

He grinned. “There’s one more room down here, and in this one, I did put down a few roots. Two, to be exact.”

Curious, Olivia followed him down a short hallway and through a heavy wood door. She stopped when she saw it and just stared. The room was, in a word, fantastic. Olivia walked in and stood in the middle, thinking she could hear music playing. One wall was made entirely of glass and she felt instantly at one with the white wonderland outside. Snow fell in big globs off the many tree branches and landed in pretty little tufts below. Birds hopped in the snow, making three-pronged tracks, and squirrels passed nuts back and forth. Inside, to her right were a pair of comfortable-looking navy-blue leather arm chairs that sat before a massive stone fireplace. Mac sat in one of the chairs and motioned for her to do the same.

“So once in a while you force yourself to relax?” she asked, as the heat from the blazing fire seeped into her bones and called upon her to relax.

“A man needs a refuge.”

“Well, this is great.”

He glanced over at her. “Do you think you can do something with this house?”

“I believe so.”

“Good.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Get everything. From sheets to picture frames. I don’t care what you spend just make it warm and family friendly.”

She stared at the platinum card. “You want me to furnish the whole house?”

He nodded.

“Every square inch?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want your stamp on it at all? Choices in artwork? Television?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand. Don’t you want to feel comfortable here?”

“I don’t like feeling comfortable—too much can happen to a person when they get comfortable.”

“I’ll try and remember that,” she muttered.

His voice grew tight and cold. “All I want is the DeBolds, signed and happy.”

Olivia was tempted to ask him just where he’d gotten such a desperate need to win, but it wasn’t her place to care. He looked so serious, so raw, so sexy as he stared into the fire. Just his presence made the muscles in her belly knot with tension, and she knew that no matter what she told her father, after today, the truth was she was attracted to Mac Valentine. Not that she was going to do anything about it, or allow him to use her in any way, but the attraction was undeniably there.

“I’ll do my best to set the stage, sir,” she said with just a hint of humor.

He looked over at her then, his eyes nearly black in their intensity. “I hope so.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. It was a lush, cynical mouth and for a moment she wondered what it would feel like against hers. She turned away. “You need to understand something,” she said as much to herself as to him.

“What’s that?”

“I know you didn’t hire me because I’m a dynamite cook.”

He snorted. “That’s a little self-deprecating.”

“No, it’s the truth.”

He didn’t reply.

“You’re looking for revenge. I’m not entirely sure how you’re going to go about making me pay for something you believe my father did, but be forewarned…”

“Okay.”

She forced herself to look at him. “I’m not going to fall under your spell.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “Instead, I’m going to watch you.”

“Watching me…I like that.”

“And if you get out of line, I’m going to shove you right back in.”

“Olivia?” He raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“What if you get out of line?”

The question stopped her…from thinking and from a quick reaction. Mac saw her hesitate, too, and his dark eyes burned with pleasure.

“I think social hour has come to an end,” she said tightly, standing. “I have a lot to accomplish in a short amount of time, so let’s get to work. Show me the bedrooms.”

“All of the bedrooms?” he said with a devious smile.

“Yes.”

He stood, shot her a wicked grin and said, “Follow me.”

Five

“So?”

“How was your meeting with Valentine?”

Olivia hadn’t been back in the office more than five minutes and Tess and Mary were already standing in the doorway to the kitchen, their eyes wide with curiosity.

“Fine,” Olivia said from atop a stepladder. She was searching through an upper cabinet, going through brands of cookware. She wanted to buy just the right one for Mac’s kitchen. “I’m checking out a few things, then I’ll be gone for the rest of the day.”

They walked over and stood beside the counter. Tess asked, “What are you up to?”

“I have to furnish his house. The place is practically empty.”

“The whole house?” Mary said, fingering the stainless fry pan that Olivia had set on the counter.

“Why do you sound so surprised? We’ve done similar jobs before.”

“True.”

Olivia could practically hear Mary’s brain working. She glanced down. “What?”

“Are you furnishing his bedroom, too?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. You have too many hormones running around in there.”

Laughing, Tess grabbed a mug from the dish drainer and poured herself a cup of coffee. “We’re just worried about you, that’s all. If everything you said about this guy is true, he’s up to more than just having you refurnish his house to bag a big client.”

“Of course he is. I told you both that.”

Mary put the pan down, grabbed Tess’s cup and took a sip of her coffee. “What if he’s having you design the bedroom he’s going to try and seduce you in?”

“What? You’re both acting nuts. He may be trying to use me, but he’s incredibly clever and creative and interesting in his thinking. Whatever he’s planning has got to be far more elaborate than—” She stopped at the worried looks on her partners’ faces. “What?”

“You like him,” said Mary.

“Oh, come on.”

Tess nodded slowly. “You think he’s ‘clever’ and ‘creative,’ and you probably think he’s hot, too.”

Olivia laughed and stepped down from the ladder. “Of course he’s hot. Anyone with eyes could see the guy is hot.”

“Oh, dear,” Mary began, one hand to her belly as if she were protecting the baby from hearing anything too scandalous.

“Not good,” Tess agreed. “I think I should take over the job.”

“Will you two chill out?” Olivia grabbed a pen from her drawer and began writing down the names of several pieces of cookware. “Mac Valentine may be great-looking and charming and all the other things I said, but I’m not an idiot. He is also an arrogant womanizer with no furniture and no moral compass.”

Tess nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what that article I read last week said. But somehow they made it sound like it was a good thing.”

“What? What article?”

“Tess, go get it,” Mary commanded, then turned back to Olivia.

“Oh, you read it, too,” Olivia said.

Mary shrugged. “I was going through all the old magazines for recycle and you know how once I see something I can’t stop reading, blah, blah, blah…” Tess returned and handed the copy of Minneapolis Magazine to Olivia. Mary said, “It’s from a few years ago. Page thirty-four.”

Letting out an impatient breath, Olivia grabbed the magazine and quickly flipped through the pages until she found the right one. And she knew it was the right one—not by the page number on the bottom right-hand corner, but by the enormous photograph of Mac and another man sitting on a stainless steel desk, a killer view of downtown Minneapolis displayed out the windows behind them. The spread was called “Workaholic, yet Woman Friendly,” and featured both men holding BlackBerries in one hand and gold bars in the other. The sight of Mac, looking both handsome and arrogant as hell, didn’t bother Olivia at all. It was the picture of the other man who sat beside him that had her stomach turning over.

Tim Keavy.

Her heart pounded furiously against her chest and she broke out in a sweat. The one guy from high school who knew what she truly was, knew her most shameful secret. God, did this mean that Mac knew, too? Was he going to use it against her? Against her father?

Olivia brushed a hand over her face. So much for her calm professionalism around Mac Valentine. Damn him. She hadn’t expected him to go this route. She’d expected a full-out seduction—not using her past against her.

She stared at Mac’s dark, dangerous face. Was it possible that he didn’t know, that this was just an odd coincidence? A nervous shiver went through her entire body. She was going to have to be extra vigilant now. Watch every move he made and be prepared for it.

For a moment she thought about quitting the job, but she didn’t run away from difficult situations anymore. She was no coward. She rolled up the magazine, then grabbed her notes. “I’ve got to go.”

“Just watch yourself, okay,” said Mary.

“I will.” And on her way out the door she tossed the magazine in the trash.

* * *

November snow in Minnesota was said to be only the warm-up act for what was coming in January, but as Mac pulled into his driveway, his tires spinning and begging for chains as thick flakes of snow pelted his windshield, he wondered if Christmas had already come and gone without his knowing.

He pulled into the dry haven of his garage and shut off the engine. For a moment, he just sat there. He’d left the homes of many women before, but never had he come home to one. Yes, Olivia was an employee so it should have made the situation feel less domestic, but it didn’t. He found her too pretty, too passionate, too smart to be just an employee.

When he entered the house a few minutes later, he heard the clanging sound of pots and pans being put away, and walked the short distance to the kitchen. His body instantly betrayed him as he spotted Olivia bending down, stacking pan lids on a shelf inside the island. Her dark hair was pulled back in a girlish ponytail and her pale skin looked flushed from all the activity. She wore a red sweater that hugged her breasts and waist, and jeans that pulled deliciously against her firm, round bottom. Devilish thoughts went through his head…like how good it would feel to be there when she stood up, to wrap his arms around her waist, to feel her backside press against him, to slip his hands under that soft wool sweater and feel her skin, her bones and her nipples as they hardened.

She turned then, caught him staring at her and gave him an expectant look. There was nothing new in it, she sported this look quite often, but today there was something more in her eyes, as though she seemed to be silently accusing him.

He dropped his briefcase and keys and walked into the room. She’d done wonders. The space was perfect, homey, yet surprisingly modern with its green, gray and stainless steel accents. She had actually created a family kitchen for him, based on his tastes. She was damn good at what she did, and he couldn’t wait to experience the aspect of the job were she had the most skill: the cooking.

“Well, Ms. Winston,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re going to make some man a great wife.”

But the joke was lost on her. Her brows drew together in an affronted frown. “That was an incredibly sexist remark.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I was giving you a compliment. The room looks amazing.”

“So, only a husband can appreciate it?” she said, holding an incredibly large frying pan in one hand. “This is my job because I love it, not because I chose something stereotypically female. Okay?”

“Sure.” He eased the fry pan out of her hand and put it on the counter. “This is not a weapon.”

She stood a foot away, looking altogether too attractive, even in her ire. “I don’t need stainless steel to do harm, Valentine.”

He nodded. “I believe you.” He reached up and brushed a stray hair off of her cheek. Her skin was so soft it made him ache to keep touching her. “Tell you what, when I go out back later and chop firewood you can say that I’d make a fine husband.”

Not even a hint of a smile. He had no idea what he might have done to make her so mad at him, but he knew he was in trouble.

“I doubt very much that you chop wood,” she said, picking up a pot from the sink. “But even if you did it would take a lot more than watching you to make me think that you’d be a good husband.”

“Why are you so angry with me?” he said finally. “I could sense it the moment I walked in. You look damn pretty, but clearly pissed off.”

“I’m not angry!” she shouted, snatching a dishtowel off the counter.

“What is it? Have a conversation with your father today?”

“Listen, buddy,” she said sourly. “I don’t need to talk to my father to get fired up about you.”

“Fired up?” he repeated, amused.

“That’s right.” She put the pot on the stove top. “I am fully capable of forming my own opinions about you.”

He stepped forward, making her step back, her hips pressing against the granite island. “And what have you come up with?”

“That you’re a man who likes women—”

He chuckled. “Damn right.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Her voice was low, as intense as her gaze. “So much so that you can barely remember their names five minutes out of the relationship.”

“I don’t have relationships, Olivia.” He wondered if kissing her right now was a bad idea or a brilliant one. But she never gave him the chance.

“Are you proud of the way you’re seen by other people?” she said. “Someone who jumps out of one bed only to charm his way into another?”

“That’s the question of a woman who is in desperate need of a man in her bed.”

She stared at him, her cheeks red and her dark eyes filled with irritation, then she dropped her dishtowel and walked out of the kitchen. “It’s getting late.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, following her to the front door.

“Don’t bother.” She grabbed her coat and hat and gloves and purse and opened the door. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

Then Mac saw the snow and remembered his drive home. “Wait. It’s really coming down out there.”

“Good night, Mr. Valentine.”

“The roads are pretty bad.”

She stepped out the door and went down the path, calling back, “I’m a Minnesota native, Mr. Valentine. I’ve driven in worse than this.”

“Damn it to hell!”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder and winced when she saw that she’d backed over Mac’s mailbox. There it was, stretched out in the snow, a sad, black pole with a missing head. What a fool she was thinking that just because she had four-wheel drive and an SUV she could avoid the realities of Mother Nature. She’d just wanted to get away from that man, out of his house and the questions about how others saw him, how he had jumped from one bed to the next and all of that crap that she’d tossed at him—questions she was really asking herself.

She put her car in gear and stepped on the gas. A sad whirring sound was followed by rotating tires.

“Damn snow.”

She slammed the car back into Park. This job had gone from a leap of curiosity to just plain complicated. Never had she acted so unprofessionally, and even though Mac’s motives for hiring her were questionable at best, her job was to execute without getting personal, without allowing her fears to drive her actions. Well, from this point on she was going to make sure that happened.

She cranked up the heat, then reached for her cell phone and dialed information. But before the automated operator picked up, there was a knock on her window. Startled, she turned to see Mac, in just his jeans and shirt, and she pressed the button for the window.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’ve killed your mailbox, I’m stuck in the snow and now I’m calling a cab.”

He cursed, the word coming out in a puff of breath. “You’d do better to call a tow truck. No cab’s coming out in this. I could brave it and try to get you home, but I don’t think that’d be very smart.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” she agreed. “You should go back inside.” She rolled up the window, then reached for her cell phone and dialed the operator once more.

Mac knocked on the glass, hard this time. Again, she rolled down her window. “What?”

“You’re going to freeze.”

“Only if you keep making me roll down the window. Now, go in. You’re the one who’s going to freeze in that getup, and I refuse to be responsible for your getting pneumonia or hypothermia or something.”

“You’re acting like a child. Come inside.”

“I’m not acting any way. I’m being sensible. It’s not a good idea for me to go back in there tonight. Things got too heated earlier.”

“True, but I think we could use a little more heat in that house.”

“It’s too cold for jokes.” She sighed. She just wanted to get home, into the tub and have a hot soak, maybe watch a few reruns of Sex and the City.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

“It’s your choice,” he said, his teeth chattering now. “Nice warm fire or freeze in the car.”

She heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll come inside…but I’m going to call for a tow truck.”

He helped her out of the car, and she followed him through the drifts of snow to the walkway, then up to the front door.

“If the tow truck can’t get to you tonight,” Mac said as he opened the door, “you are welcome to stay in my room.”

She stopped inside the entryway. She wanted to scowl at him, but instead she laughed. “Are you insane?”

“Actually I thought I was being pretty gentlemanly.” He turned back and grinned. “And that’s a rare thing for me.”

“Can I use your phone? My cell doesn’t work very well in here.”

“Sure.” He took her coat and hung it up, then covered her hands with his and slipped off her gloves. A shot of awareness moved through Olivia, from the hair on her scalp to the backs of her knees, and she looked up to find him watching her, his dark eyes intense. He took off her gloves so slowly it made her belly knot with tension, and when her fingers were finally released from the warm leather, he took her hands and squeezed them into his cold palms.

“You’re freezing,” she said.

“And you’re warm.” His fingers laced with hers, and her muscles tensed. “I don’t think I’m going to let go.”

Sadly, she didn’t want him to, but she wasn’t about to give in to herself or to him. He was using her, and she’d allowed herself to be used too often in the past.

Olivia pulled her hands away. “I’m going to make that call now.”

“You’re not getting your car out tonight, Liv,” Mac said evenly. “Now I’m going to be bunking in one of the leather chairs by the fire since all the rest of the bedrooms haven’t been furnished yet, so if you do stay, take my bed—or don’t take it. Either way, I won’t bother you.”

She didn’t know if she believed him, but what could she do? She needed the shelter for tonight. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Good night.” Then he walked in the direction of the den.

Six

The guy at the first tow truck company hung up on her, the guy at the second tow truck company actually laughed when she’d asked if he could come out and excavate her car, and her third call had gone straight to a machine.

Olivia had known it would be somewhat of a long shot to get home tonight, but after the way her body had reacted to Mac’s touch earlier—a very simple, not that overtly sexual a touch—she was really hoping.

She sat on the edge of Mac’s king-sized bed, her shoulders drooping forward. She was tired and cold, and disappointed in herself for caving in and taking his room. A better woman might have stuck to her guns about not bunking in Mac’s sparse, octagon-shaped room, maybe grabbing a few extralong towels from his bathroom and cuddling up on the carpeted floor of one of the empty guest rooms. But she was a wimp that way. She liked her creature comforts. She’d always wondered about people who liked camping. Strange noises and bugs for bunkmates…what was the attraction? Anyway, she was sleeping in Mac’s bed tonight. She just hoped he’d keep his word and wouldn’t venture out of the den to find her.

She pulled the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around herself. Then again, why would he leave such a lovely, warm spot by the fire? Olivia blew out a puff of air to see if she could see her breath. It was cold as hell in Mac’s house, a ridiculous kind of cold that sank deep into your bones and could only be relieved by a hot bath. She didn’t know what that handyman did around here, but first thing tomorrow, she was calling in a professional heating technician. Forget all the warm, family friendly furnishings. If the house felt like an igloo, the DeBolds were going to head straight for the nearest five-star hotel.

Olivia thought about lying down and trying to sleep, but when nature called, she threw off the comforter and dashed into the master bathroom. And there she saw it—surrounded by beautiful pale brown tumbled stone was a massive box of glass with a rain showerhead above and four body sprayers along one wall. Oh, she wanted to cry it looked so inviting.

Did she dare? Maybe just a quick one? Just to get warm.

Feeling a sudden burst of happiness at the thought, she flipped on the water and turned the temperature knob to the equivalent of “hotter-than-hell.” After closing the door to keep all the beautiful heat contained, she got undressed. She was just about to step inside the shower when she heard a knock on the bedroom door.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. No, no, no. Not now. Why was he here? Did he have radar or a sixth sense that told him when there was a naked woman in his room or something?

She snatched a huge white bath sheet and wrapped herself in it, then she opened the door and walked out into the frigid air.

He was knocking again. “Olivia?”

She opened the door just wide enough to accommodate her head, but hid the rest of her from his view. “Yes?”

“So you took the room?”

“Yes. I took the room. Can we not make a big deal out of it?”

“Of course.” He grinned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just tired.” And cold. “What’s up?”

He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he was trying to assess the situation as he spoke. “I put a frozen pizza in the oven if you’re interested.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not very hungry. Just tired. Very, very tired.”

“All right. Good night, then.” Olivia thought that he was about to leave, that she was about to finally get warm, but then he paused and cocked his head to one side. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” she asked innocently, as if she didn’t know.

“Is that water running?”

“No.”

His mouth twitched. “Are you taking a shower?”

“Not at this precise moment,” she said with irritation, which caused him to grin, full-on and slightly roguishly.

“Taking advantage of my steam shower, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you, the thing is awesome.”

“Well, good…then I’m going to go—”

“Have all the towels you need?” he asked.

“Yes.”

She looked expectantly at him. Time to leave, Mr. Valentine. What more was there to say? After all, he’d humiliated and humbled her, what could be left? But he didn’t leave, he just stood there looking sexy in his black sweater and pants.

Olivia let out a frustrated breath. “I’m freezing, okay? I need a way to warm up.”

His grin widened, his gaze dropped. “No, too easy.”

“Good night, Mac,” she said through gritted teeth. “Enjoy your pizza.”

He chuckled and pushed away from the door frame. “All right. Enjoy your shower. But,” he said as he turned to walk away, “if you find that you can’t sleep or you get hungry, you know where to find me.”

“That, I can promise you,” she called after him, “will never happen.”

Mac put another log on the fire, then rescued his bottle of beer from the rutted mantel before dropping back into his chair. The book he was reading was pretty dull, but he was halfway through it and he wasn’t a quitter. Just as he was about to find out why early man and an anthropoid ape had almost the same number of cranial bones and teeth, he heard footsteps behind him.

“You suck, Valentine.”

Mac chuckled and turned around. “Now why would you say something like—” The words died on his lips as he caught sight of her, practically glowing in the firelight. From the moment he’d seen Olivia Winston, serving up brownies and attitude in her office kitchen, he’d found her incredibly attractive. Tonight, however, she was breath-stealing.

Her white blouse was untucked and rumpled, and resembled a man’s shirt with the cuffs falling loose about her hands. Her long, black pants seemed a little too big without the heels and belt, but it was her face and hair that had his pulse running a race at the base of his throat. With no makeup, she looked fresh, delectably soft, her flawless skin glowing a pale peachy color. Her long, damp, dark hair swung sexy and loose, and reminded him of a mermaid. It took every ounce of control he had not to take her in his arms and kiss her until she realized just how perfectly their bodies would fit together.

She walked over and dropped into the chair beside him. “My hot shower wasn’t so hot.”

“No?”

She tossed him a look of mock reproof. “And it’s all your fault.”

“I did inadvertently ask if you wanted me to join you,” he reminded her, taking a swallow of his beer.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“No?”

“You made me stand at the door talking to you so long the hot water was almost gone by the time I got in there.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “Let me make it up to you with a never-ending fire and a cold slice of pepperoni.”

She looked unconvinced at first, then she shrugged. “Okay.” She took a piece of pizza from him and practically attacked it. “Oh, the fire feels so good. Your room is freezing, Valentine. This house is freezing.”

“It can get a little cold, I guess.”

“You sound like you don’t mind turning into an ice cube every time the sun goes down.”

“I hardly notice. I’m really only here to sleep.”

“Well, first thing tomorrow I’m calling a heating technician. The DeBolds may sell ice, but they don’t want to sleep in it.”

He grinned at her. “That was funny, Liv…clever.”

She shrugged. “I have my moments,” she said, reaching for a second slice of pizza.

Mac grabbed another bottle of beer from beside his chair, opened it and tipped it her way. “Something to drink?”

“Sure, why not?” She took the cold bottle from him. “Thanks.”

“You bet.”

“Sitting in a freezing house in front of a fire eating cold pizza and even colder beer—this night couldn’t get any stranger, could it?”

He sipped his beer, then said, “How about if I tell you that when I was around nine or ten I thought—well, I’d hoped—I’d grow up to be a comedian.”

She turned to stare at him. “That would be stranger.”

“Hard to believe, I know. I’d put on one of my foster father’s suits and tell incredibly awful jokes to these three crazy dogs they had. I was really into toilet humor at nine.”

“You grew up in a foster home?” Her tone had changed from cute sarcasm to barely disguised pity in a matter of seconds.

He hated that, and rarely told anyone about his less-than-ideal beginnings to avoid hearing just such a reaction. He didn’t know why he’d just blurted it out to her. Inadvertently, yes, but still… Maybe he needed to ease up on the beer. “I lived in a few foster homes. No big deal.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“My mother died when I was two, and my father was never really in the picture.”

She bit her lip. “That’s tough.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Was the foster father you borrowed the suit from a good guy at least?”

“He wasn’t awful. Although he did come home early one night to see me knocking around in that suit and he was pretty pissed off.”

“What did he do?”

“Went for the belt.”

Olivia’s mouth dropped open. “What a bastard. What a cowardly piece of trash. If I had been there I would’ve kicked his—”

Mac’s dark laughter cut her off. “It was no big deal. It happened.” Even though he said the words with cool casualness, he appreciated her passion and protective nature. “You know, twenty-five years ago, there wasn’t this push for fathers to be loving and gentle. ‘Hands-on’ had a different meaning.” He took a healthy swallow of beer. “Every kid got boxed by their dad, foster or not, once or twice while they were growing up.”

She sat forward in her seat, and looked at him with a strange mixture of sadness and care in her eyes. “No, they didn’t.”

Sure, he’d had a few beers, but he understood exactly what she was saying, and who she was saying it about. His jaw twitched. Owen Winston may have disciplined with words, but he was certainly no saint. “Well, I learned my lesson,” he said tightly. “I never touched his suits again.”

They were both quiet for a while after that, both drinking their beer and staring into the fire. Mac’s ire subsided, and he was close to sleep when he heard her say his name.

He turned his head. “Yeah?”

“What happened to the career in comedy?”

He chuckled. “Ended shortly thereafter.”

She smiled. “Bummer.” Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire and she looked really beautiful.

“Or a blessing—depending on how you look at it.”

Yawning, Olivia curled deeper into the chair. “Well, feel free to try out any new material you’ve got on me.”

His body stirred with her words, but he said nothing. He wasn’t going to push things. Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, she was growing interested in him, attracted to him, and someday soon he would have her in his bed. It wouldn’t make nearly the impact if he took what she wasn’t ready to give. Owen Winston needed to know that his sweet, innocent little girl had come to Mac all on her own.

Mac heard her breathing grow slow and even, and after a few minutes, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep, too.

Olivia woke up in a daze. In front of her the dying fire crackled softly. For a moment, she thought it was morning, but with a quick glance to the windows to her left she saw that the inky blackness of night had yet to turn to the steely gray of dawn.

“Hey.”

She looked over at Mac, who was sitting forward in his chair, his dark eyes seductive and hungry under heavy lids. “What time is it?”

“Around three.”

She blinked a few times, feeling foggy. “I should go back to bed.”

“But it’s cold in there.”

“Yeah.” But she didn’t move. She just stared at him.

Mac got out of the chair and went to her, sat on his heels in front of her. The hot flicker in his gaze made every bit of Olivia’s tired limbs feel on edge and alive.

He reached up to touch her face. She grabbed his wrist, that hard, thick, oh-so-masculine wrist, and he stopped and stared at her. Her heart thudded in her chest as he leaned in, his gaze hungry, his mouth so close. Looking back on that night, Olivia had wanted to blame the foggy tiredness in her brain or the cold and snow for what she did next. But she knew exactly why she went temporarily nuts. All the frustration she felt at her attraction to Mac, and all the years of pushing aside her feelings of need and desire, just seemed to explode in her face at that moment.

Her hand snaked around his neck and she pulled him down for a kiss. And not a peck kiss, either, but a full-blown, lip-nuzzling, teeth-raking, breath-stealing kiss.

Seven

“Holy—” Mac didn’t finish the end of the curse as he took her in his arms and dropped back onto the rug, taking her with him.

Poised above him, Olivia welcomed the crush of Mac’s mouth and the heat of his body against hers. It had been so long, almost ten years since she’d been touched like this, felt a man’s lips on her, his warm breath mingling with hers. The delicious hard angles and clean scent of his skin thrilled her, and she pushed away any thoughts of how wrong the situation might be.

She threaded her fingers in his hair and gripped his scalp as he changed the angle of his kiss. Soft, hot, drugging kisses. All she wanted was to get closer to him, feel a new kind of heat, forget who she was for a few minutes, forget what he was after.

In one easy movement, he flipped her onto her back. The warmth of the fire made her sweetly dizzy and she arched against him. Sensing her need, Mac explored further. His hand moved down, under her shirt, and she felt his palm on her belly. Little zaps of fear warred with the almost desperate urge she had to feel his fingers brush over the skin of her breasts, hear his breathing change when he cupped them and felt the weight of them, feel the lower half of him grow thick and hard as his thumb flicked back and forth over her nipple.

Mac dragged his hand up, over her ribs and along the side of her rib cage. She arched and tilted her body toward his hand, silently begging him to go there, put her out of her misery or show her exactly what misery felt like again as he gave in to her fantasy.

He was no fool, he knew what she was asking for and he delivered with the utmost care. As he applied teasing kisses to her lower lip, his hand drifted from her ribs to her breast, and slowly—so slowly—he began to roll the hard peak between his thumb and forefinger. Olivia shuddered, and released an anguished sigh. Oh, such sweet torture. She felt as though she had just been plunged into a deliciously hot bath, and God help her, she never wanted to step out of it.

But somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she knew if she didn’t, she was going to drown.

He left her mouth and dipped his face into her neck, kissing and suckling her rapid pulse as the speed of his fingers on her nipple quickened. Back and forth, faster and faster.

Her legs were shaking now, almost uncontrollably, and she knew if he didn’t stop touching her, she was going to climax. Right then and there without him even going near the hot, wet place between her thighs. And she couldn’t do that—not now, not for him.

She pushed at his chest and sat up, her breathing as labored as if she’d just outrun a hungry animal.

“Why are you stopping?” His voice was ragged.

“You know why,” she uttered softly.

He raked a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Liv, there’s nothing wrong with being together like this, taking what you need when you need it.”

She looked down at him, her body warring with her mind. “From you, there is.” He looked so sexy lying there in the light of the fire with his hair tousled and a light shadow of beard around his full mouth. “From a guy who’s just using me—”

“You’re using me, too,” he uttered darkly. “Don’t pretend you’re not. I could feel every moment you’ve denied yourself in your touch, in your kiss, the way your hips pushed against mine. You’re starving, Olivia, and you want to feed so badly you’re still shaking with it.”

“I’m cold.”

“Bull. It’s hot as hell in here right now.”

His words startled her. She did want him, but she wasn’t altogether sure why. Was it to use him? Was it to make up for lost time and to finally feel a release in her body and a release of the past? Or was it because she was actually starting to like him?

Her body still hummed from his touch, but she ignored it and said softly, “I’m going to go back to your room now. Alone.”

“Is that really what you want?”

Of course it wasn’t, but she needed to step back and gain some perspective here. “Yes.”

“All right. But if you get cold—”

She stopped him right there and stood. “A little cold might be a good thing right now.” And without another glance in his direction, she left the room.

Mac woke up to the sounds of a snowplow and his doorbell chiming. Looked as though the streets were clear and his furniture delivery had arrived. He pushed himself out of his chair and stretched, the kinks in his back protesting. As he walked to the front door he wondered if Olivia was still asleep in his bed or if she’d slipped out at dawn.

He raked a hand through his hair. What kind of trouble would he be in if, after he let the furniture guys in, he went to wake her up, started at her ankles and worked his way up? He grinned, the lower half of him tightening at the thought. She might kick him out of bed—but maybe not.

Mac was still very deeply ensconced in that fantasy when he opened the front door. But when he saw who was on the other side, all softness and desire vanished, and his fangs came out. “Hell, no. It’s way too early for this.”

Owen Winston looked ready to murder him. “Where’s my daughter?”

“You have a helluva lot of nerve coming here.”

“Where is my daughter?”

Mac leaned against the doorjamb and raised one eyebrow. “In my bed.”

The older man’s eyes bulged out like a tree frog’s and he lunged at Mac.

Eight

Olivia walked down the hall, an aching stiffness in her bones that came from sleeping in a chair for most of the night. If she’d had the day to herself, she might grab a massage and a whirlpool bath at the local spa, but she had a full plate today and a good soak in her bathtub when she got home tonight was about the best she could hope for.

When she got to the stairs, she heard voices below in the hall. “Oh, that’s my cab,” she called to Mac. “The tow truck company said they should be pulling out my car later this afternoon, so you don’t have to—” She stopped talking. The voices she heard were angry and threatening, and she recognized them at once. One belonged to Mac, and the other, she was pretty sure, belonged to her father.

She raced down the hallway, but when she got to the entryway, all she could do was stare. There was her father, his back against the wall, looking like he wanted to kill Mac with his bare hands. And Mac, who was standing in front of him, only inches away, looked just as menacing.

“What the hell are you two doing?” she demanded. When neither of them answered, she walked over and stood in front of them, her hands on her hips. “Mac,” she said evenly, trying to bring some sense of calm to the situation, and to the two fire-breathing men before her. “Take a breath and back up.”

His jaw flickered with tension, but he didn’t look at her when he muttered hotly, “Yeah. Sure. As long as your father here doesn’t jump on me again.”

“What?” Olivia turned to her father. “Jump on you?” When Owen didn’t look at her, she put a hand on his shoulder and said in a voice laced with warning, “Dad, what are you doing here?”

Owen’s lips tightened as he turned to look at her. “We need to talk.”

“You could’ve called me.”

“I tried to call you, but you weren’t at home.”

“Let’s go outside.” Embarrassed at her father’s behavior, and the overly parental way he was treating her at that moment, Olivia tried to smooth things over with Mac. She felt really awkward looking at him, especially after their encounter last night, but she forced herself to. “I’m sorry about this—”

Mac put a hand up. “Don’t worry about it, just get him out—”

“Don’t apologize to him, Olivia,” Owen said with a sneer. “He’s a monster, a conniving—”

Before Owen could hurtle any more insults Mac’s way, Olivia took his hand and pulled him out the door, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be back at ten for the delivery. If you’ll just put a key under the mat…”

Not expecting a response, Olivia led Owen down the walkway toward her waiting cab. She was furious, and could barely contain her anger. She understood her father’s need to protect her, but this was way over the top.

As soon as she believed herself to be out of earshot, she faced him, her tone grave. “Dad, seriously, what are you doing? Coming here and attacking a man in his own home?”

“He’s no man, he’s a—”

“He could have called the police. Hell, he still could…and I have to say I wouldn’t blame him. What were you thinking?”

Owen suddenly looked very weary as he reached out to touch her hair. “I was trying to protect you, honey, stop you from making a huge mistake.” His eyes clouded with sadness. “But it looks like I’m too late for that.”

“Too late for what? What mistake…?” Then she understood why her father had come. She heaved a sigh. It was the same old thing—her father’s desperation, and constant fear that she was going to turn out like his older sister Grace. Her poor aunt Grace, who had been way too wild, made way too many mistakes and had been totally incapable of picking a decent guy. Poor Aunt Grace who, after staying out until dawn partying with some jerk from the local college, had been killed in a car accident on her way home. She’d just turned eighteen the week before, and Olivia’s father had never gotten over losing her.

Olivia understood her father’s fears and his need to protect her, but she wasn’t sixteen anymore. This over-protectiveness needed to stop.

Standing beside the open door of the cab, Owen was shaking his head. “That monster stood there in his doorway and smiled when I asked him where you were.”

Oh, great. “What did he tell you?” As if she needed to ask.

“That you were in his bed.” Her father said the words as though he had acid on his tongue.

So Mac had baited her father. What a shocker. God, they were both acting like such juvenile idiots….

“Is it true then?” her father asked, his brown eyes incredibly sad.

“Dad, I’m not going to answer that.”

The cab driver opened his window. “You going to be much longer, lady?”

Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know—maybe.”

The man rolled his eyes and closed his window.

“Olivia, please,” her father continued. “You’re such a good girl. Don’t act irrationally—and with a man who only wants to use you to get back at me.”

“I’m not acting irrationally, Dad. And I’m not a girl anymore.”

“I know….”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She bit her lip and contemplated broaching the subject about his fears and what the hell had happened so long ago. But his eyes still spit fire and he looked way too closed. “Listen,” she said gently, “you knew I was taking this job, and that it would mean working closely with Mac Valentine.”

“Helping my enemy.”

“I have a company to run, too.”

Owen seemed to consider this, then he said in a slightly calculating tone, “Okay, so you’re helping him do what exactly? Go after new clients?”

Olivia shook her head. “That’s confidential.”

Owen looked livid. “The man is a conniving bastard who wants to hurt you, and you’re worried about…”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “How long have I been living on my own, supporting myself?”

“Since you were eighteen.” He pointed at her. “But that was not my choice.”

“Exactly. I’m a grown woman who makes her own choices, and as I’ve told you before—respectfully—I don’t have to answer to you or to anyone.”

Owen wilted slightly, but it wasn’t the first time he’d heard her speak this way. After her mother had died, and after Owen had emotionally checked out, Olivia had made decisions for herself. Some of them had been downright stupid, even reckless, but the majority, she’d been proud of—like her business.

Her father’s gaze grew soft as he looked at her. “What happened to my little girl?”

“I left her back in high school.” Olivia leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I have a busy day, as I’m sure you do, too.” She got into the backseat of the cab and gave him a little wave before her driver backed out and pulled away.

Mac stood in the living room, watching Olivia’s cab take off down the street. The glass on every window in the house was pretty thin, and he’d heard their entire conversation. Looked like he had gotten it wrong; Olivia may not be that sweet, naive girl he assumed her to be. But where her father didn’t want to deal with it, Mac burned to know every detail of the past she seemed to be hiding—especially after last night.

Grinning, he left the living room and went into his study. Embers burned in the fireplace, and as he sat in one of the leather armchairs, his body twitched with the memory of Olivia in his arms, on top of him, underneath him. The way she’d responded to his touch, the silent, hungry demands. She’d felt pleasure before, but she’d been denied it for way too long. There was no need to push her, he realized. The demands of her body had started to take over her good sense and Mac was going to be there, totally available when it happened again.

After all, her father thought him to be a womanizing bastard, and Mac was ready to prove him right.

All in all a very successful day, Olivia mused, walking from one beautifully furnished room to the next. She’d quite outdone herself, and in record time, too. Each room complemented the next in leather and iron, glass and walnut.

She stopped in the living room and marveled at the classic, comfortable feel of the space. Not to mention the warm air puffing from the vents in the baseboards. She’d finally found a guy to come out in the snow and turn on the heat. A vast improvement in and of itself.

Though she’d purchased all the linens for the upstairs, the bedroom furniture wouldn’t be arriving until early tomorrow morning. But they were close—well on their way to creating a very modern, very homey, very Mac-like environment.

“Ms. Winston?”

Olivia returned to the living room where Dennis Thompson, a local art gallery owner who looked rather like a short version of Ichabod Crane, was hanging several paintings she’d purchased for Mac’s house.

“What do you think?” he asked, holding up two Josef Albers pieces, both in several shades of yellow. “On top of one another?”

She sat on the new distressed, brown leather couch to get a better view. “Hmm…I don’t know. How about—”

“Side by side?” came Mac’s voice behind her.

Dennis Thompson looked behind Olivia and beamed at Mac. “Perfect. I’ll just go get my tools from the car.”

Olivia turned, surprised. “You’re home early, Mr. Valentine. Are you here to supervise?”

He was dressed in a tailored black suit and crisp white shirt, his tie loosened from his neck. “I came home for a late lunch or an early dinner.”

“Oh, really?” she said with a grin. “I haven’t stocked the fridge yet and you ate the only frozen pizza, so what were you planning on having? The cocktail onions or that last, lonely bottle of Corona?”

He walked around the couch and sat beside her. “You’re a pretty good chef, aren’t you?”

“I like to think so.” He smelled so good. She tried not to breathe through her nose.

“Well, then, can’t you make something amazing out of onions and beer?”

“No,” said Olivia succinctly, lifting an eyebrow. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“When do you normally leave the office to come home?”

His lips twitched. “Oh, I don’t know…”

“Approximately.”

“Seven, eight…nine, ten.”

She looked at her watch. “It’s four-thirty—why are you here?” Her heart began to pound in her chest as she wondered for a moment if he was there to see her. After what happened that morning with her father, she wouldn’t blame him. She just hoped he wouldn’t spread the story around town. “Are you going to fire me?”

“No.” He laughed. “That’s over and done with.” His voice turned serious. “As long as it doesn’t happen again. I can’t have your father showing up when the DeBolds arrive.”

“It will not happen again,” she assured him. “You have my word.”

Satisfied with that answer, Mac leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not exactly sure why I’m here. But I think the reason might be embarrassing.”

“For you or me?”

“Me. Definitely me.”

“Oh, well, then share, please.”

He glanced around the room. “It’s really warm in here.”

“I know. I had the tech come this morning and it took him hours just to—”

“No, I mean what you’ve created here from the furniture to the artwork to all those little things on the tables and in the bathroom and on the mantels. It’s all warm. I never thought I’d be comfortable with warm.…” He looked at her, surprise in his gaze. “As you start to make my house into a livable, family-friendly place I sort of want to be here to see it…and you.”

Her muscles tensed at his words and she could almost feel the pressure of his lips on her mouth once again. Her reaction to him, her attraction to him, wasn’t going away, she knew that. But she hoped that maybe the two of them could forget what happened last night and go on about their business.

When she found his gaze once again, Mac had that look in his eye, that roguish one that made her knees weak and her resolve disappear.

“Listen,” she began, “about last night…”

“Yes?”

“I was half-asleep.”

“Before or after you kissed me?” he asked huskily.

Right. Her brow creased with unease. “As clichéd as this is about to sound, it’ll never happen again.”

He grinned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“We made sparks.”

His words and the casual way he offered them made her laugh. “I won’t argue with that. You’re one helluva kisser, Valentine, but…” And on that note, she sobered. “You’re also using me.” She put a hand up as she saw him open his mouth to speak. “I know you think I’m using you, too, but I’m not. And last night, I didn’t.”

His grin evaporated. “Then why…”

She stared at him, wondered what he would say if she told him she was starting to like him—that even with the information she had about him and why he’d hired her to begin with, she believed he was good man. A damaged man—but, under that hard-ass exterior, a good one.

“Ms. Winston?”

Dennis Thompson had returned from his car and was standing in the doorway with his toolkit and another painting. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but before we can hang the rest of the pieces, we need you to tell us where you want them.”

“I’ll be right there,” she told him before facing Mac again. “Now, we have guests arriving tomorrow afternoon, and I have to finish up here, then go home and plan a menu.”

He nodded. “Have you decided to stay here?”

“Not yet.”

“If you do, I won’t bother you.”

“I’m not worried about you starting anything.” It was all she had to say. The flush on his neck and the stiffness in his jaw were obvious clues that he’d heard the slight emphasis on the word you and understood her meaning all too clearly.

She got up and was about to leave the room when Mac called her back. “Olivia?”

“Yes?”

“As far as the menu, I’ve invited another couple to join us tomorrow night, so there will be six instead of four.”

“Okay. Anyone I know?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s the DeBolds’ attorney and her husband.”

“Got it.” She tossed him a casual, professional smile, then left the room.

Nine

If someone called Mac Valentine an arrogant jerk to his face, he usually agreed with them before kicking them out of his office. He was arrogant. But in his defense he believed he was the best at what he did and that unshakable confidence was the only way to stay at the top of his game. Today, at around three o’clock in the afternoon, he’d had that theory tested and proven correct by one of the clients who, just a few weeks ago, had been running scared after Owen Winston’s foolish attempt to discredit him. After waiting for twenty minutes in the lobby, the client had sat before Mac and had practically begged him to take him back. Whether the man still believed that Mac had given preferential treatment and tips to his other clients or not, being at a competing firm had not proved lucrative and he wanted back in.

Mac pulled into his garage feeling on top of the world. When one client returned, he mused, the others would surely follow—they’d leave Owen Winston and other financial firms and come back to where they belonged.

He cut the engine and grabbed his briefcase and laptop. Today’s success would by no means deter him from getting revenge on Winston. And in fact, he actually felt a stronger desire to follow through on his plans with Olivia. By the end of the weekend, he thought darkly as he stepped out of the car and headed into the house, he would have it all: Owen’s little girl and a powerhouse of a new client to add to his roster.

The heavenly scent of meat and spices, onions and something sweet accosted his senses when he walked through the door. Home sweet home, he thought sarcastically, walking into the kitchen. But once there, he promptly forgot everything he’d just been thinking, plotting and reveling in. In fact, as he took in the sight before him, he realized he had little or no brain left. “You look…”

Olivia stood before the stove, stirring something with a wooden spoon. “Like a wife?”

He saw the lightness, the humor in her eyes, but couldn’t find a laugh to save his soul. He cleared his throat, his gaze moving over her hungrily. “I was going to say, breath-stealing—but I suppose you could look wifely, as well.”

She wore pink. He hated pink. He’d always hated pink. It was for flowers or cotton candy. But Olivia Winston in pink was a whole different matter. The dress she wore was cut at the knee and cinched at the waist, and pushed her perfectly round breasts upward, just slightly—just enough so that she looked elegant, yet would also drive a man to drool. Her long dark hair was pulled up to the top of her head, causing her neck to look long and edible, and her dark eyes, still filled with humor, reminded him of warm clay beneath long, black lashes.

And she had wanted him to forget about the other night? Get serious. All Mac wanted was to pull her against him, ease the top of her dress down, fill his hands with her, play with one perfect pink nipple while he suckled the other. His groin tightened almost to the point of pain. He wondered, would she moan as he nuzzled her? Or would she cry out again, allow herself to climax this time?

“Well, thank you for the compliment,” she said, gathering up several bottles of wine. “Would you mind setting those things down and giving me a hand?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

She nodded in the direction of the island. “Wineglasses. Can you grab them and follow me?”

He picked up the spotless glasses that were laid out on a towel on the island and followed her into the dining room.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked, setting the bottle down on an impressive black hutch.

This woman wasn’t fooling around. She was damn good at what she did, and it showed in every detail. She’d set the table with unusually modern-looking china, gleaming stemware and silver silk napkins. But the most impressive part was the centerpiece, which sat in the middle of a round walnut table. It looked as though she’d brought the outdoors inside with cut branches from his yard, white candles and small silver bells.

He set down the wineglasses and released a breath. “It’s perfect.”

“Good.” She checked her watch. “Your guests will be here in thirty minutes. You’d better wash up and change your clothes.”

“I have time.”

She gave him an impatient look. “It would be rude, not to mention awkward, if you weren’t here when the doorbell rings.”

“Careful, or someone might think you’re the woman of the house,” Mac said with amusement, wondering how long it would take to kiss that pink gloss off her mouth.

Reaching for the dimmer switch on the wall, Olivia lowered the lights a touch. “For all intents and purposes this weekend, I am.”

His gaze swept over her. “Did I tell you how much I like the color pink?”

“No, you didn’t,” she said primly, putting her arm through his and walking him toward the stairs. “But we really don’t have time for that now. I have a dinner to get on the table, and I won’t allow anything to burn.”

He grinned. “Of course, can’t have things getting too hot now, can we?”

She glared at him, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I think a shower would be good for you.”

He nodded and said with sardonic amusement, “Yes, dear,” then took the stairs two at a time. She was right. He needed a shower, a really cold shower. Hell, he thought, chuckling to himself, he might do better diving into one of those piles of snow burying his lawn.

Harold DeBold was one of those guys people just liked the minute they met him. Hovering somewhere around forty, he was very tall and thin, and had pale blond hair and wintery blue eyes. He reminded Olivia of a surfer, relaxed and free-spirited. His wife Louise, on the other hand, was dark-skinned, dark-eyed, completely city-sexy in her gorgeousness and totally high-strung. But she also seemed sincere, and when she was told that Olivia was going to be their chef for the weekend, instead of thinking it odd that the person Mac had hired to help him was not going to stay in the kitchen and/or serve, but was going to eat and socialize with them, she’d acted as though it were the most normal thing in the world—even adding that she was thrilled that Olivia was going to cook some down-home Minnesota fare for them.

“Honestly,” the woman said to Olivia, curling her diamond-encrusted hand around her wineglass. “I feel like all I’ve eaten for days is foie gras, caviar and squid ink. I’m over it.”

Chuckling, Harold told Mac, “We’ve been in New York for the past week.”

They were waiting for the DeBolds’attorney and her husband to arrive as they sat in Mac’s den, which had been completely transformed into a contemporary, masculine, but family-friendly retreat with his two existing leather chairs and several other pieces of dark blue chenille furniture curled around the fire. Cozy rugs dressed the hardwood floor, and lights had been installed outside to showcase the wintery-forest view from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Mac reached over and topped off Louise’s wine. “You two were in Manhattan for a week and you didn’t get around to pasta?”

Louise snorted. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Next time you go, let me know,” Mac said seriously. “There’s this tiny hole-in-the-wall in Little Italy that you’ve got to check out. The spiciest pasta puttanesca—not to mention the best-tasting parmesan cheese I’ve ever had.”

“Cheese.” Chuckling, Harold said with dramatic flair, “City folk think that all us backcountry Wisconsinites get to eat is cheese, so they refuse to take us anywhere that might serve it. Instead, they figure they’ve got to impress us with all those fancy, unpronounceable, unrecognizable foods.” As he said the last word he mimed air quotes.

Olivia held out a tray of hors d’oeuvres. “Well, everything you’re going to eat tonight is as easy to pronounce as it is to eat.”

Louise sipped her wine and said, “Thank God.”

Harold took one of Olivia’s famous blue cheese jalapeño poppers wrapped in bacon and practically sighed when he ate it. “Oh, my,” he said to Olivia, his blue eyes so warm she couldn’t help but wonder if he was flirting with her just a little bit. “If these are any indication of your culinary skill, then you might never get me to leave.”

Louise agreed. “These tomato basil tarts are over the top.”

Olivia smiled, pleased that her fun and flavorful finger food was such a hit. “Thank you.”

“Are you self-taught, Olivia?” Louise asked.

“I actually went to culinary school, then I worked for several chefs in town before starting my business.”

Harold’s brows drew together. “And what kind of business is that exactly? Catering? Or are you a personal chef?”

Olivia looked over at Mac, who was sitting in a dark blue wing-back chair by the fire. He didn’t appear concerned by the question, and even winked at her, so she was as honest as she needed to be. “Myself and two other women provide catering, decorating, party planning …those kinds of services to clients.”

“And are your clients mostly clueless men or women?” Louise asked, her eyes dancing with humor until she realized she was including her host in that question. She offered him an apologetic smile. “Of course, I didn’t mean you, Mac.”

Mac laughed. “No apology necessary—I know where my skills lie and they’re not in the kitchen.”

“Mine, either, sadly,” Louise said on a sigh.

“All it takes is a little practice,” Olivia told Louise sympathetically.

Harold shook his head wistfully. “She has tried, Olivia.”

“Hey, there.” Louise gave him a playful swat on the arm.

The doorbell chimed over the laughter in the room, and Mac stood. “I’ll get that. Must be Avery.”

When Mac was gone, Harold turned to Olivia. “My lawyer and her husband are great people, and are usually very punctual.”

Olivia smiled warmly. “We’re in no rush tonight.”

“I like that attitude,” Louise said, snatching up another tomato tart. Male laughter erupted from the front hall, and Louise rolled her eyes. “Boys. We just found out that Mac went to college with Tim, fraternity buddies or something.”

It was as if time slowed after Louise had said the name Tim, and Olivia couldn’t seem to find her breath. Even the room spun slightly. “Tim?” she managed to say. “That’s your attorney’s husband?”

Louise may have answered her, but Olivia’s ears were buzzing. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.

“Sorry we’re late,” came a voice that Olivia recognized at once. She swallowed. What was in her throat? It felt like a rock. She wouldn’t turn around—couldn’t turn around. He was coming and she felt frozen to the couch.

“Avery couldn’t decide on which shoes to wear,” he said dryly.

“Don’t you blame me, Tim Keavy, you know it was your fault.” The woman sniffed and added, “The Vikings game was on.”

“Typical.” Mac chuckled. “Avery, Tim, I’d like to introduce our amazing chef for the evening.”

No.… She didn’t want to.

“Olivia?” Mac said.

She wasn’t ready.…

“Olivia?” Mac said louder, sounding puzzled now.

Her heart slamming against her ribs in a noxious rhythm of fear and dread, Olivia turned around to see the one person in the world who knew her secret—the boy who, nine years ago, had walked in on an affair between a teacher and a student. A boy who had made a young Olivia Winston feel like trash from that day forward.

Ten

For a moment, Mac wondered if Olivia was having an anxiety attack. Her face was as pale as the snow outside the window, and her eyes looked watery, as though she desperately wanted to cry, but wouldn’t allow herself to go there in front of guests.

What the hell was wrong with her? Had the DeBolds said something to upset her while he was gone? The quick, almost fierce anger that rose up inside of him surprised him, as did the protective impulse jumping in his blood.

Protecting Owen Winston’s daughter was hardly the plan.

His gaze shifted, and he saw Tim staring at Olivia, his lip drawn up in a sneer. It was a look Tim usually reserved for people who didn’t perform to his standards, from office staff to the guy who continued to put whipped cream on his espresso at the local coffee shop. Mac didn’t get it.

He watched Tim walk toward her and stick out his hand. “Wow,” he said coolly. “Olivia Winston. Small world.”

“Microscopic.” Olivia rose stiffly and clasped his hand for about half a second. “Hello, Tim.”

“How do you two know each other?” Mac asked, though the tone of his voice sounded slightly demanding.

“We went to the same high school,” Tim stated flatly.

“How funny,” Louise remarked with a dry laugh, clearly not seeing the discomfort between the two. “You knew Olivia in high school and Mac in college?”

“That’s right,” Tim said.

Mac watched as Olivia seemed to get herself under control. With a smile affixed to her face, she walked over to Tim’s wife and held out her hand, “Hi, I’m Olivia. Welcome.”

“Avery Keavy. It’s so nice to meet you.” Avery had the good sense to leave the high school talk alone, and instead gestured to the coffee table and assorted hors d’oeuvres. “These look amazing. I’m sorry we’re late.”

Olivia picked up a tray and offered a stuffed mushroom to Avery. “It’s no problem. Dinner’s almost ready. In fact, I’m going to check on it right now. If you’ll all excuse me…” After she placed the tray on the buffet, she excused herself and headed for the door.

“Need any help?” Mac called after her.

She turned then and glared at him. “No. I’ve got everything under control, Mr. Valentine.”

Mac had never seen anyone look at him with such full-on revulsion, and he had no idea why. And her palely masked anger didn’t end there. It continued all through dinner. Not that the DeBolds or the Keavys really picked up on it, they were way too focused on the food—which was perfection. But Mac saw every little glare she tossed his way as he served himself another helping of her mouthwatering brisket and smashed red potatoes, and wondered why the hell she was so upset at him. It couldn’t be just because he was responsible for inviting Tim to the house. What was the big deal, so he knew her in high school?

Maybe he’d have to go to Tim for the information if Olivia wasn’t going to speak to him. He looked over at Tim. The guy was just going with the flow. He didn’t even look at Olivia.

“Pecan pie is one of my favorite desserts,” Harold was saying to Olivia, his plate nearly empty.

Olivia gave him a warm smile. “I’m so glad. Would you like a second piece? How about you, Louise?”

“Absolutely.” Louise held out her plate. “And I’m not even going to ask you to force me in to it.”

Avery dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Will you force me then, Olivia?”

“Of course,” Olivia said, keeping her gaze fixed on Tim’s wife. “I demand that you hold out your plate, Avery.”

Avery gave her a small salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Avery and Louise broke out into laughter as they passed around the fresh whipped cream to top their pie. Mac, however, was too distracted to find humor in the situation. When he should’ve been selling himself to the DeBolds, talking about how he could change their financial future, he was staring at Olivia, wondering what was wrong with her and how he could fix it. It pissed him off. Why did he care if she was angry with him?

After the brown-sugar coffee and pecan pie had been completely devoured, Avery thanked both Olivia and Mac for their hospitality and she and a very unsocial Tim took off. The DeBolds, feeling a little jet-lagged and extremely full, requested an early night, as well, and retired to their room.

The night had been a successful one—on the business front at any rate. The DeBolds seemed content and happy with Mac and with his home, and wasn’t that the first step to having them as clients? With the DeBolds in bed, Mac had to deal with Olivia, who had fled to the kitchen as soon as both couples had gone.

When Mac entered the room, Olivia was camped out over the sink, washing dishes at a frenetic pace, taking out her anger on a serving platter.

“Great dinner,” he said, walking over to her, leaning against the counter next to the sink.

“Yes,” she said stiffly. “I think you’ve impressed them.”

“I hope so.”

“Yep. One step closer to getting the big fish on the hook.”

He didn’t respond to her sarcasm. “Do you need any help?”

“No.”

He exhaled heavily. “Are you going to tell me why you’re so angry with me?”

She continued to scrub the life out of a white platter, and Mac wondered if talking right now was a stupid idea. Maybe she just needed to cool off with her soap and hot water. But then she dropped the platter in the sink and turned to face him, anger and disappointment in her dark eyes.

“I knew you were out to punish my father and use me in the process,” she said. “But I had no idea how far you’d go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“Tim Keavy,” she snapped.

“What about him?”

She shook her head. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t act like you’re clueless. It doesn’t suit you. You’re a shark, be proud of it.”

“You’re nuts, lady.” He gritted his teeth and pushed away from the counter. “All I know is you two went to the same high school.”

“Right.” She glared at him, her nostrils flaring. “So how does this go? You think by outing my sordid past to my dad, he’ll back down on whatever he has on you? Apologize?” She shook her head, then walked past him out of the room, saying, “It’ll never happen. My father’s even more stubborn than I am.”

He followed her. “Where are you going?”

“To my room.”

“You’re not leaving?”

“I’m going to give this job everything I have, get you the clients you want, then get the hell out. You’ll have no ammunition if you’re looking to ruin my business reputation along with my personal one.”

“You’re talking crazy,” he said, following her up the stairs and down the hall to the guest room. She had chosen the one on the opposite side of the house than the DeBolds, and Mac was thankful he didn’t have to whisper.

When she got to the door, she said, “Good night, Mac,” then went inside.

When she tried to close the door behind her, he wouldn’t let her. He held the door wide. “Listen, you can’t just throw all that garbage in my face, then walk away.”

She released her grip on the door, put her hands up in the air. “What do you want to say, Valentine? That you didn’t know your best friend from college knew me?”

“Damn right,” Mac said hotly, walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care if you believe me or not, it’s true.”

Standing just inches from him, she held her chin high as she stared hard into his eyes. “It’s going to take a lot more to humiliate me and screw with my father than tossing my past mistakes, my past humiliations, back in my face.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “I’m not doing that.”

“Bull.”

“I don’t give a damn about your past.”

“I do!” she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. She dropped her gaze, bit her lip and cursed. When she looked up at him again, she looked like a kid, so vulnerable it killed him. “I hate that part of my life.”

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Stop that.” He gave her a gentle shake, for the first time feeling the guilt that came with his plan. “Stop it, Olivia.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed go. He was the one who was supposed to make her miserable, then send her back to her father in shame. He should be reveling in the fact that he had access to information about her past that would make her father suffer.

“Damn it.” He hauled her against him and kissed her hard on the mouth. “I don’t care what happened before, and neither should you.” He nuzzled her lips, then nipped at them, suckled them, until she gave in, gave up and sagged against him.

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he said as his hands found her lower back and raked upward. “Or this.” He dipped his head and kissed her throat, suckling the skin that covered her rapid pulse, grinning as a hungry whimper escaped her throat. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Olivia.”

“You don’t understand,” she uttered, letting her head fall back.

He held her close, his lips brushing her temple. “Help me to, then.”

“I…can’t. I made a promise to myself.…”

He rubbed his face against her hair. “When you were a kid?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You’re a woman now.” He nuzzled her ear, nipped at the lobe. “Everything’s different.”

On those words, she froze. “That’s the thing,” she said, her voice hoarse. She drew back, her eyes filled with regret. “Nothing’s different. Not at all. I refuse to make any more stupid mistakes with men who just want to…” She didn’t finish, just shook her head.

“Olivia.”

She disentangled herself from his grasp. “Two more days. That’s it. That’s all you’re getting from me, so do your worst because after this weekend is up you’re going to be done. Done with me and done with my father.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mac said darkly before turning and leaving the room.

Eleven

And the winner of the worst night’s sleep contest was…Olivia Winston.

Standing over the stove, she made sure her pan was hot, then carefully cracked an egg into the hole she’d made in the slice of crusty bread. Three cups of extra-strength coffee and all she wanted to do was go back to bed. But maybe that had nothing to do with being tired as much as it had to do with hiding. For someone who had gone into this job thinking it would be easy-peasy, she sure was going through a lot of difficult, trying moments. Not to mention, some sexually charged moments that she couldn’t get out of her head. She’d really underestimated Mac and his desire to bury her father, and she’d overestimated herself, and her needs, in the process. She’d wanted to find out just how Mac was going to get back at her dad, and had basically given him the goods to make it happen.

She flipped the bread. To make matters worse, she wanted more—more of him, more of his touch, his kisses. She was weak and a total disappointment.

She felt him in the kitchen even before she saw him, and wanted to kick herself for the giddiness that erupted inside her at the thought of seeing him again.

“Good morning.”

She spared him a quick smile. “Morning.” He looked good, Saturday-morning sexy in expensive black sweats and dark tousled hair.

“Sleep well?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“No. You?”

He chuckled. “I slept okay.”

“Yeah, guys can sleep through anything. Your brains turn off—so lucky.”

“Maybe our brains turn off, but that’s about it.” Despite his hard, unyielding business-guy attitude, he had this obvious sensuality, this slow, tigerlike laziness that made him seem always ready for bed. “Honestly, the effects of what happened in your room last night are still with me this morning.”

She ignored the pull in her belly. “Me, too—but maybe in a different way.” She laid another slice of bread in the hot pan and cracked an egg. “Listen, Mac, I don’t know if I believe what you said last night about Tim—if you set that up or not—but I can’t worry about it anymore. I’ve spent too many years worrying about the past. Can we just let everything go and concentrate on what we’re trying to accomplish with the DeBolds?”

“Let everything go?”

“Yes. Do you think you can do that?”

“Do you really think you can do that?” he countered, his eyes glittering with heat.

Before she could answer, Harold and Louise walked into the kitchen, all smiles and dressed like models from a Hanna Andersson catalog. “Morning,” Harold said, taking a seat at the island.

“Morning,” Mac said good-naturedly. “Sleep well?”

“Perfect,” Harold said. “Something smells good, but that’s not surprising.”

Olivia glanced at Mac, who was watching her over his steaming cup of coffee, then she turned to her guests. “Eggs in a blanket, bacon and good, strong coffee.”

“Are you trying to fatten us up?” Louise asked, sitting beside her husband.

“Of course,” Olivia said on a chuckle, setting two cups of coffee before them. “But only so you have all the energy you need for what I have planned today.”

“And what do you have planned?” Mac asked, seeming to suddenly realize he’d never discussed plans with her.

Olivia looked at them all brightly. “Ice skating.”

Mac practically choked on his coffee. “Ice skating?”

Louise, on the other hand, looked as though she were about to explode with happiness. “Did you hear that, Harold?”

“I did. I did.”

Clasping her hands together like a little girl, Louise cried, “I haven’t been skating in ten years.”

“Well, then maybe it’s not such a good idea—” Mac began, but Louise cut him off.

“Not a good idea? No, no, no—it’s perfect. Harold and I had our first date on a skating rink. Rounder’s Pond—it was in back of my grandfather’s property, a beautiful kidney bean shape and surrounded by trees. Do you remember that, honey?”

“Of course.” Harold smiled at his wife, then looked over at Olivia. “You have made my wife very happy today. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Olivia beamed as she turned back to the stove. “Now, let’s get you two fed.”

Mac came to stand beside her.

She whispered over the DeBolds’ loud chatter, “You look panicked.”

“And you look happy about that,” he muttered.

Laughing, she took two perfectly cooked eggs in blankets out of the pan and placed them gently on plates. She whispered, “Buck up, Valentine. Ice skating is perfect and fun, and I’ve planned a lovely picnic afterward with hot chocolate.”

“I don’t skate, Olivia.”

“Well, you lucked out then.” She handed him the two plates and smiled. “I’m a great teacher.”

He’d been good at sports. Not the school kind. You had to spend more than a year living in one place to get on an organized team, but he’d killed at street basketball and alley soccer in every community he’d been sent to. He’d never tried hockey though, and before today had assumed that hockey, or anything involving skates, was a little like trying to understand German when all you spoke was Spanish. But he’d jumped into it with both blades. It took him about twenty minutes to really feel his balance, but after that, he was like a demon racing on the ice, even getting an impromptu hockey game going with Harold and some of the guys on the lake.

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