“I’m scared of what the future holds.”

Lauren reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. That made it twice this morning that she’d touched him. Twice that such benign contact had zapped Gavin with all the force of a lightning bolt.

“If it were just me,” she said, “I wouldn’t worry so much. But with the baby?” She shook her head and her eyes turned bright.

“You’re going to be fine. Both of you are going to be fine.” He turned his hand over so that he could hold hers. She looked radiant. Sitting across from him, wearing a pair of shorts that showed off her trim legs, she looked lovely and…sexy.

Gavin swallowed. Was it okay to think of a pregnant woman as sexy?

Especially this pregnant woman?

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

I firmly believe that good things can come out of bad situations. Lauren discovers this when she decides to leave a loveless marriage to make a better life for herself and her unborn child.

I loved watching Lauren Seville develop her backbone page after page. Of course, Gavin O’Donnell recognizes her strength long before she does. In fact, it’s one of the reasons he falls in love with her.

I hope you enjoy Lauren and Gavin’s story. And may you, too, find a silver lining in all your dark clouds.

Best wishes,

Jackie Braun

Jackie Braun
Expecting a Miracle

Jackie Braun is a three-time RITA® Award finalist, a three-time National Readers’ Choice Award finalist and a past winner of the Rising Star Award. She worked as a copy editor and editorial writer for a daily newspaper before quitting her day job in 2004 to write fiction full-time. She lives in Michigan with her family. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her Web site at www.jackiebraun.com.

“There’s something inordinately sexy about a man who is as good with his hands as he is quick with his mind.”

—Jackie Braun, Expecting a Miracle.

For Will, our unexpected miracle

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

LAUREN Seville pulled her car to the side of the road and stepped out. The summer day was gorgeous, the sky impossibly blue and bright with sunshine. Standing in front of a picturesque pasture in rural Connecticut, she breathed in the mingled scents of wildflowers and listened as the birds chirped and chattered overhead. Then she bent at the waist and retched into the weeds.

The day might be gorgeous, but her life was as unsettled as her stomach at the moment. She was pregnant.

Long ago—long before she’d met and married investment broker Holden Seville and had embarked on a career as the Wife of a Very Important Man—doctors had informed Lauren that she would never conceive. Now, four years into a marriage that had proved as sterile as she’d believed herself to be, she had.

She straightened and stroked her still-flat stomach through the lightweight fabric of her sundress. The news, received just two weeks earlier, still filled her with elation, awe and a sense of anticipation. She was nearly three months into what she considered a miracle.

Her husband did not share her joy about the baby. In fact, quite the opposite.

“I don’t want children.”

She could still hear the cold dismissal in his tone, but his words were hardly a news flash. He’d made that fact perfectly clear when he’d proposed marriage one year to the day after their first date. Children were disruptive, messy and, most of all, needy, he’d said. They were an improper fit for the career-and-cocktails lifestyle Holden enjoyed and planned to continue enjoying.

Lauren didn’t share his view, but she hadn’t argued it at the time. Why bother when the point was moot? Or it had been.

A fresh wave of nausea had her bending over a second time.

“Oh, God,” she moaned afterward, staggering back a few steps to lean against the passenger side of her car.

How foolish she’d been to hope that her husband’s rigid opinion would soften now that the deed was done. It still came as a painful shock to discover that he wanted it undone.

“End your pregnancy,” he’d told her. Your pregnancy. As if Lauren was solely responsible for her state. As if he had no tie—by blood or otherwise—to the new life growing inside of her.

He’d finished his ultimatum with: “If you don’t, I’ll end our marriage.”

So, a mere twenty-four hours after refusing, Lauren found herself standing alone on the side of a country road gazing at a pasture, feeling queasy, exhausted and longing for the comfort of the king-size bed in their Manhattan apartment. She would go back eventually. She’d left with nothing but her purse and painful disillusionment. But she wasn’t going to return until she had formulated a plan. When she faced Holden again she would do so with dignity, with her hormone-fueled emotions under check. This time she would offer him a few terms and conditions of her own.

“Hey, are you all right?”

The deep voice startled Lauren. She swung around in time to see a man jogging toward her from the farmhouse just down the road. Good Lord. Had he seen…everything? Embarrassment turned her cheeks hot and she couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“I’m fine,” Lauren called.

She pasted on a smile and headed around the car’s hood, all the while hoping he wouldn’t come any closer. But he continued down the road in a long-legged stride that brought them face-to-face before she could open the driver’s-side door of her Mercedes and get inside.

Doing so now would be rude. Lauren was never rude. So she remained standing, lips crooked up in the same polite smile that had gotten her through many a tedious dinner party with her husband’s work associates.

“Are you sure?” the man asked. “You still look a little pale. Maybe you should sit down.”

Lauren pegged him to be in his midthirties and physically fit, if the nice sculpting of his tanned arms was any indication. He was average height with tousled, mocha-colored hair that the breeze teased into further disarray.

“I’ve been sitting. Well, driving.” She waved a hand down the road in the direction she’d come. “I just stopped to…to…to stretch my legs.”

“Right.” Kind eyes studied her a moment. “Are you sure I can’t get you a glass of water or something?”

“Oh, no. But thank you for offering.”

It was a programmed response and so it slipped easily from her lips. She was used to lying about her feelings, subjugating her needs and putting a positive spin on everything. She’d done that growing up so as not to upset her workaholic parents’ hectic timetables. She’d done that as a wife, putting Holden and his demanding career first. But she’d been driving for more than two hours with no particular destination in mind. She had no idea how long it would be before she reached the next town. At the moment the undeniable truth was that she had to use the bathroom and would trade her Prada pumps for a good swish of mouthwash.

So, before she could change her mind—again—she said primly, “Actually, I would appreciate the use of your…facilities.”

“Facilities.” She thought he might grin. But he didn’t. He swept a hand in the direction of his house and said, “Sure. Right this way.”

As they walked toward the farmhouse, he rested his hand on the small of her back, almost as if he knew she wasn’t quite steady on her feet. The gesture struck her as old-fashioned, gentlemanly almost. It seemed a little odd coming from a guy who was wearing a T-shirt whose logo was too faded to be readable and a pair of jeans stained on the thighs with various hues of paint.

She chided herself for judging him based on appearances alone. Lauren knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving. She’d met enough designer-dressed phonies over the years. People who said all the appropriate things, supported all the right causes and knew which fork to use for their salads, but it was for show. She could spot them easily enough. It took a fake to know one.

Did anyone know the real Lauren Seville?

That thought had her remembering her manners. “I’m Lauren, by the way.”

He smiled and a pair of dimples dented his stubble-covered cheeks. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Gavin.”

When they reached the house, he guided her up the steps to the porch and held open the front door for her. Curiosity had her glancing around when she entered his house. Beyond the foyer, the living room was bare of furniture unless one counted the sawhorse set up next to the fireplace.

“Are you working here?”

“Why do you ask?” But he laughed then. “Actually, I own the place. I’m in the middle of some pretty aggressive renovations.”

“So I see.”

He settled his hands on his hips and glanced around, looking satisfied. “The kitchen’s coming along nicely and the bedroom on this floor is done. I’m just finishing up the crown molding in here. I’m debating whether I should stain it or paint it white. Same goes for the mantel I made. What do you think?”

That threw her. Gavin barely knew her and yet he was asking her opinion. “You want to know what I think?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Fresh eyes. Besides, you look like someone with good taste.” His gaze skimmed down momentarily, his expression frank and appreciative, but hardly leering. It left her feeling ridiculously flattered.

And flustered. “You built the mantel too, hmm? You’re very good with your hands.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Heat prickled Lauren’s skin. Hormones, she decided. Fatigue.

Gavin cleared his throat. “The bathroom is down that hall, first door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

As she walked away, he called, “Ignore the mess. I’m in the middle of rehabbing that room, too.”

He wasn’t kidding about the mess. Shattered tiles from the walls lay in a heap in one corner and the light fixture was a single bare bulb that hung from a wire protruding from the ceiling.

Lauren stepped to the pedestal sink and turned on the faucet, half expecting to see the water come out brown. But it was clear and cool and it felt gloriously refreshing when she splashed some of it on her face. Though she wasn’t one to snoop, desperation had her opening his medicine cabinet in search of something to help rid her mouth of its foul taste. She sighed with relief when she found a tube of toothpaste. She squeezed some onto her index finger and used it as a makeshift brush. When she joined Gavin on the porch a few minutes later she felt almost human again.

He was seated on the swing at the far end, a bottle of water in each hand and a cell phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. When she stepped outside, he ended his call, maneuvered the bottles so he could clip the phone back onto his belt and stood.

“Feeling better?” he asked as he handed Lauren one of the waters.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good. Have a seat.” He swept a hand in the direction of the swing he’d just left.

It looked comfortable despite its worn cushion. Comfortable and inviting, much like the man himself. More than anything she wanted to sit. Lauren shook her head. “I really should be on my way.”

“Why? Are you late for something?” he asked.

“No. I just…I don’t want to put you out. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Nothing pressing. Well, the house. There’s always something to do here.” Gavin laughed. “But it’ll keep.” When she hesitated, he added. “Come on, Lauren. Join me. Consider it your good deed for the day. Once you go I’ll have to get back to work. I’d appreciate the break.”

“Well, in that case…” She smiled, and though it wasn’t like her at all to spend time with a strange man in the middle of nowhere, she sat on the swing.

It creaked softly under her weight. She allowed it to sway gently. Wind chimes tinkled in the breeze. The sound was pleasing, peaceful. It took all of her will-power not to sigh and close her eyes.

Gavin settled a hip on the porch railing, angled in her direction. “So, where are you headed, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Lauren uncapped the water and took a sip. “I don’t have a destination, actually. I’m just out driving.”

“It’s a nice day for that.”

“Yes.” Because he was studying her again, she glanced away. “It’s lovely around here.”

“You should have seen it in the spring when my orchard was in bloom.”

“Orchard?”

“Three acres of apple trees,” he said, pointing behind her.

She turned for a better look and could just make out some of the golf-ball-size green apples that had taken the blooms’ places. Lauren had always lived in the city, first in Los Angeles and now in New York. She’d never called the countryside home. Even vacations had been spent in urban settings…Paris, London, Venice, Rome. But something about this place was vastly appealing. Peace, she thought again. Ten minutes on Gavin’s front porch had had the same effect as an hour with her masseur.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked.

“No. I bought the place last year.” He sipped his water before adding, “After my divorce.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to be. I’m not.”

The reply was quick and matter-of-fact, but Lauren thought she detected bitterness. She wasn’t sure what else to say so she settled on, “I see.”

Gavin didn’t seem to be expecting any sort of response. In fact, he changed the subject. “I like challenges, which is one of the reasons I bought this place. A few months after I began working on it, though, I got tired of commuting out from the city on the weekends. So, I decided to take an extended break from my job and I moved here.”

She couldn’t imagine Holden taking a break, extended or otherwise, from his job. Her husband ate, slept and breathed the stock exchange. Even their vacations rarely saw him out of touch with his office. It struck her then that even if he changed his mind about the baby she’d still be a single parent for all intents and purposes.

“You’re frowning,” Gavin said.

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about…” She shook her head. “Nothing.” Then, because he was still watching her, she said, “So, you lived in New York?”

He sipped his water. “For the past dozen years.”

She couldn’t quite picture him there amid the skyscrapers, bustling pedestrians and heavy traffic. Though she barely knew him at all, he looked like a man who enjoyed wide-open spaces and the quiet that went with them. Places such as this. And though Lauren had always been an urbanite, she could understand why.

“I live in New York,” she said.

“You’re not from there originally, though, are you?”

She blinked. “No. I’m a West Coast transplant. Los Angeles. How could you tell?”

Gavin studied her. He hadn’t expected that answer. Something about Lauren seemed too soft, too uncertain for city life. Her looks certainly fit, though. He allowed his gaze to take another discreet tour from her perfectly coiffed hair to the heels of her fashionable pumps. He’d seen plenty of women who looked just like Lauren parading into Manhattan’s private Colony Club or exiting their stretch limousines in front of the posh apartment buildings on Park Avenue. Still…

“You don’t seem like a New Yorker,” he said at last.

She surprised him by replying, “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“I’m not a native, either,” he admitted. “I was born and raised in a little town just outside Buffalo. Does it still show?”

“Not really.”

But he thought she was being polite. He supposed given the way he was dressed and where they were sitting, her opinion made perfect sense. Perhaps she would see him in a different light if he was wearing one of the suits he’d picked up on his last trip to Milan and they’d bumped into one another at the Met. For one strange moment he almost wished that were the case. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed the company of a woman.

“Do you like New York?” she was asking.

It seemed an odd question, but Gavin answered it anyway. “I loved it at first.” He sipped his water and allowed his mind to reel backward. The place had been so exciting in the beginning and he’d just made a killing with his first big real estate deal. “What about you? Do you like it?”

She seemed to hesitate, but then she replied, “Yes. Of course. What’s not to like? It has all of those wonderful restaurants, endless entertainment opportunities and incredible cultural attractions.”

The response struck him as something she’d read in a tourism brochure rather than a heartfelt assessment. He eyed her curiously for a moment before nodding in agreement.

The conversation lapsed, but the interim was peaceful rather than strained. The swing creaked rhythmically, helping to fill the silence, and the wind chimes offered an abstract melody as the breeze ruffled the leaves of the big oak trees that shaded the better part of the front lawn.

He thought he heard Lauren sigh, which he took as a good sign. The woman was wound tight and clearly in need of relaxation. Gavin knew the feeling. Not all that long ago, he’d been that way, too.

“So, what made you decide to move here?” she asked after a while.

“I was looking for a slower pace.” Which was true enough. He’d been working sixty, sometimes even seventy hours a week. He’d been on fire and then. “I burned out, big-time.”

He couldn’t believe he’d just shared that with someone—and a virtual stranger no less. Hell, he’d glossed over the truth with most of his family.

“This is definitely slower,” she said. “It’s a good place to think.”

Gavin had done plenty of that. “Exactly.”

“There’s no traffic at all, no blaring horns, no choking exhaust. No…urgency.” Her tone sounded wistful and sincere, as if something about her current situation made her appreciate the bucolic setting and the sluggishness that went with it almost as much as he did.

It prompted him to ask, “So, are you looking for a place in the country?”

“Me? No. I…” She shook her head, but then asked, “Why? Do you know of a place nearby?”

“This one will be on the market when I finally finish with it. But at the rate I’m going now, it probably won’t be ready for a good year or so.”

Her brows shot up in surprise. “You’re going to sell it?”

“Sure. That’s what I do for a living, more or less.” The more being that usually the real estate he acquired was much larger and worth millions of dollars. The less being that he delegated the physical restoration and remodeling work to others.

“So, this is just a job?” She sounded disappointed.

Gavin shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

Lauren flaked peeling paint off the armrest of the swing. She sounded wistful again when she said, “It seems more like a labor of love.”

Labor of love? He’d considered the physical work to be therapeutic, wearing out his body so that his mind would shut down and take unpleasant memories with it. But now, as Gavin thought about the crown moldings, the mantel and the satisfaction he’d gleaned from crafting them, he decided that maybe Lauren was right. Still, he would be selling the house when he finished. He’d never planned to make this his permanent address. At some point he needed to return to New York and to Phoenix Brothers Development, the company he owned with his brother, Garrett. He couldn’t hide in Connecticut forever, avoiding well-meaning friends and family, and foisting his responsibilities at Phoenix on others.

“So, you’re not in the market for some real estate?” he asked.

Lauren frowned and her gaze slid away. “Actually, I am.” She motioned toward the house. “But my needs are a little smaller than this house and a little more, well, immediate.”

Smaller. The description was hardly what he’d expected to hear. More immediate. An idea nudged him. An outrageous idea. Gavin ignored it.

“Are you…relocating?” He nearly said running. Why did that word seem a better fit?

“At least temporarily. Yes.” Her head jerked in an emphatic nod as if she’d just reached a decision. “Do you know anything that might be available around here?”

“In Gabriel’s Crossing, you mean?”

“Gabriel’s Crossing.” Her lips curved as she repeated the town’s name, and Gavin got the feeling that before he’d said it Lauren hadn’t actually known that’s where she was.

That outrageous idea nudged him with a little more force. “Maybe.”

“Is it nearby?” she asked.

“Very. There’s a cottage about fifty yards behind the house. It’s adjacent to the orchard, with great views out all of its windows. I lived in it myself before the rewiring of this place was complete.”

“And it’s for rent?”

It hadn’t been. In fact, before this moment, Gavin had never entertained the idea of taking on a tenant. He certainly didn’t need the income or, for that matter, the hassle. But he nodded. Then he felt compelled to point out, “It’s not very big.”

“It doesn’t need to be big.”

He glanced at Lauren’s pricey clothes and Park Avenue appearance. The entire cottage could fit inside the master suite of his apartment back in New York. He’d bet the same could be said for hers. And so he added, “There’s not much closet space.”

He was sure that bit of news would scuttle the deal. He almost hoped it would. He was being impulsive again. It was a trait that had all but doomed him in the past. But the lack of closets didn’t appear to have any impact on Lauren’s enthusiasm. Her expression remained a beguiling mix of hope and anticipation.

“Do you think I could see it?”

“You’re interested?” Heaven help him, but Gavin knew he was, and it had nothing to do with a rental agreement. The woman was beautiful, enigmatic. He wouldn’t mind unveiling some of her secrets.

For the first time since her arrival, his gaze detoured to her left hand. A set of rings encircled her third finger, and a whopper of a diamond was visible. Married. He nearly snorted out a laugh. That’s what I get for rushing ahead without thinking things through.

Now if she took Gavin up on his hasty offer to rent the cottage, he would have a couple of lovebirds nesting within shouting distance of his house. Probably just as well, he decided, dismissing the spark of attraction. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship. He hadn’t been since his divorce. And although he missed certain aspects of female companionship, overall he didn’t regret his decision one bit.

“I believe I am interested,” Lauren said after a long pause. Her lips curved in a smile, and one of those aspects he had missed presented itself. “Do you think I could see it right now? I mean, if you can spare a little more of your time.”

Gavin managed a grin as he straightened. “Sure. As I said, I’ve got nothing pressing at the moment.”

Lauren stood in the middle of the cottage’s main room. It was small—although the word cozy seemed a more apt description—and empty, except for some dusty storage boxes that Gavin assured her would be removed. She could picture an overstuffed chair and ottoman in front of the window that faced the orchard, and maybe a small writing desk in the vacant nook below the stairs. They’d already looked at the bedroom in the loft. It would be a tight fit, but it could accommodate a dresser and queen-size bed, as well as a changing table and crib.

“So, what do you think?” Gavin asked.

Lauren wasn’t the spontaneous sort. Generally she thought things through carefully before making any decisions. Sometimes she even created lists, writing down the pros and cons of a situation and analyzing both columns in meticulous fashion before reaching a conclusion.

Not today.

Today was a day of firsts. Not only had she walked out on her husband, she was getting ready to lease a new home. A home for her and the baby.

“I’ll take it.” She swore she felt the leaden weight of recent events lift from her shoulders. “Maybe I should be spontaneous more often,” she murmured.

“Excuse me?” Gavin said.

“Nothing. Just…thinking aloud. How much is the rent?”

Gavin scratched his chin thoughtfully before rattling off a sum that Lauren would have no problem affording. She’d hardly been a pauper coming into her marriage, and although she’d reluctantly quit her position six months before her wedding at Holden’s request, she had a degree in advertising and prior work experience at one of the largest firms in Manhattan. She could always find a job if need be. For now, though, what she wanted was peace.

“Utilities are included,” Gavin added as he waited for her answer.

She glanced around the room again, her gaze drawn to the windows and the outdoor beauty they framed. Another band of tension loosened. The peace she sought seemed included in the rent as well.

Turning to Gavin, she asked, “When can I move in?”

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS late afternoon by the time Lauren returned to the city. She unlocked the door to the apartment slowly, dreading the confrontation to come. She should have realized whatever was left to say would be said in a civilized manner—civilized to the point of being impersonal. Just as her parents had never believed in arguing, neither did her husband.

She found Holden in his study, sitting in his favorite leather chair next to the gas fireplace, which was flickering cheerfully, its heat competing with the air-conditioning. Little matters like high utility bills and energy conservation were beneath him. He had enough money to be wasteful. It was one of the perks of being wealthy, he’d once told Lauren when she’d gently chastised him for leaving the water running in the bathroom.

She studied him now. He was an attractive man—polished, sophisticated. It occurred to her that she’d never seen him in blue jeans, either the designer variety or the kind faded from wear. Nor could she imagine him operating power tools or smelling of sawdust and sweat. He considered himself above physical labor of any sort. The only calluses on his hands were the result of his weekly squash game, and his muscular build came courtesy of the workouts he scheduled with a personal trainer in their home gym.

She cleared her throat to gain his attention, breaking what had been her parents’ cardinal rule: always wait to be spoken to first. It struck her then how much it bothered her that she always felt the need to maintain her silence around her husband, too.

Holden glanced over the top of the Wall Street Journal.

“I already ate dinner, since I wasn’t sure when you’d be back,” he said. “I think Maria might have left something warming in the oven for you.”

Lauren’s stomach gave a queasy roll that had nothing to do with the mention of food. “I’m not hungry. Aren’t you even curious where I went?”

“I imagine you went to Bergdorf’s to work off your irritation,” he said dryly. “How much did you spend?”

Was that actually what he thought? If so, then he really didn’t know her at all. Even so, for the sake of the baby, she decided to try one last time to salvage their marriage. “I’m not irritated, Holden. I’m…horrified by the solution you suggested. We need to talk about this.”

He folded the paper and set it aside. He’d never been a terribly demonstrative man, but at the moment his expression was so damningly remote that it made her shiver. It matched his tone when he replied, “I believe we already have.”

“We didn’t really discuss anything,” Lauren argued. “You issued an ultimatum.”

One of his eyebrows rose in challenge. “Yes, and you did the same.”

She had. And she’d meant it. She could not, she would not, destroy the miracle growing inside her. Lauren sucked in a breath and straightened her spine. This made twice in one day she wasn’t going to back down. “I’ll be moving out. I found a place to live this afternoon. A cottage in the country.”

Just thinking about a skyline of leafy trees rather than steel, stone and glass made it easier to breathe.

Holden blinked twice in rapid succession. It was the only sign that her words might have surprised him. Then he inquired with maddening detachment, “Will you require any help packing? Maria’s gone for the day, but Niles is still here.”

Lauren’s composure slipped a notch. “That’s it? I’m leaving, our marriage…our marriage is ending, and that’s all you have to say?”

“If you’re expecting me to fall on my knees and beg you to stay, you’ve been watching too much daytime television.” He steepled his fingers then. “Of course, if you’ve changed your mind about the situation…”

“It’s not a situation. It’s a baby, Holden. We’re having a baby.”

The tips of his fingers turned white. “You’re having a baby. I do not want children. You understood that. You agreed to that when we got engaged,” he reminded her.

“I didn’t think it was possible. The doctors had told me—”

“You agreed.”

“So that’s it?” Lauren said softly.

“Hardly, but the lawyers will have to figure out the rest.”

Had she really expected him to change his mind? She swallowed as another, more unnerving question niggled. Had she wanted him to?

Their relationship had never included fireworks. Even at the beginning, when everything was new and should have been exciting, true sparks had been in short supply. What had it been based on? she wondered now. Mutual interests? Mutual respect? Gratitude for the fact that Holden had accepted her, reproductive defects and all?

Lauren frowned. “Why did you marry me, Holden? Do you love me? Did you ever?”

He studied her a long moment before tipping his hands in her direction. “Why don’t you ask yourself those same questions?”

As she folded clothes and placed them in her suitcases, Lauren did. She didn’t like the answers she came up with.

CHAPTER THREE

GAVIN noticed two things about his tenant: she went to bed early and she kept to herself.

She had been living in the little cottage for nearly a month. Her lights were always out by eleven and he’d only bumped into her twice, not including the day she’d moved in with only one small van full of belongings and a check to cover the rent for an entire year. He’d requested only the first month’s amount, but she’d insisted on paying the remainder up front and signing a lease, which he’d hastily drawn up on his computer.

In truth, he hadn’t expected her to return at all. He’d figured her trip to the country had been a fluke and she would reconsider her decision to move here. For all he knew, she’d had a spat with her husband and once they’d kissed and made up she would regret her impulsiveness. He knew he was regretting his. But two days after shaking his hand while standing in the dusty cottage, she had come back with her spine straight, her gaze direct and determined.

She’d been all business that day, although he thought he’d detected exhaustion and maybe a little desperation behind her polite smile and firm handshake. Both had him wondering, but he’d managed to keep his curiosity in check. Not my business, he told himself.

On their two subsequent meetings, both of which had occurred at the mailbox out by the road, they’d exchanged greetings and the expected pleasantries, but they hadn’t lingered as they had that first day on his porch. Nor had they spoken at any length.

Gavin found that he wanted to.

He was only human, and the enigmatic Lauren Seville inspired a lot of questions. What was the real story? The bits and pieces he knew certainly didn’t add up.

For starters, women who looked and dressed like Lauren didn’t rent tiny cottages in the country. Gabriel’s Crossing was quaint and its four-star inn and three bed-and-breakfasts attracted their fair share of tourists year-round, but the town was hardly a mecca for New York’s wealthy. It had shops and restaurants, but it lacked the upscale boutiques, trendy eateries, day spas and high-end salons that a woman from Manhattan’s Upper East Side would not only expect but require.

And then there was the not-so-little matter of a wedding ring. The gold band and Rock of Gibraltar he’d noticed that first day had been on her finger when Lauren had handed Gavin her check for the rent.

Seeing it had prompted him to ask, “Will anyone be joining you in the cottage?”

She’d answered with a cryptic “Eventually.”

Gavin assumed that someone would be her husband. But a month later the man had yet to put in an appearance. Spat, he wondered again? Or something bigger and more permanent?

“Not my business,” he muttered again and got back to work.

He’d long finished with the crown molding in the living room and had trimmed out the tall windows that faced the road. Per Lauren’s suggestion, he’d opted to stain both them and the mantel a rich mahogany. The room was coming along nicely, needing only a few patches in the plaster, fresh paint and a refinished floor to complete its transformation. Those could wait. He still had plenty of other projects to keep him busy. Indeed, every room in the house except the master suite had something that still required his attention. If this were a company site, a bevy of contractors would be working off a master list with the various jobs prioritized and deadlines for completion penciled in. But this project was personal and, well, cathartic, so Gavin worked at his own pace and on whatever suited his mood.

Today, it was laying the floor in the secondary downstairs bathroom. He’d chosen a tumbled travertine marble imported from Mexico. The sandy color complemented the richer-hued tiles he’d used on the walls. He planned to grout that later in the day—assuming he hadn’t succumbed to heatstroke by then.

He reached for his water bottle and, after taking a swig, used the hem of his T-shirt to mop the perspiration from his brow. It was not quite noon but it was already pushing eighty degrees in the shade. The house didn’t have working air-conditioning yet. The guys from Howard’s Heating and Cooling had assured him a crew would be out later in the week. In the meantime, Gavin had to make do with a box fan and the meager breeze that could be coaxed through the home’s opened windows. He put in the earpieces of his MP3 player and got back to tile laying. He liked to listen to music while he worked. He preferred up-tempo rock, the heavier on the bass the better.

“Hello?” Lauren’s voice echoed down the hall, somehow managing to be heard over the music blaring in his ears.

He was on his hands and knees, having just laid another square, when he heard her. He tugged out the earpieces and levered backward so he could peer out the door.

“In here,” he called.

She’d pulled her hair back into a tidy ponytail and was dressed in a sleeveless white linen blouse that she’d left untucked over a pair of pink linen shorts. On another woman the outfit would not have been all that sexy, but on Lauren…Gavin swallowed, and the heat that blasted through his system had nothing to do with the temperature outside. He didn’t remember her being quite so curvy.

Tenant, he reminded himself. Married tenant.

Even so his mouth went dry. The woman had a classy set of legs. He’d caught a glimpse of them that first day when she’d been wearing a sundress, but this outfit did a much better job of showcasing them. They were as long as a model’s, and slim without being skinny. She had smooth knees, nicely turned calves and those ankles…He made a little humming noise as he reached for his water, not sure whether he wanted to drink the stuff or dump it over his head. God help him. He had a thing about ankles. He downed the last of the water and forced himself to look elsewhere.

“I can’t believe you’re working today,” she said.

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.” His gaze veered to her ankles again. “H-how are you holding up?”

The cottage had no air-conditioning, either, and unlike the house, where Gavin’s bedroom was on the main floor, the only sleeping quarters there were on the upper level.

“I’m fine.”

It wasn’t the answer he expected. He figured she had come to complain. If he were renting the cottage, he would.

“I’m having the air-conditioning here fixed and I’ll also have a unit installed in the cottage if you’d like.”

“Yes. I’ll gladly pay for it.”

“No need. Unfortunately, it won’t be today. It probably won’t be till the end of the week,” he said.

“That’s okay. I’m fine,” she said again.

“Do you always say that?”

Her brow wrinkled. “Sorry?”

“Fine. It seems to be your stock response.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“That’s another one.”

She frowned again, clearly not knowing what to say. For one bizarre moment, Gavin found himself wishing she’d lose her temper. He’d bet she’d look incredible angry.

“The tile looks terrific.” More politeness, but he let it pass. He wasn’t sure why he’d goaded her in the first place. Most landlords would kill for such an easy-going tenant.

“Thanks.”

“You’ve obviously done this before.”

“A time or two.” Although not recently.

For the past decade, Gavin had been in charge of the big picture. He and his brother paid other people to see to the details. Theirs was a rags-to-riches success story, or so the New York Times claimed in a feature story they’d done on him and Garrett a couple years back.

The article had made it seem as if Gavin O’Donnell, businessman and self-made millionaire, had it all. But even prior to his divorce, he’d felt something was missing, that some vital part of himself had been lost. Little by little he was getting it back.

Lauren’s voice pulled him out of his introspection. “You must enjoy working with your hands.”

Indeed he did and not just on houses. Though Gavin fought the urge, his gaze trailed to her trim ankles again. He’d bet he could encircle one with his hand. He rubbed his damp palms on his jean-clad thighs. “Yeah. I haven’t done it for a while, though. I forgot how, um, satisfying it can be.”

“I thought you were a builder.”

“I’m more of a give-the-orders, sign-the-check sort these days.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “The boss.”

That was true enough, but he’d never been the type to go around proclaiming himself as such. He knew too many people who’d gotten wrapped up in their own importance. If a year in self-prescribed exile had taught him nothing else, Gavin had conclusive proof that the world didn’t stop turning just because he’d opted out as a cog.

He decided to change the subject. “So, what can I help you with?”

“Oh. Sorry,” she said. He grimaced. There was that word again. “I…I was wondering if it would be all right if I made some changes to the cottage.”

“Changes?”

She cleared her throat. “Nothing major. I’d like to paint the walls in the bedroom.”

The entire place was done in a serviceable white that was little more than a primer coat.

“Got a color in mind?” he asked.

“I’m leaning toward sage green or something along those lines,” she said.

He nodded and scratched his chin, thinking of his already lengthy to-do list. “It might be a little while yet before I can get to that. The new cabinets for the kitchen are due to arrive next week. I talked a friend of mine into coming out from the city to help me install them.” He grinned. “He said he’d work for a prime rib dinner and beer. Obviously, that’s not union scale.”

“I’m an even better deal. I’ll do the work for free.”

“You want to paint it yourself?” His tone held enough incredulity that she looked insulted.

“Do I look helpless?” Her brows arched and she crossed her arms.

So, the woman had a spine after all. Gavin nearly smiled. “Ever done any painting?”

“Some.”

“Really?”

Her answer surprised him until she added, “Okay, no. Unless my toenails count.”

Gavin’s gaze dipped to her feet. The flat sandals she wore offered an unrestricted view of ten cotton-candy-pink-tipped digits. His ankle fetish now had stiff competition.

“You do good work.”

Her shoulders lifted slightly. “It’s all in the wrist.”

“That so?”

“I could teach you,” she offered. “I’m sure it’s a skill that would come in handy on your next job site.”

The beginnings of a grin lurked around the corners of her mouth. He liked seeing it. He liked knowing he’d helped put it there.

“I think I’ll pass. Maybe I could just watch you paint your own instead.” The prospect was a bigger turn-on than Gavin wanted it to be.

Hell, she was a turn-on, standing in front of him in pastel linen and looking sexier than most women could manage in skimpy black lace.

They studied each other. For Gavin, awareness sizzled like the business end of a firecracker. The way Lauren fidgeted with her wedding ring had him half hoping, half worrying, that she felt it, too.

“I’ve been watching the home improvement channel,” she told him after a moment. “I think I’ve picked up some decent pointers.”

It took a second for Gavin to remember what they had been talking about. Paint. Painting. The cottage. “Oh. Good. Some of it’s common sense. A lot of it is elbow grease. Technique only counts if you’re being paid by the hour.”

She smiled. “So, you’ll let me do it?”

“Sure. I’ve got nothing against free labor. And if you mess it up—” he shrugged. “—it’s just paint. Another coat or two and the place will look as good as new.”

“I won’t mess it up,” she assured him.

“A bit of a perfectionist, are we?”

He didn’t get the feeling she was teasing when she replied, “If you’re going to do something, why not do it well?”

“Too bad everyone doesn’t share your philosophy. So, are you free around three o’ clock?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said slowly.

“Good. We’ll drive into town and swing by the hardware store. I need a few things, anyway, and while we’re there you can pick out a paint color.”

Lauren waited for Gavin under one of the big oaks, making use of the shade. She was just far enough along in her pregnancy that she could no longer button the waistband of most of her fitted clothes, but she hadn’t suffered from nausea in more than a week.

She was sleeping a lot, but she wasn’t sure if that was because of her pregnancy, the result of depression over her pending divorce or flat-out boredom. She wasn’t good at being idle. Back in the city she’d found a way to fill up her life, which of course was far different than being fulfilled. But here she had no luncheons to attend, no committees to help chair, no dinner parties to plan, shop for and execute. After staring at the blank white walls of the cottage for nearly a month, desperation had forced her hand and she’d decided to approach Gavin with her proposal to paint.

Somewhere in the midst of talking wall colors, though, she’d begun noticing the day’s growth of beard that shaded his angular jaw and a sweaty T-shirt that was pulled tight over some seriously toned shoulders. She fanned herself now, blaming her heated skin on the mercury. It wasn’t the man. No, it couldn’t be the man. She was pregnant, newly separated and several months from a divorce. Besides, she’d never been the sort to fantasize. Yet for a moment there…

She groped for a tidy explanation to this curious tangle of emotions. The best she could come up with was that she was confused, lonely and alone in a new town, staring down not just one major life change, but two. Gavin was nice, good-natured, easy-going and friendly. So, she’d flirted with him a little. No law against that. As for this unprecedented attraction? It was a figment of her imagination, a figment likely fueled by her hopped-up hormones.

When Gavin joined her, Lauren noticed that he’d shaved and had changed into a pair of cargo shorts and a fresh shirt. She thought she caught a whiff of soap, and his hair appeared to be damp from a shower. Because she wanted to keep looking at him, she turned her attention to the tree.

“This oak would be perfect for a swing,” she commented.

Gavin regarded the thick branches for a moment. “Or a fat tire on a rope.”

She shook her head. “No. A swing. Definitely a swing. And the seat should be painted red.”

“Reliving your childhood?”

Hardly, she thought. “I lived in Los Angeles, remember? But I worked on an advertising campaign for an airline once. The commercial started off with a little boy swinging and making airplane noises.”

“‘Our pilots have always been eager to soar.’” Gavin grinned as he supplied the text. “I remember that slogan. I didn’t realize it was yours. For that matter, I didn’t realize you’d worked…in advertising.”

She got the feeling he hadn’t thought she’d worked at all. “I don’t at the moment. I left my job at Danielson & Marx four years ago.”

“Danielson & Marx.” He whistled low. “That’s the big-time. Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes,” she replied. She hadn’t shared that truth with anyone, even her closest friend. When others asked the same question, she told them how content she was and how busy with committees and her crowded social calendar. It was easy to tell Gavin the truth, so she continued. “I especially miss the creative process. It’s not easy to sell consumers on an idea or product with only a few words or images.”

“I’m betting you were good at it.”

She smiled, thinking of the four Addys she’d racked up during her relatively brief career, and admitted, “I had my moments.”

He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his cargo shorts. “So, why did you quit?”

She bent down and plucked a blade of grass. As she tore it into small pieces, she said, “Well, I was getting married and…and…”

She released the last shred of grass and dusted her hands together without having completed the thought.

“Priorities changed,” he allowed.

Lauren nodded, although she could now admit she hadn’t been the one to change them. She’d gone along to get along. She wasn’t proud of that now.

“Maybe you’ll get back into it at some point,” he said. “With a big agency like that on your résumé not many places would turn you away.”

“I could do that.” Her portfolio was anything but mediocre. Lauren had been good at her job and had taken pride in her work.

“But?” He smiled, as if he knew she had something else on her mind.

Once again she found herself baring her soul. “What I’d really like to do is start my own agency, something that specializes in causes rather than goods and services.”

“There’s not a lot of money in that, but then you probably know that. It sounds like you’ve given the idea some thought.”

“I have. But it needs more,” she conceded. The idea had been back-burnered for a couple of years now, growing stale as Lauren had grown more complacent.

“This is a good place for thinking. And when you’re ready to start out, I’m sure you have enough contacts you could probably pull that off,” he replied.

She’d almost expected him to shoot down the idea. She had little doubt her parents and Holden would have, which perhaps explained why she’d never shared her dream with any of them.

“Thanks.”

Gavin’s brow crinkled. “For what?”

“For…for letting me paint the cottage.”

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