Fortune’s Heirs: Reunion
Marie Ferrarella
Crystal Green
Stella Bagwell

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Her Good Fortune

By

Marie Ferrarella

Marie Ferrarella is a RITA® Award-winning author who has written over one hundred and thirty books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.

To Patience Smith, my Guardian Angel, with sincerest thanks

Prologue

“All right, what’s wrong?”

Maria Mendoza looked up from the items she was straightening on the counter. On it was displayed a multitude of skeins, her latest shipment of angora yarn. The veritable rainbow of colors appeared as cheerful as she was sad. Maria had hoped that keeping busy in the shop would dispel the darkness that insisted on dwelling inside of her. After all, this was her shop and it had become successful beyond her wildest expectations.

But none of that did anything to lift her mother’s mood.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” With effort, she put on the best face she could for the dark-haired woman who had entered the shop.

Rosita Perez, her cousin and dearest friend in the whole world, frowned. “You and I have known one another for more years than I will willingly admit to anyone except for Reuben,” she said, referring to her husband. “I know when there’s something wrong with you. You look as if you’ve lost your best friend.” Rosita, older by four years but shorter by several inches, picked up a skein, as if debating whether she needed or wanted more wool, then replaced it. “And as far as I know I’m still breathing.”

Maria shook her head. “No, not my best friend, my daughters.” Then, because Sierra still lived within Red Rock’s city limits, she clarified, “Christina and Gloria,” although there was no need. Rosita was as aware of the girls’ location as she was.

Rosita placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Maria, this isn’t exactly anything new. The girls have been gone five years—”

“Exactly.” Maria sighed, struggling against the overwhelming sadness. “Five years. With no end in sight. This is not why I became a mother, Rosita, to hope for an occasional word from my daughters.” She splayed her hand over her chest. “There’s a hole in my heart.”

“You’ve still got Sierra and Jorge close by,” Rosita pointed out. She tactfully omitted mentioning Roberto, who’d moved to Denver, the same city that Gloria had chosen to disappear to.

“And a hole in my heart,” Maria repeated. Even if she’d had a dozen children, she’d still feel the lack of the two who had left. Roberto returned frequently, Gloria and Christina did not.

Rosita shrugged, spreading her hands wide. “So, plug it.”

Maria blew out a breath. Her cousin made the situation sound so simple. “How?”

Rosita wandered from display to display within Stocking Stitch, which was what Maria had chosen to call her store. “Get the girls to come home.”

Maria’s impatience continued to grow. She stepped in front of her cousin before Rosita could move to yet another display. “Again, how?”

Rosita shook her head. “I have never known you to be slow with ideas, ’Ria. You could throw a party.”

Of course, how could she not have thought of that? Jose would cook, as he always insisted on doing, and she could be the hostess. Nothing made her happier than to have everyone home, under one roof. Maria smiled. “A big party.”

“A big family party,” Rosita agreed.

The smile faded from Maria’s lips. She was deluding herself. “But the girls will pass when I ask them to fly out. This thing between them…” She had never gotten all the details, but it wasn’t a stretch for her to guess at what was going on. Christina, her oldest, and Gloria, her wild one, had had a falling out. Most likely over a man. “There’re bad feelings.”

Rosita remained unfazed. The two had spent many hours talking about their children. “So? Come up with something to block out these bad feelings.”

A smile took hold of Maria’s lips, melting away the years. By everyone’s standards, she was still a very handsome woman. “I could tell them that their father’s had a heart attack. They’ll come rushing back for that.”

“They’ll come rushing to the hospital,” Rosita pointed out. “That’s where they’ll expect to see him if he’s had a heart attack.”

Maria nodded. Rosita had a point. “Chest pains, then,” Maria amended. “We’ll hold a family reunion and I’ll tell the girls that if they miss this one, I don’t know if their father will be here for the next one.” She looked at her cousin, a sunny smile on her lips. “What do you think?” she asked as she picked up a pad and pen from the counter.

“I think that I’m happy we’re friends and not competitors.”

But Maria didn’t hear her. She was busy making notes to herself for the party she and her husband were about to throw.

Chapter One

Like an outsider staring through a one-way mirror, Gloria Mendoza Johansen looked slowly around at the people milling about and talking in her parents’ spacious living room. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Just like the old days, she thought.

There were people in every room of the house, confined inside rather than spilling out onto the patio and the grounds beyond because of the cold weather. February in Red Rock, Texas, left its mark. At times raw, it could leech into your very bones.

But inside the house, everything was warm, cozy. The way she had once thought the world was. But she’d learned differently.

As she floated from place to place, observing, hesitating to join in, she twirled the stem of her glass. A wineglass to hide the fact that she was drinking seltzer instead of something alcoholic.

Because she was one.

A recovering alcoholic, to be exact. Except that alcoholics never really recovered, she thought wryly. They were doomed to an eternal dance, always careful to avoid the very thing that they would always, on some level, crave. A drink. But she had been sober two years now and she was determined to remain that way.

Nodding and smiling, she didn’t pause to talk to people who looked inclined to engage her in conversation. She was still picking her time, taking it all in. It felt strange coming home. In part, it was as if she’d stepped into a time warp and five years had just melted away, never having passed.

But they had passed.

They’d left their mark on her in so many ways. Too many for her to think about now. Besides, there really was no point.

Go forward, don’t look back.

It was something she told herself almost daily, a mantra she all but silently chanted within the boundaries of her mind. And now, finally, she was beginning to adhere to it.

“They’re your family. They won’t bite, Gloria. Mingle.”

Her mother. She’d caught the scent of her mother’s perfume a beat before the older woman had said anything.

Gloria glanced over her shoulder at the diminutive woman. At sixty-two, Maria Mendoza still had the same figure that had first caught Jose Mendoza’s eye, no mean feat after five children. She was wearing her shoulder-length black hair up tonight. The silver streaks added to the impression of royalty, which was in keeping with the way she and the others had viewed her when they’d been children. It was her mother who had summoned her like the queen mother to return home.

Gloria smiled to herself now. Her mother had no idea that she’d been toying with that very notion herself, not for any so-called family reunion or to come rushing back to an ailing father who in her opinion looked remarkably healthy for a man supposedly battling chest pains, but to relocate. Permanently. To set up her business and her life where it had all once began.

Home.

She’d fled Red Rock five years ago when she’d felt her life spinning out of control, when the effects of alcohol and drugs had all but undone her. She’d thought that if she got away from everything, from her mother’s strong hand and everything that had contributed to her feeling of instability, the temptation to drink herself into oblivion and to drug her senses would disappear.

As if.

Because everywhere she went, she always had to take herself with her. It had taken a great deal of soul-searching and one near-fatal catastrophe—her nearly falling off a balcony while intoxicated—for her to finally face the fact that the problem was not external but internal. If she wanted her life to change, then she and not her surroundings needed to change.

So she’d shed the poor excuse for a husband she’d acquired in her initial vain attempt to turn her life around and then scrubbed away every bad habit she’d accumulated since she was a teenager. To that end, she’d checked herself into rehab, probably the hardest thing she’d ever done, and prepared to begin from scratch. And to learn to like herself again.

She knew the process was going to be slow. And it had been. Like molasses rolling downhill in January. But every tiny headway she made was also fulfilling. And as she grew stronger, more stable, more certain, she realized that she wanted to return to a place where people—most people, at any rate—liked her.

She’d wanted to return home.

And home was her parents. It was also her sisters, but that hurdle she hadn’t managed to take yet. When she’d left, she’d left her relationships with them, especially her older sister, Christina, in shambles.

She still had to do something about that.

One step at a time, Gloria cautioned herself.

She’d gotten everywhere else so far and she’d get there, too. Just maybe not tonight. She’d already seen her sisters, both of them, but from a distance. And that was what she intended on keeping tonight: her distance.

The same height as her mother, except that she was wearing heels that made her almost two inches taller, Gloria inclined her head toward the older woman. “Papa looks terrific for a man who’s had a heart attack,” she commented, not bothering to keep the smile from her lips.

“Chest pains,” Maria corrected, as if the reason she’d given both her older girls had not been a creative fabrication. “I said he’d had chest pains.”

Gloria could feel her brown eyes fill with humor as she looked at her mother—and saw right through her. “More like indigestion maybe?”

Maria shrugged her shoulders, dismissing the topic. It was obvious that her mother was not about to insist on the lie. It had done its work. It had brought her home. “He wanted you here as much as I did.” Maria fixed her with a look that spoke to her heart. “As I do.”

There was no point in keeping her decision to herself any longer. Gloria slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Then I have something to tell you.”

But her mother cut her off, as if she was afraid she would hear something that would spoil the moment and the party for her. “Whatever it is, I am sure it is fascinating, but you can tell me all about it after you get my shawl.”

Gloria looked at her uncertainly. If anything, the press of bodies made the air warm, not cool. “Your shawl?”

“Yes, I left it in the den.” Already turning in that direction, she placed her hands on her daughter’s back and gave her a little initial push to start her on her way. “Get it for me, please.”

Gloria paused, then shrugged in compliance. Going to get her mother’s shawl gave her an excuse to withdraw for a moment. Just because she’d made up her mind to uproot her life for the second time in five years and come back home didn’t mean that the idea didn’t make her just the slightest bit uneasy. She supposed it was because she kept thinking about that old line she remembered from her high school English class. Some author, Wolfe? Maybe Hardy? Whoever it was had said you couldn’t go home again.

She prayed it was just a handy title for a book and not a prophecy.

The immediate reason she’d left Red Rock was that she’d blacked out after a drinking binge only to wake up to find herself beside a man she’d had no recollection of meeting. But in part she’d fled to San Antonio because relations had also deteriorated between her and her sisters. They’d been so close once, but that had been as children and children had a tendency to overlook things adults couldn’t.

Such as cutting words and deceptions that should never have taken place. She and Christina had worked for the same financial firm, Macrizon, naive in their enthusiasm. And were easy prey for a woman named Rebecca Waters who took perverse pleasure in pitting one of them against the other.

Maria, looking impatient, ran her hands along her arms. “Please, Glory, I’m getting cold.”

She looked at her mother suspiciously. Was she getting sick? But Maria’s face appeared as rosy as ever. Again, Gloria shrugged. “Fine, Mama. One shawl, coming up.”

She made her way to the den, wondering if her father knew how oddly his wife was behaving tonight.

The second she walked into the den, she knew she had been set up.

Maria Mendoza, you’re still a crafty little woman, she thought.

Her younger sister, Sierra, was standing inside the bookcase-lined room, looking around as if she was searching for something. She’d watched as Christina, her older sister, had preceded her into the room by less than a minute.

Gloria shook her head. She should have seen this coming a mile away.

Despite her unease, she couldn’t help commenting, “All we need now is a little Belgium detective with a waxed mustache and a cup of hot chocolate saying, ‘I know that you are wondering why I asked you all to be here tonight.’”

At the sound of Gloria’s voice, Christina whirled around to look at her, her mouth open in surprise. Sierra’s head jerked up. She looked as if she could be knocked over with a feather plucked from a duck’s back.

Awkwardness warred with that old, fond feeling she’d once had when she was in the company of her sisters. “Mom sent me,” Gloria finally explained.

Lights dawned on her sisters’ faces. “Papa sent me,” Christina told them.

“Rosita,” was Sierra’s contribution for the reason behind the exodus that had brought the three of them to this room.

Suddenly, Gloria felt herself being pushed into the room. Catching her balance, she whirled around, only to have the door shut in her face. Her sisters were immediately on either side of her as she tried the doorknob. It wouldn’t give.

Big surprise.

“It’s locked.” Maria’s voice came through the door. “And it’s going to stay that way until the three of you resolve your differences and come out of there acting like sisters instead of angry strangers.”

“You’re really going to be needing that shawl, Mama.” There was nothing Gloria hated more than being manipulated. She knew her sisters felt the same way about being played. “Considering that hell’s going to be freezing over when that happens.”

She tried the door again, but it still didn’t give. Her mother was obviously in for the duration. Angry, Gloria turned to look at the two other women. Now what? She jerked her head in the direction of the door. “She sounds serious.”

Christina snorted, her arms akimbo. “Mama can get pretty stubborn when she wants something.”

And that, Gloria thought, was a prime example of the pot calling the kettle black. Gloria eyed her older sister. “You’re not exactly a shrinking violet yourself in that department.”

It was impossible to read Christina’s expression. “And you are?”

Sierra placed herself between the two older women she still loved dearly. Peacemaking came naturally to her, it always had. Becoming a social worker had only intensified that tendency.

Shorter than both her sisters, Sierra nonetheless refused to give ground as she looked from one to the other. “Tina, Glory, let’s not pick up where you two left off five years ago.”

Edgy, nervous, Gloria felt like the odd girl out. When she’d left, it had been Christina and Sierra against her.

She raised her chin now, defensive, wary. Wondering if the other two were willing to begin again the way she was or wanted to draw the lines in the sand again. “And why not?”

Sierra looked exasperated. She also looked older, Gloria thought. More in control. “Because it’s obvious that Mama and Papa want us to pick up where we left off ten, fifteen years ago, not five.”

Gloria searched Sierra’s face. Her younger sister wasn’t just paying lip service to something. It was obvious she was speaking what was in her heart, as well.

A smile slowly emerged on her lips. She continued to test the waters. “We were pretty close then, weren’t we? Be nice to just step on a magic carpet and go back in time.”

Sierra had a better solution. “Or just forget what went down.”

Gloria looked at Christina. The acrimony, because that was what it had become, had been mainly between her and her older sister. It had spilled out onto Sierra only when she’d thought that Sierra had joined forces with Christina against her.

Maybe things wouldn’t have seemed so intense, so distorted and so overly dramatic if she hadn’t been trapped inside a bottle at the time, Gloria thought. A lot of the fault, if she were being honest, had lain with her.

She offered Sierra a rueful smile, covertly watching Christina’s expression. “That’s a whole lot of forgetting.”

Christina took a deep breath, her natural composure slipping into place. Of the three of them, she was the most unflappable, at least outwardly. The one who seemed to be able to take everything in stride. Not too many people guessed at the chaos going on inside. Or at the pain.

She seemed to reach a conclusion. “I can if you can,” Christina finally said, looking at her.

Which put the ball squarely in her court, Gloria thought.

She didn’t want to be thought of as the lesser sister, the one who clung to old arguments and hurt feelings. The one who refused to allow bygones to be bygones.

More than anything, she wanted to bury the recent past and return to the years when they had viewed life with a rosier hue—without the benefit of any artificial crutches or additives.

To Gloria’s surprise, Christina put out her hand. “Fresh start?”

Tension drained out of her and for the first time since she’d entered the room, Gloria really smiled as she took the hand that was offered. “Fresh start.”

Sierra placed her own hand on top of her sisters’ clasped ones. She beamed as she looked from one to the other.

“Fresh start,” she echoed.

And suddenly, just like that, it felt like old times. Gloria embraced the feeling just as she embraced the sisters she had been without for much too long. A huge sense of relief hovered like a cleansing cloud within the room.

The sisters all sank down onto the thickly padded brown leather sofa that dominated the room, shy, but eager to catch up and make up for lost time.

On the coffee table sat a bottle of wine and three glasses. Gloria ignored the alcohol and instead took a sip from the glass of seltzer she had brought with her. She thought about what had just been pledged. A fresh start. Something she intended to make a reality. “You know, for this to be a true fresh start, we have to give it all our attention.”

“I’m for that.” Christina poured Sierra a glass of wine, then one for herself. She hesitated over the third glass, then raised her eyes to Gloria.

Gloria smiled, then shook her head. Unlike their mother, her sisters were aware of her demons. At least, some of them.

“Don’t worry about me.” She indicated the glass of seltzer. “I’m fine with this.”

“You’ve already made your fresh start,” Christina observed, setting the bottle back on the tray.

“One day at a time.” They raised their glasses and toasted a new beginning. Gloria caught her lower lip between her teeth as she regarded the other two thoughtfully. “You know what the single most disastrous obstacle in our path to recovery is?”

Sierra gamely placed her glass on the tray. “I’ll bite, what?”

Gloria thought of her ill-fated marriage and the men who had come before. Christina had fared little better. As for Sierra, she had never found anyone to make her happy, either.

“Men,” she told the others.

Christina laughed. “They are a problem, bless their black hearts.”

“No,” Gloria contradicted, “we’re the problem.” The other two women looked at her. “We can’t seem to choose the right ones.”

Sierra and Christina readily agreed with the assessment.

“That’s because the rotten ones are always so damn attractive,” Sierra observed.

Christina nodded. “Sure can’t tell a book by its cover.”

And the handsome ones knew they could get by on their looks and not take any responsibility for their actions. Well, she was swearing them off, the lot of them. And for the time being, so should her sisters. “So we’re going to close the bookstore.” But that sounded too final, so she added, “Temporarily.”

Christina frowned. Leaning over, she pretended to look into the glass that Gloria was holding. “Sure that isn’t vodka?” Rather than answer, Gloria held the glass out to her. Christina took it and sniffed. Bubbles were still dancing on top of the liquid. She wrinkled her nose as she pushed the glass back toward Gloria. “Seltzer,” she confirmed.

Satisfied that she had her sisters’ attention and compliance, Gloria continued. “We’re not going to have anything to do with them.”

Sierra shook her head. That seemed like rather an impossible resolution. “Pretty hard, considering they’re almost half the population.”

“On a private, social level,” Gloria clarified. Her eyes shifted from Christina to Sierra to see if they were still with her. “Meaning, no dates.”

“No dates,” Sierra echoed. A beat later, she smiled, as if the words and their import were sinking in. “No dates,” she repeated.

Christina held up her hand, taking a solemn oath. “No dates.”

She couldn’t tell if they were humoring her or if she’d really gotten through. “No, I’m serious,” Gloria insisted. Warming up to her subject, she moved to the edge of the sofa, like a bird about to dive-bomb. “We shouldn’t go out with any of them—no matter how tempted we are—” She stopped, deep in thought. “For a year,” she concluded, then repeated, “A year. That should be long enough to at least begin to get the rest of our lives in order.”

There was no one in her life, significant or otherwise. Sierra shrugged. There was nothing to lose. “Okay.”

Christina laughed. It was obvious by her expression that the idea amused her. And maybe it had merit. “Fine by me.”

They still weren’t taking this seriously. She could tell.

Adamant, Gloria shook her head. “You say that now, but the first minute some cute, rotten guy crosses your path—”

“I’ll ignore him,” Christina concluded.

She had to up the ante, Gloria thought. Otherwise her sisters weren’t going to give this the attention it needed. She firmly believed that men were the distracting force. Worse, they were the destructive force. If she and her sisters were going to accomplish anything with their lives, they had to remain focused.

“Right,” Gloria said firmly. “And do you know why you’ll ignore him?”

“Because I’ve finally gotten some sense in my head?” Christina guessed.

“No, because if you don’t ignore him, you’re going to have to do something drastic in reparation, something you don’t want to do.”

“What wouldn’t you want to do?” Sierra asked.

Thoughts flew through her brain in rapid-fire succession. “Put on a French maid’s costume and clean up your apartments.”

Christina’s mouth fell open. “So if you fail, you’d be willing to fly in from Denver to—”

“Not from Denver,” Gloria corrected. “From here.”

Christina’s look of surprise only intensified. “You’ve moved here?”

Gloria grinned. Since her mother had cut her off when she’d tried to share her news, her sisters were going to be the first to know. “In the process.”

Christina’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Me, too.” When the other two looked at her in stunned shock, she shrugged. “I got homesick for Papa’s cooking.” It was a handy enough excuse. Their father owned and operated Red, a restaurant whose patronage came from miles around just to sample the food.

“Okay, so it’s agreed.” Eager to get this on track and settled before the conversation could veer off again, Gloria held up her hand as if to take a solemn oath. “I promise to become a servant to each of you for the length of—” Again she paused before continuing. “One day each if I go back on our bargain.” She looked at Sierra. “Your turn.”

“Um…okay, I’ll cook each of you a fantastic meal.”

“You mean, you’ll order take-out.” Christina laughed.

“No, really, a great meal. From scratch,” Sierra promised. “And you all know how I hate to cook.”

“Sounds fair,” Gloria commented. “Tina?”

Christina sighed, obviously trying to think. “Okay, I’ve got it. I’ll wash cars for a whole day at the car wash. You can put up signs if you want. And I’ll donate the money to charity. Satisfied?” she asked Gloria.

“Satisfied,” Gloria announced, grinning. Then she looked from one sister to the other. “We all agreed?”

Christina shrugged her shoulders good-naturedly. “Sure, why not? Agreed.” She took a sip of her wine to seal the bargain.

Sierra echoed the word, “Agreed,” then took a sip herself. She grinned at Gloria. “Moving here, huh?”

The second the announcement had come out of her mouth, she’d known it had felt right. “Just as soon as I can find an apartment.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Sierra told her. The other two looked at her. “I know this really nice place. A friend of mine is relocating to the east coast. She’s looking for someone to sublet the place. Interested?”

“You bet,” Gloria enthused. And then she looked at her sisters again, a warm feeling spreading through her limbs. This was what she’d missed. What she needed.

Christina put it into words for her. “Wow, the Mendoza girls, back together again. Who would have thunk it?”

Gloria laughed, then turned and glanced toward the door. Crossing to it, she knocked loudly. “Hey, Mama, you can open the door now. We’re friends again.”

Christina came up to join her with Sierra bringing up the rear. “Think she can hear us?”

“She’s a mother, of course she can hear us.” As if to give credence to her words, the door flew open and Maria walked in, beaming at her daughters. “Especially when she’s only two inches away,” Gloria concluded.

They laughed and hugged, a human knot of arms and warmth, just like when they were small.

And at that moment, Gloria had never felt happier. She was home.

Chapter Two

Jack Fortune walked out of the third-floor office and headed back toward the elevator. He punched the up button, which was already lit, impatience tap-dancing through him like the feet of a troop of dancers doing an Irish jig. He was not a happy man and his displeasure had nothing to do with his fighting off the lingering effects of jet lag that had attached themselves to him less than two hours ago when he’d made the flight in from New York’s JFK.

It was what lay waiting for him in the immediate future that bothered Jack.

He seldom resented doing practically anything his father asked of him. He had more than a healthy respect for Patrick Fortune, both as a businessman and as a human being. If children were allowed to preselect their father, he knew that he sure as hell couldn’t have asked for better than the one he had. He would have done anything in the world for his father without hesitation.

But this wasn’t for his father—not really. No. He had been pulled away from his enormously busy schedule at the New York office of Fortune-Rockwell Bank to help out some friend of his father’s daughter set up shop in San Antonio. The whole thing had sounded rather slapdash when Patrick had called him about it the day before yesterday, asking him to fly out to lend his business acumen to this so-called enterprise.

Jack punched the button again, frowning. This was undoubtedly some bubbleheaded female who thought just because she had a whim, she could make a go of a business. Probably didn’t even know the first thing that was involved in such an undertaking.

Jewelry-making, for God’s sake. What was his father thinking? The woman had probably gotten some kit from a craft store for Christmas and thought she was going to take the market by storm because she could string together ten beads or whatever.

He’d dearly wanted to say as much when his father had called to drop this little bomb in his lap, but he’d held his tongue out of respect and out of love.

Jack shifted his six-foot-two-inch frame. Where the hell was the elevator, anyway?

Damn, his father should know better, he thought. Hadn’t he told him more than once that he was a vital member of the Fortune-Rockwell team? If he was so vital, then he should remain in the New York office, not have to come gallivanting out to San Antonio to hold some novice’s well-manicured hand.

Once upon a time, his father would have known that. But lately, Jack thought, concern nibbling away at him, his father was showing signs of slowing down. Whenever they spoke, Patrick Fortune would talk about “smelling the roses” and all that stuff people who’ve had a near-death experience say. Except that, at seventy, his father seemed as strong as ever. And when he’d asked him if there was something wrong, if he was perhaps not feeling well, his father had heartily said no, laughing at the very notion. Patrick Fortune had said that for the first time in his life, there was nothing wrong. That he’d finally had the good fortune—no pun intended—of seeing life the right way.

It seemed to Jack a case of too much denial. The more he thought about it now, the more convinced he became that there was something wrong with his father. The dynamo who had helped build up and was now in charge of Fortune-Rockwell Bank didn’t stop to smell roses he could have delivered to him, nor did he take key personnel and ship them off to San Antonio because some chicklet’s mother asked him to.

From what he’d gathered, not only had his father agreed to help get this Gloria Mendoza Something-or-Other’s business up and running, but he’d taken on her sister, Christina, as well. He’d put her to work in the San Antonio branch as a business analyst for his best friend, Derek Rockwell, the Rockwell behind the second half of the bank’s name.

Something was definitely up.

Maybe his father was going through his second childhood. After all, the man was living in his seventh decade and, despite power, prestige and a loving family, maybe Patrick Fortune thought that he had missed out on something the first time around.

It was time Jack had a long talk with his father. Later. Right now, he’d promised to meet with his father and this Gloria person.

He punched the up button a third time. If his father’s office wasn’t on the thirtieth floor, he would have given up and walked up. Served him right for stopping off to see if one of his old acquaintances was still with the company. Business before pleasure. He could have always caught up with his friend after he’d put in an appearance at his dad’s office.

Maybe if he could get his father to see just how ridiculous it was to ask him to get involved in this, the senior Fortune would let him go back to New York where he belonged instead of making him cool his heels in San Antonio. God knew he had better things to do than act as a guardian angel for an empty-headed female.

After all, his father had already brought Derek out here. Why have both his right-hand and left-hand man in the same place?

The elevator doors opened in front of him. Finally!

Immersed in his own thoughts, searching for a way out of his dilemma, Jack stepped into the car.

There were several other people in the car, including one woman who blocked the keypad. To press his floor button, he would have to move her out of the way.

He had no time for games and was in no mood for them. “Thirty,” he snapped when the woman made no effort to step back.

Gloria was busy struggling with a bout of claustrophobia, a battle she was forced to engage in every time she stepped onto an elevator. The fact that there were several people in the car only made things worse. Dazed, she looked at the man who’d gotten on. Until he’d opened his mouth, she’d thought he was quite an attention-getter. She sincerely doubted that she’d ever seen a man as good-looking as this one off a movie screen.

But the second he opened his mouth, attitude came pouring out. Attitude she was in no mood for. Besides the claustrophobia, she was nervous. It wasn’t every day of the year that Patrick Fortune offered to back you and help you get on your feet financially.

Not that she needed it as much as her mother seemed to think. She’d packed up her business in Denver and left with everything in good standing. She was more than comfortably in the black, with a number of back orders left to fill. Even at this early date, it looked as if the year was shaping up nicely for her.

She had every confidence in the world that she was going to succeed here, as well. But it never hurt to be given an added boost—and by Patrick Fortune, no less. He’d seemed like such a nice man when she’d talked to him at the party. He’d even admired the necklace she’d been wearing, an original piece she’d made for herself.

But that had been pleasure and this was business. So there were butterflies roaming around in her stomach.

She slanted a look at the rude man. He hadn’t even said please.

“I’m not the elevator operator,” she informed him crisply.

She saw his dark eyes narrow and he looked like Zeus about to hurl thunderbolts from Mount Olympus. “If you don’t want the job, then don’t stand in front of the keypad.”

She was not about to be bullied. She’d paid her dues in that department and no man was ever going to order her around again. Arms spread out on either side of her, she took a step back, leaving the way clear for him to press the keypad himself.

“You know, nice people get a lot further in this world than people with bad attitudes.”

“You tell ’im, honey,” someone in the back of the elevator encouraged.

“And people who mind their own business get further,” the rude man retorted.

Annoyed, Jack glanced to see which floor they’d just passed, then pressed the very next number. The last thing he needed was to ride up to his destination sharing the experience with a harpy.

This was shaping up to be a bad morning all around, Jack silently conceded. They’d lost his luggage at the airport, the limousine that was to have met him never showed up and the taxi he’d wound up taking had gotten stuck in traffic. Even if he had been in the best of moods, his patience would have been severely challenged.

His natural inclination to be polite was strained and had completely fallen by the wayside the second the woman hovering over the elevator keypad had given him a flippant answer to his request.

The elevator stopped on his floor and opened its doors. Jack was out like a shot.

Gloria heard herself breathe a sigh of relief.

Now there was a serial killer in the making, she thought, glad he’d gotten off. At the very least, it was one less body to deal with.

The doors closed again. She pressed damp hands together, afraid of leaving a mark on the wintergreen suit she was wearing. She felt a hitch in her throat and told herself she was just nervous.

Nothing to be nervous about. Patrick Fortune’s a nice man.

After all, she and Patrick Fortune had gotten along famously at the party. Within a few minutes of speaking with him, Gloria felt as if she’d known him all of her life.

He’d been attentive and interested in everything she’d had to say about her business, giving her the same kind of courtesy he would a captain of industry. Her mother had told her later that he was seventy, but he certainly hadn’t acted it or looked it. Athletic, five-ten, with mostly red hair, he’d been charming and infinitely reassuring. After talking to him, she’d known that bringing her business to San Antonio was going to be a lot easier than she’d thought. He’d even proposed backing a loan for whatever she’d needed.

Their encounter had been reassuring. There was no reason in the world to be nervous. And yet, she was.

It had been a good thing, coming home, she decided, shifting to the side as she allowed three people to get off, grateful for their departure.

Now that she had returned, she didn’t know why she’d hesitated for so long. Instead of everything falling apart, the way she’d once thought, things were finally coming together. Maybe it had taken her leaving home to make her appreciate everything she actually did have, she mused as the climb to the thirtieth floor continued.

Whatever it was, she was glad she’d heeded her mother’s call to come home when she had instead of deliberating a few more days. Otherwise she wouldn’t have gotten to meet Patrick Fortune.

But then again, she mused, a smile curving her mouth, knowing her mother, she probably would have run into the man sooner or later. Maria Mendoza didn’t leave much to chance if she could help it.

She’d do well to take a page out of her mother’s book, Gloria decided.

The elevator finally came to a stop on the thirtieth floor. Gloria was alone in the car. She stepped through the steel doors, taking a deep breath as she did so, relieved to be out of the box.

And then she took in her surroundings.

She felt a little like a mortal reaching Mount Olympus, seeking an audience with Zeus.

As she walked to the receptionist’s desk, she again thought about the man she’d met the other night. She’d found Patrick Fortune extremely easy to talk to. Like a kindly uncle. She would have expected him to be driven, anal, like that man who’d just scowled at her in the elevator.

Her thoughts going there, she pitied anyone having to deal with that one. The next moment, she put him out of her mind.

The walls that led to the receptionist’s desk were lined with paintings—bright, colorful landscapes and seascapes that were extremely uplifting. Just looking at them made her feel empowered.

She wondered if Patrick Fortune had selected them himself. Probably. He didn’t strike her as a man who delegated very much.

Reaching the long, ivory-colored desk, Gloria smiled and nodded at the receptionist. “I’m Gloria Mendoza Johansen. I have an appointment to see Mr. Fortune.”

The woman behind the desk flashed her a studied smile that disappeared a moment after making its appearance. Her small, stubby fingers flew over her keyboard with the flair of a piano virtuoso playing a well-beloved concerto.

“Yes,” the woman whose nameplate proclaimed her to be Doris Wells verified in a thick Texas accent, “it looks like you do.”

Before she could reach for her telephone to notify her boss about this newest arrival, the door behind her opened. Patrick Fortune, wearing an iron-gray suit and light salmon shirt with a gray tie stepped out. He smiled warmly at her as he stepped forward.

“Gloria, right on time.” He glanced at his watch. “A few minutes early, as a matter of fact. I like that in a person. Always get there one jump ahead.” He took both of her hands in his. “You look lovely.”

And then, as if aware that he was suddenly a source of interest, he glanced toward the receptionist. The woman had raised her brow at the friendly display.

“Stop frowning like that, Doris. I’m not putting the moves on Ms. Johansen, I’m just making a very obvious observation. Besides, I’m old enough to be her gr—” He cleared his throat and amended, “Father.” A twinkle came into his eye as he tucked Gloria’s arm through his and led her toward his office. “Come in, come in.”

His office took her breath away. She was vaguely aware that he’d left the door open, as if to leave a connection with reality.

Patrick Fortune inclined his head, conceding, “It’s a little large.”

A little large? Obviously the man had a gift for understatement. Her observation came out in an awed whisper. “I’ve seen smaller golf courses.”

Her words were rewarded with a deep, booming laugh.

“Your mother warned me that you always say what you think.”

She flushed, wondering if she’d offended him somehow, or shown him the small, frightened girl who lived behind the larger-than-life dream and words.

“My mother always told me to think of what I say before I say it.”

That had been the source of more than one lecture she’d been forced to endure. Always her own person even when she didn’t know who or what that person might be, Gloria had always felt driven to do her own thing, not to try to conform to anyone else’s image of her. Now, she realized that her image of herself was what her mother had had in mind all along.

Another sign that her homecoming was a good thing. She took heart in that.

“Your mother is a lovely woman. I’ve known her and your father for almost as long as I’ve known Rosita and Rueben Perez.” Her parents’ best friends, Gloria thought, not to mention that Rosita and her mother were cousins, as well. Rosita had worked for the Fortunes, taking care of their children, since what felt like the beginning of time. She supposed, in part, she had the other woman to thank for this opportunity, as well.

Maybe, Gloria mused, she was finally due for some honest-to-goodness good luck.

Rather than resist the way she would have even five years ago, insisting that her mother was meddling, she now gladly left herself open to “be meddled with.” Heaven knew that no one could do a worse job than she had with her life up to two years ago.

Maybe, if she’d left herself open to suggestions earlier instead of resisting them, her life would have laid itself out differently. Better.

This wasn’t the time for reflections, much less regrets, she admonished herself. The past was just that, something to remain in the background. She was here to take advantage of the present and to hopefully, finally, build a very solid future.

This was the new, improved Gloria whose roots were firmly entrenched in the Gloria who had once been, before the drugs and alcohol had interfered with the direction her life was taking.

She offered the older man her best smile, the one her mother claimed lit up her whole face. “She speaks very highly of you, Mr. Fortune. Both my parents do.”

He gestured her toward the chair that was in front of his desk and waited until she sat before he took his own seat. “And they speak highly of you.”

She knew how much heartache she’d caused both her parents. Their loyalty took her breath away. And made her ashamed all over again for what she had done to them. “They do?”

Patrick had five children himself, just like the Mendozas, and he could well guess what she was thinking. Maria hadn’t gone into detail, but he knew there was a black period in Gloria’s past.

She was about Violet’s age, he judged. “Just because our children temporarily ‘mess up,’ doesn’t mean that we suddenly are blind to their good points. Sometimes, that’s all we parents have to hold on to while we ride out the turbulence.”

She smiled ruefully and shook her head, rising to her feet. “I can’t imagine any of your children giving you a problem.”

He laughed, the sound echoing within the large room. “Then I fear that you have far less imagination than I have been given to believe you possess.” He winked at her.

Which was exactly when his son walked in.

Jack stopped just half a step past the threshold, stunned. His father had just winked at what appeared, at least from the back, to be an attractive woman.

She was wearing a trim-fitting jacket and short skirt, the latter of which hugged hips the way, he judged, most men of her acquaintance probably would have wanted to. Her head came up to his father’s shoulder. Since the man was about five-ten, that placed her in the neighborhood of petite. She had deep-black hair that was pinned up. Even so, she didn’t appear to be here on business, not if that wink he’d just witnessed was any indication of what was transpiring.

He’d obviously interrupted something, but his father had told him to be here at this time, so here he was.

Jack couldn’t help wondering if this was the reason for his father’s change in attitude over the past few months. Was he advocating smelling roses because there was now a mistress to receive those roses?

For a second Jack debated stepping out again. But his father looked in his direction.

“So, you’ve finally gotten here.” The greeting was accompanied by a wide smile.

His father didn’t look like a man who’d just been caught in a transgression. But then, Patrick Fortune was the most self-assured man he had ever met. To his recollection, his father had never made any apologies for himself or his actions.

Aware that he was actually a few minutes late, something he abhorred, Jack found himself on the defensive. “I, um, had to catch another elevator car. There was this obnoxious woman—”

The rest of his statement faded into the light blue walls. The woman his father had just winked at turned around and looked at him.

A feeling of déjà vu shot through him with the velocity of an iron-tipped arrow.

He hadn’t recognized the woman’s clothes, or even the color of her hair, but then she turned to look at him and, well, that wasn’t the kind of face a man easily forgot.

Not even if he tried.

Gloria stared at the man framed in the doorway, recognizing him instantly. It was the man who’d been so rude he’d managed to bring out the worst in her at an incredibly fast speed. Mr. Fortune obviously knew him. More than that, he seemed to have been waiting for him.

Why? What did this mean?

Suddenly there was a distinct sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her fingertips felt moist again, the way they always did when she felt the walls closing in around her.

Was it a premonition?

Holding her breath, Gloria turned away from the younger man in the doorway and looked at Patrick Fortune, a silent, formless prayer echoing in her brain.

Patrick’s eyes shifted from his son to the woman in front of him and back again. He had gotten to his present station in life through hard work coupled with very keen instinct. Instinct that was at times sharper than others’, but even at its worst was never dull.

Right now his instincts told him that there was something going on here between Maria’s daughter and his son that he wasn’t quite aware of. Something he might be able to capitalize on.

He adopted an innocent expression as he looked from one to the other again. “You two know each other?”

“No.” Gloria shot the word out like a bullet.

Jack, Patrick noted, hadn’t taken his eyes off Gloria since he walked in. “We rode up together in the elevator.” The words were ground out.

A slightly puzzled note entered into his expression. “If you rode up together, then why—”

Anticipation had Gloria interrupting. “He got off early,” she supplied.

Jack set his jaw hard. Not adding, as he wanted to, that he’d gotten off because he hadn’t felt like riding up all those floors with an obvious shrew.

This couldn’t be the woman his father wanted him to work with, Jack thought. His luck didn’t run that bad.

Chapter Three

His father was looking at him, obviously still waiting for some kind of good, believable explanation as to why he’d gotten off on another floor rather than arrive here with this annoying woman.

Jack was sharp when it came to matters in the boardroom. But personal things, such as his reaction to this woman, were another matter. The only excuse he could come up with was, “I forgot something.”

Patrick nodded, wise enough to let the matter drop. Jack doubted that his father really believed him, but was clearly willing to let it go. For now.

“Nothing important, I trust,” Patrick said, eyeing his firstborn.

“Excuse me?”

“That ‘thing’ you forgot, it was nothing important, I trust,” Patrick repeated. Just the slightest hint of humor curved his mouth as he continued to look at Jack.

“No, nothing important,” Jack murmured. Just my sanity.

Patrick’s eyes never left his son’s face. Jack was so much a chip off the old block that at times it was positively scary. He saw himself in Jack’s eyes, in Jack’s actions. Which was why, when Maria Mendoza had approached him for help regarding her daughters, the first thing he’d thought of was to get Jack involved in Gloria’s business transfer. He knew that, given Jack’s business acumen, it was a little like offering a building contractor a set of rubber blocks. But he wasn’t necessarily looking to challenge Jack. Not professionally, at any rate. The challenge he offered was to the inner man, the one whose development had been arrested all these years. Ever since Jack’s college days.

It was high time that Jack stop playing the one note he was so exceptionally skilled at playing and fill out the other corners of his life.

Patrick was aware, although Jack never spoke about it, that his son had had his heart set on marrying Ann Garrison, a girl he’d known in college. When she was killed while driving under the influence one night, nearly taking Jack with her, his oldest had withdrawn from the world. But then slowly, with the support of his family, Jack had crawled back out and thrown himself into the family business.

In the beginning he’d been very grateful that Jack had found a way to help himself heal. But after a while, it had become apparent that this was the only path his son would take.

Nothing mattered but the banking business and that was wrong. He’d learned that the hard way himself. It was a lesson he meant to pass on to Jack even if Jack resisted. He didn’t want his son looking back at the end of his years and seeing nothing but cold accomplishments to have marked his passage through this earth.

A man needed a family. His own family. And children. Gloria might not be the one Jack ultimately wound up with, but considering the fact that his son wasn’t out looking at all, Gloria seemed more than capable of getting him interested in pursuits other than business.

Patrick had a knack for reading people and Gloria didn’t look the type to be intimidated. At the very least, he doubted if his slightly larger-than-life son would plow the woman under. She could probably go ten rounds with Jack and still hold her own.

And if he read between the lines of what Maria had told him about her daughter, Gloria could use the stimulation, as well.

Right now, though, silence was hanging extremely heavily in the room. Patrick felt as if he was the impromptu referee at an unofficial bout.

Mentally he rubbed his hands together. Let the games begin, he thought.

“Well, then, let’s get on with it. I suppose formal introductions are in order. Jack, I’d like you to meet your, um, new ‘project.’” Patrick flashed a smile at the young woman. “Gloria Mendoza Johansen. Gloria, this is my oldest son, Jack.” He didn’t bother hiding the pride in his voice. Life was too short to scrimp on praise when it was due. “Next to me, I’d say that Jack is the most savvy businessman I know. He’ll be handling your affairs.” His smile widened. “So to speak.”

She’d never seen eyes that twinkled before. But there was definitely a twinkle in Patrick Fortune’s eyes. Why?

And his words caused alarms to go off in her head. “You mean that you’re not going to be overseeing the shop?” She’d thought that was why he’d asked her here. But he was palming her off on his son, Mr. Charm-and-Personality.

It was the last thing she wanted. Recovering from the jolt, her first instinct was to say, “Thanks, but no thanks.” After all, she’d originally started the business in Denver all by herself and it had been doing very nicely, thank you very much. Over the two years that it had been in existence, the store had gained a small but loyal and solid following. And she had contractual work in Hollywood, as well. An actress on a popular sitcom had fallen in love with one of her necklace designs and suddenly she was getting calls from the west coast, asking her to create the jewelry for the whole show.

All of this had come about on the strength of her skill and by word of mouth. There was even a man in New York City who’d flown out to buy his wife a Christmas present. His wife had seen her work while vacationing in Denver and had fallen in love with it. And he knew some people who knew some people…Whatever it took to build up a clientele, she mused.

There was absolutely no reason why she couldn’t do that right here in San Antonio. After all, this was only a stone’s throw from where she’d originally started out, Red Rock. She already knew people here.

But there was no denying that the Fortunes were a power to be reckoned with and when one of them offered to show up in your corner, you didn’t suddenly throw up a brick wall to keep them out. Especially not the head of the clan.

But this is the son, not the father. A scowling son at that, she reminded herself.

There were times when Gloria was certain that fate had it in for her. One moment it looked as if things were only going to get better, the next, the rug beneath her feet was being frantically tugged on. As of yet, it hadn’t been pulled out, but it did provide just enough turbulence to throw her off balance.

She didn’t like being off balance. She’d spent enough of her life that way already.

Patrick’s expression was disarming. It left no room for argument.

“I’m afraid I’m going to be too busy to offer you the personal attention that you deserve.” He let his words sink in properly, then looked at Jack.

Oh, and I won’t be? Jack thought. His father had never minimized his contribution to the business or his importance in the company before. Just what was going on here?

“Would you excuse us for a second?” Jack said, addressing Gloria.

“Sure,” Gloria replied, and left the room.

Moving over toward the full-length bar that had been the last piece of decor installed in his more-than-spacious, state-of-the-art office, Patrick Fortune waited for Jack to begin.

Jack turned his back to the door to further ensure their privacy. “Dad, have I done something to displease you?”

“On the contrary, I couldn’t have asked for a better right hand—or a better son,” Patrick answered.

Okay, so he hadn’t unconsciously incurred his father’s annoyance, Jack thought. His mind did a U-turn. Did Derek have something to do with this? Derek Rockwell had been his best friend for years now. Jack had been the one to initially bring Derek to his father’s attention, feeling sorry for Derek because he had never experienced the kind of warm family interactions that existed within his own home. Derek’s scholastic path had shadowed Jack’s and when the time came, his father had taken him into the company with open arms. More than that, his father had all but adopted Derek, treating him more like a son than Derek’s own father ever had.

Had Derek managed to somehow usurp him?

No, that was a low, petty thought. Derek would never turn on him, never do things behind his back. The man was selfless. Besides, his father had asked Derek to come to the San Antonio office weeks before he’d sent for him, Jack thought.

Jack stopped speculating. “Then why am I playing nursemaid to this woman?”

Patrick shook his head, his expression a portrait of patience. “Not nursemaid, I assure you. And it’s only temporary. Look, this is a favor for a friend,” he repeated, “and I would appreciate it if you would give this venture your very best effort.”

Jack blew out a breath. “I can do what’s required in my sleep,” he protested.

The indulgent smile returned to his father’s lips. “I’d prefer you awake.”

There just had to be more to this than met the eye. “Dad—”

Patrick placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder, the simple action calling a halt to any and all further protest. “How many times have I asked you to do me a favor?”

For a moment the wind left Jack’s sails. His father never presumed to manipulate him. The man had trusted his judgment and, except for a few initial guidelines, had given him free rein when it came to running the New York office.

Jack measured out his words. “This would be the first.”

“Right, it would be. So you know that this is important to me.” And Jack could tell that it was.

Jack glanced at the woman standing just outside the door. Why was this so important to his father? And then an answer occurred to him. One he didn’t particularly like. He looked at his father for a long moment. “Dad, is there more going on here than you’re telling me?”

Patrick’s reddish eyebrows huddled together over the bridge of his nose. “More?”

Suddenly his giant reservoir of words was mostly empty. “You know, is she…are the two of you—”

Because he thought so highly of his father—and always had—Jack couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Did Gloria represent his father’s lost youth?

Patrick was staring at him with a look of incredulity. When he spoke, his voice was hardly louder than a whisper. “Are you actually asking me if I’m having an affair with her?”

He’d seen his father become angry once or twice, although never with him or anyone in the family. He wasn’t sure what he was about to witness now. Jack held his ground. Because if his father was having an affair, he was damn well going to talk him out of it. And get rid of the girl as quickly as was humanly possible without involving something with a firing pin.

His eyes never left his father’s. “Yes.”

For a second Patrick stood stock-still. Then he scrubbed his hand over his face, his expression still stunned. “My God, I don’t know whether to be flattered or angry.” He laughed and Jack knew that the danger had passed. “My boy, your mother, God bless her, is more than enough woman for me.”

“Well, if you’re not having an affair with her and you’re not annoyed with me, why are you asking me to do this?”

The answer was simple. “Because she needs help.” And because you do, too, Patrick added silently. “She’s had a rough time of it.”

“Rough time?”

“You know, personally.” Patrick’s words came out at a faster clip, as if he was running short on time. “It’s too complicated to talk about now, but I thought that you of all people might be sympathetic.” He then issued the only instructions he was about to give on the matter. “Help her get on her feet. Not be taken advantage of, that sort of thing.” And then, apparently because he didn’t want Jack to think that he was dealing with someone lacking in business sense, he added, “Don’t get me wrong—Gloria’s savvy. But two heads are always better than one.”

“Unless they belong to the same person,” Jack muttered under his breath, hating this corner he was being painted into.

About to walk back to Gloria, Patrick stopped and turned around to look at Jack. “What?”

Jack waved away his words. He might as well make the best of this. The sooner he got down to it, the sooner he’d be finished. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Knew you would,” Patrick said, moving toward the door.

Reaching Gloria, Patrick beamed and led her back into the office. Then he glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I’m running a little behind.”

“Meeting?” Jack asked, instantly alert.

“In a matter of speaking.” Patrick’s expression softened slightly. “Telephone conferencing.”

Apparently hoping for a last-minute reprieve or, at the very least, a stay of execution while he was included in this conference, Jack was quick to ask, “Is it anyone that I know?”

“Intimately.” The word hung in the air between them for a second before Patrick added, “I promised to call your mother.” His eyes shifted to Gloria. “I have to run, Gloria, but I’m leaving you in very capable hands.”

From the look in Jack Fortune’s eyes as he turned toward her, Gloria had more than a passing suspicion that he wanted to use those very capable hands to wring her neck.

Unconsciously she squared her shoulders, standing almost at attention by the time he reached her. The closer he got, the more tension telegraphed itself through her body.

And the closer he got, the handsomer he looked.

There was no doubt about it, she thought, attempting to remain impartial in her judgment, Jack Fortune was one of those men that the term “drop-dead gorgeous” had been invented to describe.

The kind of man she might have once fallen for before introductions were even completed.

Lucky for her she’d done a great deal of growing and changing since those days. Lucky, too, that he’d managed to put her off so completely with the very first words that had come out of his mouth. If anything, it had been a matter of annoyance at first glance.

And if there was one thing she was utterly sure of, it was that Mr. Jack Fortune posed no threat to her state of mind or the pact she had made with her sisters. If for some reason her hormones decided to go berserk and she was tempted to renege on that pact, it wasn’t about to be with a man who used his tongue as a carving knife at Thanksgiving.

For one thing, she’d seen warmer eyes on a mackerel lying on display at the fish market than the ones that were turned on her now.

She was acutely aware that they were being left alone in this cavern of an office suite. Patrick Fortune waved to her as he took out his cell phone and slipped away into a private alcove where he could rendezvous with his wife of more than forty years.

Must be nice, she thought, to love someone that much, to want to remain married to them for so many years. Like her parents. Too bad it was never going to happen to her.

But she had her business to keep her busy, she reminded herself. And so it was time to get back to that business.

She looked at Jack. “You’re not happy about this, are you?”

“Whether I’m happy has nothing to do with this,” he told her coldly, eyeing the purse she had tucked under her arm. It was one of those flimsy clutch things big enough for a change purse, a driver’s license and a set of keys. She obviously hadn’t brought any papers with her that he could look over. It figured.

“Since you don’t seem to have anything with you, why don’t we make an appointment for another time?”

She looked at him blankly. Maybe he should be speaking in monosyllabic words.

“Sometime when you have something with you for me to look over.”

“‘Something’?”

He took a breath, then spelled it out for her. Slowly. “Blueprints for the space you’ll need. Inventory of the items you’ll need on hand. Everything from shipping boxes to Bunsen burners. Cash-flow projections,” he added for good measure, wondering if she was following him at all.

“I don’t use a Bunsen burner,” she informed him tersely.

Jack looked down at her, then found himself caught in the fire in her eyes. He was about to say something else when he suddenly became aware that her very trim figure was just inches away from him and that something quite apart from a business meeting was going on here. It was as if all the pores in his body had suddenly opened up and were inhaling her very feminine, very unsettling perfume.

The woman was female with a capital “F.”

The very last thing he wanted in his life.

With effort, he steered himself back to his indignation. “Do you even have any idea what it takes to set up a business?”

She bit her lower lip. “I—”

He made himself look at her eyes instead of her mouth. Like a man sitting in the middle of a boat that had suddenly broken apart, he felt compelled to clutch at something for survival. In this case, he needed to drive her away. “Did anyone tell you that most businesses fail in their first year?”

She hated his high-handed tone and it took effort for her not to turn on her heel and just walk out.

She could feel her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to rein in the temper she had inherited from her mother. This pompous ass was actually talking down to her, treating her as if she was some kind of a kindergarten dropout. Just because his last name was Fortune didn’t give him the right to act as if she was some kind of mental incompetent.

Because she owed it to Patrick not to kill his son, she forced a smile to her lips. “Then I guess we have nothing to worry about.”

“Meaning?” Jack demanded, the word scratching his throat as it climbed out. Jack felt like a man who was losing his mind. Part of him wanted to walk out and slam the door on this woman. And another part of him wanted to find out what full lips with a slash of pink lipstick tasted like.

“Meaning this isn’t my first year.”

Flipping open her purse, she took out a folded magazine article. Very precisely she unfolded it, then handed it to him.

“I’ve been in business for two years now. My store was located in Denver.” She took the article—clipped from a local Denver Sunday supplement; a story featuring her unique designs—out of his hand, noting that he hadn’t even glanced at it. He kept his eyes on her. “I’m not a virgin, Mr. Fortune.”

Chapter Four

It took Jack longer than he would have liked to pull himself together. “Bragging, Ms. Johansen?”

Gloria raised her chin, a bantam rooster unafraid of the fox.

“It’s Mrs. Johansen—or it was.” She was seriously thinking of changing her name back to simply Mendoza but for now she kept that to herself. “But since we’re going to be working together, I think you should call me Gloria, Jack.” She looked him in the eye as she deliberately emphasized his name. “And what I’m saying—” God, it was hard to talk to this man without clenching her teeth and pushing the words out “—is that I had a good business going in Denver.”

“Then why move?”

If there was one thing that got the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up straight, it was having to explain herself. She’d resisted the truth when the questions had come from her parents and she liked them a whole lot better than she did this intrusive man.

But she needed this boost. The Fortune backing meant a great deal in these parts and she was not about to turn her back on that just because Patrick Fortune had had the distinct misfortune of siring one very mean-spirited son of a gun.

Telling herself that pride went before the fall, Gloria forced her lips into a wide, beatific smile. “Because this is home and I decided it was time to come home.” And then, because she hated being on the hot seat, she turned the tables and asked him a question.

“Where’s home for you?”

He’d been unprepared for her prying. And there was no way he was about to discuss anything private with a complete stranger. “That doesn’t matter.”

To which she responded by widening her smile. He could feel it slipping in under his skin. Warming him. But whether that was due to annoyance or just a man-woman thing, he couldn’t tell.

“Home always matters,” she told him in a voice that was far too sultry for the message it delivered.

Jack fought the effects the only way he knew how: with a sarcastic remark he knew would put her off. “That sounds like something you’d find embroidered on a kitchen towel.”

Undaunted, her smile never waned. “The kitchen’s usually the heart of a home, especially in my house when I was growing up.”

She kept throwing him curves. Did the woman suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder? “Just what does any of this have to do with business?”

This time he noticed that her smile did frost over just a little. “I’d thought you might want to know a little about the person whose business you’re dipping your fingers into.”

Jack frowned. She made it sound as if he was deliberately invading her. As if he even had any interest in such a small venture. She could just take herself to one of their branch offices and arrange for a loan if that was what this was all going to boil down to.

“There’s no ‘dipping,’” he informed her tersely, “there’ll just be straightening.”

Temper. Remember to keep your temper, Gloria cautioned herself. There wasn’t anything to be gained by giving this man a piece of her mind. If she did, she knew her mother would get wind of it and probably think she’d gone back to her old ways. She wasn’t about to add to the woman’s concerns. No, she was going to be a lady about this if it killed her.

“There won’t be much of that, either.” Her voice was soft, melodious. “My business isn’t in chaos, Jack, it just needs a loving hand to oversee it being unwrapped in San Antonio.”

Her words produced startling images in his brain. Suddenly he saw himself sitting by a warm fireplace in some secluded little hideaway, removing the layers of her clothing one by one.

Was that just an acquired tan or was that the true hue of her skin?

Stunned, Jack pulled back.

What the hell was going on here? He didn’t care if her tan was painted on, it made no difference to him. What was he doing, thinking like that?

He jumped on the words she’d used. “This isn’t a love affair, it’s a business—”

“It’s both,” she corrected before he could continue.

She obviously couldn’t have lost him more if she’d thrown him headlong into the center of a cattle stampede and then ridden off, leaving him to be trampled.

“That’s actually the name, you know.”

“The name of what?”

“My jewelry store.” What did he think she was talking about? Obviously the man wasn’t as sharp as his father thought he was. “It’s called ‘Love Affair.’” She enunciated slowly for his benefit. His face looked like a road map to confusion. “Because that’s what all my designs center around.”

“A love affair,” he repeated incredulously.

“With the skin.” Even as she emphasized the concept, she could see that he wasn’t following her. Not a dreamer, this one. What a surprise. She tried again, repeating her philosophy for him and speaking very slowly.

“The jewelry I design is supposed to be a love affair with the skin it touches, with the woman who owns the piece.”

She could see that she wasn’t getting through to him. Definitely not a sensitive man. She blew out a breath, unconsciously propping a fisted hand on her waist. “Work with me here.”

He laughed dryly. The sound left her cold. “I don’t seem to have a choice.”

She cocked her head, doing an instant analysis. From where she was standing, it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. His father was making him do this. “You don’t strike me as someone who resigns himself to not having choices.”

Was she trying to flatter him? Or pretending to be intuitive? He couldn’t tell and it annoyed him not to be able to read her.

He decided to put her off for the time being, until he regrouped. “Look, as I said earlier, this would be much more productive if we rescheduled. Frankly, I just got off the plane and I’m not at my best.”

“You have a gift for understatement I see.” She couldn’t help it. The words had broken free of their own accord. He’d handed her just too perfect a straight line. She flushed. “I mean—”

“Yes.” He cut her off, trying not to notice that the soft-pink hue of lipstick gave her an alluring look. “I know exactly what you mean.” Since she was his only assignment while he was here in San Antonio, his schedule was pretty much open. Still, he did want to catch up with Derek while he was here and to see a few people who’d been out in the New York office until recently. “How does the day after tomorrow sound? Say around nine?”

She was happy to learn that he liked getting an early start. So did she. At least they had one thing in common. “That sounds fine to me.” Since he hadn’t mentioned location, she asked, “Where would you like to meet?”

At her new shop would be the perfect place, but it occurred to him that he didn’t know if she had even selected a location yet or if she was still scouting them out. “Have you given any thought to where the shop is going to be?”

There he went again, treating her as if she had a brain the size of a pea. “As a matter of fact, I have. And it’s perfect.”

He’d be the judge of that, Jack thought. “All right, I’ll come by and pick you up at your place and then we can take a look at this so-called perfect place.”

She was in purgatory, Gloria thought, and doing penance for all the past sins of her life. But that was all right, she could get through this, she told herself. That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, she recalled. And at this rate, she was going to be one hell of a strong woman.

“Fine.” Taking a small pad out of her purse, she wrote down the necessary information for him. She tore off the page and handed it to Jack, tucking the pad back into her purse. “Here’s the address.”

“Fine,” Jack murmured as he pocketed the slip of paper.

“Fine,” she echoed. But it was definitely not fine in her book and wouldn’t be fine until she had this man and the stick he had swallowed removed from her life. “Until then,” she said prophetically, then walked out of the office.

Gloria lengthened her stride considerably once she was out of the office. Hurrying past Doris at the receptionist’s desk she had the presence of mind to offer the woman a quick, perfunctory smile. Gloria didn’t slow down until she reached the elevator. She couldn’t wait to get away.

Entering the elevator, she felt the air immediately hitch in her throat.

What a jerk, she thought angrily. What a damn pompous jerk.

Trying to rein in the anger that was spiking through her, she punched the button for Christina’s floor. She did not want to deal with Jack Fortune. She stared at the numbers as she descended.

Gloria caught her lower lip between her teeth, thinking. Maybe she’d ask her mother to speak to Patrick. There was no question that she’d rather deal with the senior Fortune than his stuck-up sarcastic snob of a son. The two men were as different as night and day.

And then she frowned.

She wasn’t nine and involved in some scrap in the schoolyard. She was thirty years old, for God’s sake, and had been around the proverbial block a few times. More than a few. Even at nine, she hadn’t gone running to her mother for help. She’d always settled her own fights.

Nothing should have changed. She could handle the holier-than-thou Mr. Jack Fortune and she could do it with aplomb.

She calmed down as the idea of putting him in his place began to take hold. The man would never know what hit him, she promised herself. She’d gotten through rehab, a rotten marriage and dealt with an entire boatload of guilt and remorse along the way. Compared to that, dealing with Jack Fortune should be an absolute snap.

To underscore the thought, she snapped her fingers just as the elevator door opened. Right on time.

She grinned as she stepped out.

Christina held her questions in check until they were seated at the restaurant she’d selected; a fashionable one located on the tenth floor of the Fortune-Rockwell Bank building. Far from an employee cafeteria, it had earned a reputation for both its food and its affordable prices. Ever the practical one, her older sister had judged that although they both seemed to be on their way to bigger things, they could do with watching their money for a while.

She leaned forward across the small table for two and asked in a hushed whisper, “So? How did it go?”

Gloria took her lead from her older sister and leaned in toward her. “Awful.”

Disappointment registered across Christina’s face. “What? Why? Mr. Fortune seemed so nice at the party.”

Gloria shook her head. “He is, but it’s not Patrick Fortune I’ll be working with,” she said. “I’m talking about Jack Fortune.”

“His son?” Confusion marred her perfect looks. “What’s his son got to do with it?”

“Apparently everything.” Gloria sighed as she broke a bread stick, more interested in the physical exercise than in eating it right now. “Mr. Fortune handed me over to him and I get the feeling that ‘Sonny boy’ is not too happy about the turn of events.”

“I didn’t know that Mr. Fortune had any mentally challenged children,” Christina responded, clearly disturbed that someone didn’t like Gloria.

Gloria laughed. Before their falling out, Christina had always been able to buoy her spirits with just a few choice words. God, she’d missed her, she thought now, lamenting the years that had been lost. “He doesn’t. But he’s certainly got at least one offspring who’s definitely manners-challenged. Jack Fortune thinks he walks on water.” She broke another bread stick into several pieces until it was almost reduced to crumbs. She kept envisioning the younger Fortune’s neck with each snap. “And I’m not sure if I can hold my tongue until everything’s ready to go.”

As Gloria picked up a third bread stick, Christina tactfully took it out of her hands and bit off a piece.

“Well, you’d better. Mama said that Mr. Fortune was going to lend you any seed money you might need to get started. At three-percent interest,” she emphasized. “You can’t get a deal better than that.”

Gloria concentrated to keep her mouth from falling open. Patrick had said nothing about a loan. She wondered if Jack knew and if that was why he was so cold toward her. “Three percent? Are you sure?”

Christina made short work of the bread stick and picked up another before Gloria could kill it. “I’m sure. Mama was very happy about it.”

A former CPA with a company that had gone under, Gloria had done her homework and knew she had enough to cover everything for the move with some money to spare—as long as there were no unusual surprises. To discover that she now had a safety net was a tremendous relief. Armed this way, she knew she was capable of cutting the man’s son a little slack. After all, it wasn’t his fault he’d been born with a permanent scowl tattooed on his brow.

Gloria took a sip of water. “Patrick Fortune is a hell of a nice guy.”

“Don’t make ’em nicer,” Christina agreed.

Gloria set her glass down, matching the bottom to the slight ring that had formed beneath it. “Too bad he couldn’t have passed his ‘nice’ gene on to his son.” And then she smiled as she looked at her sister. There was mischief in her look the way there had been when they were young, when they’d whispered their innermost secrets to one another in the dead of night while shrouded by sheets and darkness. “But I guess for three-percent interest I can dance with the devil for a while.”

“Just as long as it’s not slow dancing,” Christina said, obviously thinking of their pact.

“No danger of that.”

The waiter arrived with a bottle of wine. “This is the house special.” Holding it as if he was cradling a baby in his hands, he presented it to both of them.

Gloria read the label. A small nibble of temptation waltzed through her, but she ignored it. Raising her eyes to the waiter, she shook her head. “None for me, thank you.”

“None for me, either,” Christina was quick to chime in.

Gloria knew Christina didn’t want to seem insensitive.

“She’ll have a glass,” she told the waiter.

“Glory—” Christina protested as the waiter began to pour.

“Don’t turn it down on my account, Tina. I’m not that weak,” she assured her. “Besides, if being with Jack Fortune didn’t drive me to drink, I guarantee you watching you have a glass or two isn’t going to do it. I’m on safe ground.”

But Christina was taking no chances. She waved the waiter away. “Two ginger ales, please,” she instructed. Once he was gone, taking the half-filled glass of wine and bottle with him, Christina leaned in toward her sister. “I’m not too sure how safe that ground you’re standing on is.”

Gloria didn’t follow her. “Come again?”

Christina nodded toward something behind her. “Incoming. Twelve o’clock high,” she added.

Gloria turned in her chair.

Patrick Fortune was walking into the restaurant—with his son.

She closed her eyes, seeking strength. There seemed to be no getting away from the man today. Resigned, she shifted back in her chair. “Of all the restaurants in all the world, he had to walk into mine,” she murmured under her breath.

Christina grinned. “You don’t look a thing like Humphrey Bogart.” And then, because she sensed that something was going on here that she didn’t quite understand but that was obviously troubling her sister, she added, “This is what we get for coming into a restaurant that’s located in the Fortune-Rockwell building.” Wanting to spare her sister, she pointed out the obvious. “We haven’t ordered yet, Glory.” She leaned down to pick up her purse. “We could go somewhere else.”

“And have you late getting back from lunch? I don’t think so. You haven’t been working here long enough to risk that. No, put your purse back down, Tina, we’re staying here. I’ll deal with my threatening bout of indigestion like a trooper.”

Christina watched as the two men were shown to a table and then seated.

“You know, for a walking case of indigestion looking to happen, Jack Fortune is one hell of a good-looking specimen,” Christina pointed out.

Gloria opened her menu and pretended to be interested in the various offerings that met the eye. “According to the Bible, so was Lucifer.”

Christina laughed. “Same old Gloria, scissor-tongued to the end.”

Gloria pretended to sniff at the description. “I’ll have you know that I was the picture of sweetness and light at our meeting—even when he was treating me like an airhead.”

About to open her own menu, Christina stared at her incredulously. “Did he talk to you?”

“At me,” Gloria corrected. “He talked ‘at’ me. Like I said, the man thinks he walks on water and I am the pond scum beneath his feet.”

Christina shook her head, clearly amused at the choice of words. “As I remember, you were also given to exaggeration.”

“Not this time,” Gloria said defensively. “Mr. Jack Fortune doesn’t think I’m a worthy recipient of his expertise. I can see it in his eyes. I’m not really sure why he’s doing it.”

“Maybe because his father asked him to and he can’t find a way to say no,” Christina suggested.

“Maybe.”

The waiter had returned with their ginger ales. Setting them down, he took their orders, punching appropriate buttons on something that resembled a Palm Pilot.

Her stomach in knots, Gloria ordered the chef’s salad. She was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to keep anything more substantial down.

“Well,” she theorized once the waiter had left again, “the only really good thing about Jack’s attitude is that at least I know I won’t be in jeopardy.”

“Jeopardy?” Christina echoed.

“Of breaking our pact. Working closely with a gorgeous male might have strained my resolve. But since the gorgeous male is also a holier-than-thou type, I figure I’m safe.”

She glanced toward him—and discovered that he was looking straight at her. As her stomach tightened a notch, she was glad all she was having was the salad.

What was going on here? The man was clear across the room, but it was as if space and the people who inhabited it had somehow magically melted away.

As if there was no one else in the dining area but the two of them. Not her sister, not his father. No one. Just them.

How had she thought that his eyes were lifeless? They seemed to look right into her.

Electricity shimmied up and down her spine, sending out shock waves to mark its path.

She knew she would have shivered if the rest of her body hadn’t felt as if it had suddenly been frozen in place. What had happened? A moment ago she’d felt so confident that this was the one handsome man she was completely immune to.

Pride goeth before a fall.

Chapter Five

“Earth to Gloria.”

Gloria blinked as her sister’s voice penetrated the fog that had descended over her brain. She realized that Christina was waving a hand in front of her eyes, obviously waiting for a reaction.

She cleared her throat, if not her head. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

Christina shook her head. “I could have quoted the entire Gettysburg Address and I don’t think you would have heard a single word just now. Where were you?” She glanced in the direction that Christina had been staring but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just the Fortunes at their table. “You look flushed, Glory. Are you coming down with something?”

“God, I hope not,” Gloria responded with feeling. Reaching for her ginger ale, she drank the contents until her glass was empty.

Christina took a second look over her shoulder, this time seeing that her sister’s line of vision directly took in Jack Fortune. But she doubted if Gloria’s sudden trancelike state had anything to do with the man, not after the way she’d just talked about him.

Still…

Maybe she should be scouting out maid’s outfits for Gloria, Christina mused, suppressing a grin. It would be nice to have her apartment given a thorough cleaning and if there was one thing she’d learned, whatever Gloria did, she did thoroughly.

“You sure you’re all right?” she pressed.

Gloria nodded a tad too vigorously. “I’m just preoccupied about the move back home.”

That, she could accept. “You’re entitled. I was a little up in the air when I moved back, too.” The waiter returned with their orders and she paused until he retreated again. “It’s not exactly a tiny step, rerouting your entire life.”

Gloria’s lips curved slightly. No, it wasn’t, but she wasn’t exactly a novice at it, either. “I should be used to that by now. I’ve done it—what? Four times if you count that disaster of a marriage I had.”

“Let’s not.” Christina was more than happy to pretend it had never happened. From what she’d heard, Gary wasn’t worthy of Gloria. “Did you check out that sublet I told you about?”

Shifting so that she couldn’t see Jack without an effort, she focused her attention on her sister. And on her new apartment.

“Yes, and I can’t thank you enough for that tip. We came to an agreement almost immediately. The place is mine as of yesterday.” She’d already spent her first night there and, unlike other first nights in new places she’d lived in, she’d had no trouble sleeping.

Christina looked delighted at the news. “It’ll feel more like home once your furniture gets here.”

Gloria laughed shortly. “Not all that much furniture to make the trip.” She’d packed up what few things she could still lay claim to and given a storage unit in Red Rock as a receiving address. She’d spent part of yesterday getting in touch with the moving company that had then had to get in touch with the movers who were en route to Texas to tell them to change their final destination.

Christina tried to make light of it. “You always did insist on not having much baggage.”

“At least physically,” Gloria specified. Mentally was another story, but she was working on it. She was working on it, she repeated silently as if thinking it twice would somehow reinforce the effort and the final result.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I certainly have room for dessert.”

“I second that motion.” Gloria deliberately forced a happy note into her voice, vainly trying to block out the fact that Jack Fortune was still looking at her and for some reason, that was creating goose bumps along her flesh. She could almost feel his eyes skimming along her body.

Up to this point, she’d thought her imagination was exclusively reserved for the jewelry she designed. She didn’t particularly like this turn of events.

Padding around in bare feet, her soles meeting the highly polished wooden floor, Gloria patrolled the large loft as she got ready the next morning. Jack would be by in a few minutes to pick her up to take her to where her jewelry store was going to be. She couldn’t help wondering if the contrary man would take exception to the location. Well, he could take exception all he wanted, she’d already signed the one-year lease.

Nerves had taken an eggbeater to her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it had to do with the fact that she was fully immersed in her venture or that she was attracted to Jack Fortune.

“I’m not attracted to him, I’m not,” she protested to the window in absence of anything live to talk to. “It’s just a matter of deprivation, that’s all.”

It wasn’t just alcohol that hadn’t touched her lips in two years. She hadn’t been with a man for that length of time, either.

She glanced at her reflection in the shell-framed mirror that hung just shy of the front door. She was wearing her hair down today. Was that a mistake? Did it detract from her professionalism?

“You avoid things that are bad for you, right?” she asked her reflection. The woman in the mirror nodded in agreement.

She’d decided long before making that pact with her sisters that men were definitely bad for her. At least, the kind of men she seemed doomed to keep selecting. Handsome men with gorgeous eyes and no substance, and ultimately, no heart.

When she’d first met Gary, she’d thought that he was going to be different. He’d given off such a solid, protective air those first few weeks. Granted she’d never been head over heels in love with him, but then, she’d told herself that kind of feeling belonged to the very young and the very delusional. She’d figured that Gary would be good for her and that for the rest of her life she’d be content if not wildly happy.

She’d been neither.

It wasn’t long before she’d discovered that Gary’s solid exterior and protective veneer were only that, a veneer. Beneath it the man she’d thought would be loving had turned out to be controlling instead. And, since she’d been easier to handle while under the influence, her wolf in prince’s clothing had done everything he could to encourage all her self-destructive habits.

She combed her fingers through her hair, adding a little height. The reflection in the mirror was frowning at her. Her marriage and subsequent divorce made umpteen strikes against her. That was when she’d decided that if her judgment was so bad, she just wasn’t going to exercise it any longer. At least not where men were concerned. So she’d put a cork in the wine bottle and a lid on her feelings.

So far, it had proved to be a good decision. Once sober, she got a great deal more accomplished. And with her mind uncluttered by the baggage that being involved with someone created, she’d managed to turn an interest and a skill into a satisfying, successful career.

So here she was, back on what was practically her home turf, facing another challenge. She thought of Jack. As much as she hated to admit it, her longing for a relationship far outweighed her desire for a drink two to one.

She supposed that was only human, longing for something you couldn’t have.

“Focus on how much of an ass he is, Glory,” she ordered herself. Hunting for her shoes, she found them by the kitchen bar. She put one on. “Besides, he’s cold as ice. The woman who tries to make it with him had better be wearing thermal underwear.”

The idea made her laugh.

Just then the doorbell rang. Startled, she grabbed hold of the counter to keep from falling over as she tried to put on the other shoe.

“Coming,” she called, half walking, half hopping to the door.

It took several steps to get the four-inch black mules to fit snugly on her feet. Stopping to adjust her shirt, which had hiked up during her little impromptu dance-of-the-shoes, Gloria took a deep breath and braced herself as she placed her hand on the doorknob.

“Right on time,” she announced brightly as she opened the door.

Jack sailed across the threshold, an emperor taking possession of all he surveyed. “I usually am.” Was that a snide remark about his being five minutes late for their first meeting?

Warm as ever, she thought. “Nice to know,” she commented. “Let me get my purse.” She hurried back to the bar in the kitchen. For the time being, it was the only flat surface available.

Jack took a good long look around the apartment. It was actually a large loft with what appeared to be a couple of cubbyholes off to the side. He imagined that one of them was probably her bedroom. He was standing in what was the combined living room, kitchen, dining room area. The only piece of furniture in the space was a stool against the bar in the kitchen. Otherwise, there wasn’t even a spot to sit.

Was her bedroom as barren?

The thought came out of nowhere and he banished it back to the same place. “Furniture not arrive yet?”

“What?” And then his words played back in her head and she realized what he was referring to. “No, it hasn’t.” Wearing a winter-white pullover sweater and skirt that, together, gave the impression of forming a dress, she shrugged carelessly. “Not that there’s that much to arrive.”

“Minimalist?”

“Something like that.”

She saw him scrutinizing her face. The man should have been an interrogator for the CIA. “I thought you said your business was doing well.”

She resisted the urge to tell him that none of this was his business. Ordinarily, that wasn’t her style. She liked talking, liked learning about other people and didn’t mind them learning about her. But there was something about this man that just seemed to bring out her worst side. She forced herself to be more than civil. She didn’t want Jack to have anything to use against her when he reported back to his father as she assumed he was going to do.

“It is,” she retorted proudly. A defensive note entered her voice. “It was my marriage that didn’t go well.”

He looked at her hand. There wasn’t even a hint of a tan line where her ring would have once been. Which meant that her divorce was not a recent thing.

She saw where he was looking and wondered what was going through his head. Gloria made a calculated guess and decided to set the record straight. “I bought him off with furniture. He was more attached to it than I was, anyway. I do miss the TV, though.”

“You don’t have a TV?” He didn’t watch much himself, other than CNN on occasion and then only to stay abreast of what was going on in the world, but he thought that all women were hooked on talk shows and daytime drama, taping it if they couldn’t be there to watch the episode being aired.

“I do.” Right now, it was on a crate in the bedroom. Right at the foot of the bedroll she’d borrowed from her brother. “But not like the one I gave up. Cost more than the first car I ever owned. Plasma,” she told him since Jack had temporarily ceased to ask questions. Watching anything on the set was like actually being there. Even commercials were fun.

Gloria paused by the small closet just at the front door and took out her coat. Holding her sleeve with the same hand, she began to slip her arm into a coat sleeve. She felt Jack come up behind her and hold her coat so that she could get her other arm in more easily.

The close proximity brought another by-now-familiar wave of warmth up along her spine. She pulled back, stepping to the side and nearly bumping into the wall. Her heart skipped a beat. She raised her eyes to his, feeling amazingly clumsy.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He followed her out the door, waiting as she locked up. Her three-quarter-length coat called his attention to her legs.

As if she needed help in having someone notice them, Jack thought, annoyed that his eyes had lingered there longer than should have been warranted.

“Let’s get going,” he snapped, taking the stairs down. There was, he’d discovered, no elevator to the fourthfloor apartment.

Gloria followed him down. “I thought that was what we were doing.”

He said nothing. Reaching the first floor, he held the door for her only long enough for her to reach it, then strode outside. Jack led the way to his car.

Stopping by the passenger side, he opened the door and held it. This time he didn’t abandon his post; he waited until she got in before closing the door and rounding the hood.

“Why are you doing this?” Gloria asked him as he got in behind the steering wheel.

Putting the key into the ignition, he turned it. The Jaguar purred to life. Right now, it was giving him a lot less grief than she was. “Because it’s too far and too cold to walk to the address you gave me.”

She’d given him the location of the store, which was in the midst of renovations, when he’d called early this morning to confirm their meeting. She’d had the same impression then as when she’d first met him.

As she had now.

“No, I’m not talking about driving to the jewelry store, I’m talking about becoming my business adviser in the first place.”

Like a man comfortable with who and what he was, he answered simply and with no apology. “Because my father asked me to.”

That wasn’t good enough as far as she was concerned. She was accustomed to doing things alone and while she welcomed the Fortune stamp of approval and any leverage that association gave her in this highly competitive business, it wasn’t going to be at the sake of her pride. She didn’t need this man talking down to her, looking at her critically.

It was her shaky self-esteem that had been the culprit for her sliding down the slippery slope that had ultimately led to rehab in the first place.

“Look, it’s very evident that you’d rather be running barefoot over hot coals, on your way to get a root canal, than helping me, so why don’t we just call it a day? You can tell your father everything’s all right and I’ll just go about my business the way I did when I first got started in Denver.”

Most people vied for the Fortune’s backing. What was her angle? “Just like that?”

She faced forward and stared straight ahead, aware that he was looking at her. “Pretty much.”

It made no sense. “I thought you asked for my father’s help.”

She wanted the record set straight. “No, my mother asked for your father’s help.” She knew that her mother had had only good intentions. She also knew it was futile to tell her mother to back off and stop worrying. Worrying, Maria Mendoza had told her time and again, was part of a mother’s job description. “I guess she still worries about me. According to my mother, I am going to be her ‘little girl’ even when I blow out eighty-nine candles on my birthday cake.”

He laughed dryly, doing his damnedest not to pay attention to the way her mouth curved fondly as she spoke of her mother. “I know how that is. Although my father does pretty much stay out of my business.”

Was he talking about private or professional? “I thought it was his business—”

“It is, but lately I’ve been running the New York office according to my guidelines. In a way, that makes it mine.” He stopped himself, realizing that he’d just admitted something to a woman he knew next to nothing about. A veritable stranger. That wasn’t a habit with him.

“And you’re dying to get back.” It wasn’t a guess, she could tell by the look in his eyes despite the restraint he was attempting to exercise. The New York office was his baby.

“‘Dying’ might be a tad dramatic,” he informed her. “But I don’t mind saying that I’m a city kid, born and bred.”

He said that as if San Antonio wasn’t worth his time. Texas pride prompted her next words. “San Antonio isn’t exactly the sticks.”

Maybe not, he allowed, but it certainly wasn’t like New York City. “No, but New York has this energy, this verve—”

She found herself resenting his attitude. “Probably because everyone’s so tense, waiting for someone to make a move on them.”

Chauvinism made him take her words as a personal affront. If there was anything he hated, it was the way people insisted on running down New Yorkers. “You’re stereotyping—”

“Aren’t you?” she countered. “You make us sound like hicks.”

“‘Us’?” Hadn’t she told him that she’d just moved here from Denver?

“I was born and raised in Red Rock.”

He knew that. He also knew something else. “But you left.”

The reasons for that were complex and plentiful. She wasn’t about to go into it with a pompous know-it-all no matter who his father was.

“That’s a story for another day. Besides—” her tone underscored the word “—I’m back.” They were coming up to a busy intersection. She knew a shortcut that would circumvent what looked like a jam in the making. “Take a left here.” And then she changed her mind. Not about the direction they were going, but about the direction of the day. “No, wait.”

“Wait?” he echoed in disbelief. Did she think he could stop moving in the middle of all this? If he did, in two seconds they’d be surrounded with a cacophony of horns, all blasting at them.

“You can let me out on the corner.” She pointed toward it. “I can walk the rest of the way.”

He made no attempt to pull over. “Are you kicking me off this assignment?”

“No, I’m opening the door and letting you run away from this assignment, no disrespect intended,” she added when he raised one dark eyebrow at the word “run.”

Much as the idea tempted him, he had no intentions of backing out. He’d given his father his word and he was going to see this through. The woman was exhibiting about as much sense as an opossum in the middle of a busy five-lane road.

“Since we’re almost there, I might as well take a look at the location you’ve picked.”

Nope, she definitely didn’t like his attitude. The sooner she was rid of this man, the better she was going to feel. On several levels.

“You make it sound like I’m a kid with a whim. I did a lot of scouting around before I decided on this mall. I also took overhead into account,” she added. “The ideal location for my shop is at the San Antonio Mall, but the leases there are a little pricey. I thought I’d get a foothold here first, then work my way over in about a year or three.”

She had actually thought it out, he realized. “I’m impressed.”

Did he really think that mattered to her? “Oh, good. I can die happy.”

The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife. And his patience was wearing thin. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a smart mouth?”

Was that his best comeback? The man might as well hang up his gloves now, she’d won the match. “Not lately. It goes with the rest of me.”

Making a right at the corner, Jack snorted. “Well, your ego’s alive and well.”

“No thanks to you.” The words had come out before she could stop herself.

He looked at her, surprised. “What do I have to do with it?”

“You’ve done nothing but talk down to me since the elevator encounter.”

“I asked you to press the thirtieth floor.” How could she possibly see that as talking down to her? Was she paranoid?

“No,” she pointed out, her voice steely, “you snapped out the number.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake—” He got hold of his temper. Even so, he snapped the next words out. “I was fighting jet lag.”

It had obviously not been much of a fight from what she’d seen. “Sounds like the jet lag won.” Turning her face forward again, her eyes widened as she saw a maroon Chevy coming from the right, running the light. She braced her feet hard against the floor. “Watch out!”

But it was already too late.

A half second after the warning was out of her mouth, the front of Jack’s silver Jaguar made contact with the side of the car that had flown out of nowhere. The Chevy, at least fifteen years old, dented and its paint peeling in half a dozen places, was the heavier of the two vehicles. The impact sent the silver Jaguar spinning in a full circle, winding up exactly at the original point of contact.

The next moment, a sound like rushing water filled the interior of the car. Jack’s vision was completely blocked by a wall of white fabric.

The air bags had deployed.

Along with what remained of his already frayed patience.

Chapter Six

There was white everywhere.

Panic clawed sharply at Gloria’s throat. She felt as if she had been plunged into the center of a marshmallow.

Claustrophobia, a failing she hadn’t managed to conquer that accompanied her into every elevator, every small space she found herself in since she’d been six years old, rose up on its hoary hind legs to grab her by the throat and threaten to block out the very air into her lungs.

The fact that the air bag had her pressed back against her seat with no room for movement and the seat belt was biting into her shoulder and lap, holding her fast, only added to the tidal wave of panic that was building up inside her.

She couldn’t help her next reaction. It came without thinking, without warning. Gloria started to scream. Not a small gasp or a yelp, but a full-bodied, blood-curdling scream that could have shattered water glasses within a one-mile radius.

Jolted, Jack’s senses alert and at their peak, the scream ripped right through him. Heart pounding, he could only imagine what could have prompted that sort of a reaction from the woman who was completely blocked from his sight. Memories of the car accident with Ann came bursting back into his brain.

Ann screaming.

Just before she died.

Terror seized his heart. Struggling, pushing against the deployed air bag, Jack managed to unbuckle his seat belt and get the harness off his shoulder. Adrenaline running high, convinced that Gloria had to be severely hurt, possibly even dying, he groped for the door handle on his side. Locating it seemed to take forever. Finally successful, Jack yanked on it and applied his shoulder to the door, shoving his way out.

“Hang on!” he yelled to Gloria as he rounded the trunk.

Operating on two very distinct planes, he saw the offending driver and glared at him. Jack could just barely make out the man’s face. The other car engine was still running and the driver looked ready to make a break for it. Now.

“Don’t even think it!” Jack barked. Making his way to the passenger side of the Jaguar, he glanced quickly at the other car’s license plate, committing it to memory. A photographic memory allowed him to absorb and retain everything he had ever seen. “I’ve got your plate number and I swear I’ll hunt you down.”

The man behind the wheel of the dented Chevy froze and raised his hands in surrender. He began to babble an apology. His words were just so much noise in the background. Jack barely heard him.

All of his attention was focused on Gloria.

If she could scream like that, at least she was alive, he thought, taking comfort in that. The very hair on the back of his neck was standing on end as the sound skewered its way through his system.

Jack yanked open her door. He groped around the air bag, trying to find Gloria’s hand. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s okay,” he told her over and over again.

The panic wouldn’t leave even as she heard his voice. Her terror was too huge to overcome. In saner times, it bothered her no end, reacting this way, but right now, all she could do was shriek.

“Pull me out,” she pleaded. “Pull me out!”

And then she felt a hand reaching across her waist, brushing against her lap. The next moment, the belt that was holding her prisoner was released and she was being pulled out of her living tomb.

The second she was clear of the car, she began gasping for air, sucking it in as if there wasn’t even an ounce of it within her lungs. Her legs weak, her body a heavy liquid, she clung to the man who had pulled her free.

Shaking, she was still aware of the soft feel of suede against her cheek and the infinite comfort of the arms that had locked around her. She fought to regulate her breathing.

“Where are you hurt?” Jack demanded. Had she hit her head? Broken something in the split second before the air bag had cocooned her?

When Gloria didn’t answer, Jack tried to move her back and hold her at arm’s length to see her injuries for himself. At first she wouldn’t let go of him, her arms locked around his neck in a death grip. Finally he managed to gently but firmly push her from him.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked again. Scanning her face, he saw nothing. There were no scratches, no cuts, no marks at all except for what appeared to be the beginning of a slight bruise along her forehead. That could have come from the air bag itself, he judged. But one thing was abundantly clear. The dark-haired woman he’d been verbally sparring with not a few minutes earlier was clearly shaken.

That made two of them, he thought.

And then, suddenly, there were people crowding all around them in the intersection.

“I saw the whole thing,” one man behind him volunteered.

A woman in a flaming-red scarf that was wrapped around her neck pointed to the other driver. “It was his fault.” The accusation was made in a high-pitched voice.

A businessman craned his neck as he leaned out of his car window. His vehicle was directly behind the bruised Jaguar. “Need a witness?”

Voices were coming from all sides, swelling in volume. Gloria tried to block them all out as she struggled to regain her composure. She was only vaguely aware of Jack leading her to the sidewalk. She followed him like some docile child, hating this role she’d been forced to play. Hating the way she’d reacted. Still unable to do anything else.

She’d completely lost it back there and she was ashamed of that. But it had felt as if she was being buried alive.

Jack was taking her face in his hands, examining it closely. Was he trying to figure out what kind of a lunatic his father was lending money and support to?

Gloria felt like an idiot but her heart refused to stop racing.

“You okay?” he asked gruffly.

The gruff voice helped to center her, pulling her out of crisis mode. But still, she didn’t trust her voice to answer so she merely nodded in response.

“Okay, stay right here,” he instructed her before glancing over his shoulder at the other driver, “while I get some insurance information out of Mario Andretti over there.”

A ring of Good Samaritans and people looking for some excitement had surrounded the offending driver. No one seemed inclined to allow the man to leave. Jack quickly got the necessary information from the driver, who kept babbling his apology, claiming the sun had gotten into his eyes and could they please keep this off the record so his insurance wouldn’t go through the roof?

From the way the other man was talking, Jack got the impression that this wasn’t the man’s first offense.

It made his blood boil. Someone so careless should be kept off the road.

Maybe if you’d kept Ann off the road, she’d still be here today.

Jack blocked out the thought even as it echoed in his brain. He couldn’t go there yet. He suspected that he probably never fully could.

Jack looked at the other man coldly, feeling not even an ounce of pity. He hated recklessness and the man had clearly run the light. “My insurance agent will be in touch.”

Flipping open his phone, he called for roadside assistance. He wasn’t about to go anywhere with the air bags deployed, even if they were now in the process of deflating. Besides, who knew the kind of damage his car had sustained? There was no way he was about to take the road with an unsafe vehicle.

Pocketing the cell phone, he took a few names from the bystanders in case the insurance adjuster would require the testimony of witnesses. He’d learned a long time ago to cover as many bases as was humanly possible. The other driver was sitting moodily in his vehicle, muttering something about hard-nosed businessmen who thought they owned the road. Jack could feel his temper flaring, but he ignored him. There was nothing to be gained by stooping to the driver’s level.

What counted was that no one was hurt.

Gloria had given him one hell of a scare, he thought, looking over at her. Finished taking information, he tucked his Palm Pilot into his pocket and crossed back to the woman standing on the curb.

She looked calmer now. That wild look he’d seen in her eyes was gone. Still, he wasn’t completely at ease about her. The sound of a siren began to cut through the din. Someone had either called the paramedics or the police. Probably both.

“You want to go to the hospital?” he asked Gloria. Funny, he hadn’t thought of her as fragile until now. Like fine china about to crack.

She shook her head, trying to regain her self-esteem. It was at times like this, when everything felt so out of control, that she reverted back to who and what she’d been just two years ago. A woman too weak-willed to make it from one end of the day to the other without help.

You’re a whole new person since then. Remember that.

She shook her head as she squared her shoulders. “No, I’m all right.”

He appeared not to believe her as his eyes seemed to bore holes right through her. “Are you sure? You were screaming back there as if you were being filleted.”

That was a pretty apt description of it, she thought. Not that she had any control over her reaction. Lord knew, she wished she had.

Gloria took a deep breath and looked away, avoiding his probing eyes. She supposed she owed him some kind of an explanation. She kept it at a minimum. Her voice was hardly above a whisper as she said, “I have claustrophobia.”

Jack cocked his head as if he hadn’t heard her. “What?”

Frustrated, Gloria pressed her lips together. She’d managed to put everything else in her life in order, but this was a failing, a shortcoming from her childhood, and she hated it because there was no way she had ever managed to exercise any control over it. For the most part, she tried to think of other things when she couldn’t avoid a situation such as riding up in elevators to floors that were too high up to walk to.

But with this accident there had been no time to prepare. It had stripped her of all her little mind-diverting tricks and left her naked and vulnerable.

“I have claustrophobia,” she repeated more clearly. Her teeth were clenched as she strained the admission through them.

He passed his hands lightly along her arms and shoulders, as if her word was not enough. “So nothing’s damaged or broken,” he pressed.

“Nothing’s damaged or broken,” Gloria confirmed. And then she added in a less audible voice, “Except maybe my self-esteem.”

He surprised her by shrugging away her admission. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he was being kind.

“Hey, everyone’s got something.” The crowd around them was dispersing. The siren grew louder. This was going to take a while. “If you won’t go to the hospital, want me to call a cab to take you home?”

She was getting her wind back. And with it, her determination. “No, I still have to show you the store location.”

He looked at her, surprised that she could think of that after what had just happened. She could have been killed. She needed time to process that. And he needed time to put it out of his mind. “We can postpone the trip.”

She squared her shoulders again, reminding him of a soldier on the battlefield determined to face his fears. And his enemy. He wondered if he fell under that category and why that seemed to bother him.

“I don’t want to,” she informed him crisply.

There were several strands of hair hanging in her face. Jack had no idea what possessed him to gently brush them back. Or why the simple gesture brought a wave of heat surging through him, beginning with his loins and radiating out. The day was inordinately cold.

Maybe he was suffering from shock and didn’t realize it. The scenario that had just transpired was chillingly similar to the one that had taken place nearly twenty years ago.

Except that then it had been Ann who was driving. Ann who had insisted on taking a joyride while still feeling the effects of an afternoon’s worth of partying. He’d gone with her when he hadn’t been able to get her to surrender her car keys. Maybe it had been the brashness of youth, the brashness that convinced every one of them that they were immortal, that nothing could happen to them because they were young and full of promise. Whatever it was, he felt she’d be safe if he went with her.

A lot he knew.

Running a light, just as this man had, she’d hit a driver. He remembered the horror that had spiked through him, the awful noise of metal crashing against metal. And most of all, he remembered Ann’s scream. The last sound she’d ever made. She and the driver were both dead at the scene. And him? He’d gotten a cluster of minor injuries that had landed him in the hospital for a couple of weeks.

Physically, the injuries had been minor. Emotionally was another story. He’d wanted to die, to be with Ann for all eternity. But all he’d sustained were things that could heal.

Other than his heart.

He had absolutely no patience with people who drank to the point that the alcohol controlled them instead of the other way around. And although there’d been no alcohol on the breath of the other driver, the man had still been reckless and run the light.

Gloria was looking at him almost defiantly. He made up his mind. “All right. Once the guy from roadside assistance gets here and we’re finished giving our statements to the police, I’ll call a cab and we can go see about the location. If you’re sure you’re all right,” he added again.

Exasperation filled her voice as a policeman got out of his patrol vehicle. “You don’t have to keep asking that. I’m not going to change my story.”

Stubborn. He supposed that was a good sign. Jack cupped his ear as he tilted his head toward hers. “’Fraid you’re going to have to speak up. You blew out my ears in the car.”

Gloria looked at him sharply. She could make out a hint of a smile on his lips.

He was making a joke.

That stunned her almost as much as his gentleness had. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

He leaned in even closer to her, his hand still cupped around his ear. “What?”

She laughed, the tension finally beginning to leave her. Just in time to give her statement to the policeman approaching them.

Forty minutes later, after renting a car, they were finally standing inside a shop on the second floor of the Big T Mall. Until a month ago, the space had been occupied by a trendy baby clothing store. Doing well, the owner had decided to move on to a better location. The pink and blue lettering on the glass door had been scraped off just that morning. There was scaffolding on either side of the entrance and the modest interior was in a complete state of chaos.

In the three days since she had begun leasing the space, thanks to Patrick Fortune backing her bank loan, she’d had to forward ten different bewildered customers on to the store’s new location. Each had said something about thinking the store would remain at that location forever. One woman had obviously made good use of the place. She’d had four children with her. Two in stroller, two hanging off the stroller. And if that bulge Gloria had noted was any indication, a fifth on the way.

She hoped that someday her customers would come looking for her store like that, loyally searching for her only to be told of a more high-end address.

She wondered if any of her clients in Denver would make the trip out, or try to get in touch with her via the store’s Web site.

Right now, what seemed to matter most—and she really didn’t understand why it meant anything to her one way or another—was the stamp of approval from the man roaming the unfinished store.

She held her breath as she watched Jack look around. All signs of the previous store were gone, except for one two-dimensional cardboard rendition of a crawling baby the owner had decided to leave behind. It was leaning off to the side. She thought of it as her goodluck charm, a leftover from a successful business.

Nerves danced through her, a parent watching her child being judged, as she watched Jack survey the area. So far, there was no indication of what the store was planning to evolve into. But it was still early days.

Finally, his feet firmly planted on a drop cloth, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “This the best location you could find?”

All traces of the man who had rescued her from her marshmallow grave seemed to have vanished in smoke. They were back in their individual sparring corners, she thought.

Maybe it was better this way. For a few minutes back there, she’d actually liked him. Coupling that with the physical attraction that seemed to insist on existing, refusing to disappear, made for a dangerous combination. This overly critical version of Jack Fortune, JF Version 1.0 she thought with a smile, was one she could more easily resist.

What she might have trouble resisting right now, she thought, was wrapping her hands around his throat and choking him every time he opened his condescending mouth. Each time he did, she winced inwardly, bracing herself for yet another derogatory comment. It was getting damn hard to smile at him.

“Is it the best location I could find?” she echoed his question, knowing it annoyed him. “In my price range, yes, it is.” And then she felt compelled to defend her decision. “Besides, the last business that was here did very well.”

He looked around slowly and she had no way of guessing what he was thinking. Only something bad. “Another jewelry store?” he finally asked.

She pointed to the cardboard figure leaning against the back wall. “A baby clothing store.” And then she saw him frown. Great, now what?

He crossed back to her, his hands shoved deep into the pants’ pockets of his custom-made suit. “You’re comparing apples and oranges.”

She shook her head. “No fruit involved,” she answered tartly. “I was thinking of foot traffic.” She wished she could remember the numbers. Annoyance had temporarily wiped the stats from her brain. “This mall sees a lot of people. Most of the stores here do well.” And then, suddenly remembering the numbers, she rattled them off to him.

He looked at her for a long moment and she could feel her blood pressure rising.

“You’ve done your homework,” he finally conceded.

There it was again, that sarcastic edge in his voice. Damn it, no matter how attractive and sexy this man looked, his attitude ruffled her feathers. Any vague temptation she might have been entertaining went up in smoke the second Jack Fortune opened his mouth.

“Thank you,” she replied coldly to his homework comment. “But it is my dime.”

“And my father’s,” he reminded her. “He is lending you any extra money you might need.”

Her eyes narrowed. Was he going to bring that up at every opportunity? Of course he was. “All the more reason to do my homework.”

“Yes, it is.”

Jack inclined his head, signaling an end to the round. He was sparring with her and he knew why. It all stemmed from the car accident. He’d felt the need to protect her. And he’d felt responsible for her. It went deeper than just being responsible for someone fate threw him together with. He felt something for her.

Undoubtedly the feelings he’d experienced had all been brought on by memories of Ann, but he still didn’t like the wave of panic that had assaulted him when he’d first heard Gloria screaming. Moreover, he definitely didn’t like the odd sensation that had waltzed through him, filling every cavity, when she’d clung to him after he’d extracted her from the vehicle.

Things had stirred inside him. Things with cobwebs and dust on them.

Feelings.

The last thing he wanted awakened within him were feelings. The sooner this woman was out of his hair, the better.

Chapter Seven

“So, how’s it going?”

There was no need for any sort of a preamble. Jack knew exactly what the “it” was that his father was referring to. He was talking about Gloria and her jewelry store.

His father had called him at his Plaza Hotel suite earlier and asked him to swing by the office this morning. Though he wasn’t an optimist by nature, a small part of Jack had hoped that there would be something in the offing beyond the assignment that had brought him to San Antonio in the first place.

One look at his father’s expression had permanently sunk that hope.

Again he couldn’t help but wonder why his father was so intense about the success or failure of this woman’s business. Granted his father was a very charitable man—Jack doubted if anyone gave as much to charity as his parents did—but this somehow went beyond the call.

Jack shrugged, sinking his hands deep into his pockets as he wandered around the office, studying the paintings his father had chosen to keep him company while he was in San Antonio.

He’d heard somewhere that his father was considering having Derek take over this office when his father went back to New York. Even though he meant to return there himself—and as fast as possible—he couldn’t help feeling just the slightest bit piqued that his father would even be considering Derek for the top position instead of him.

Although he and Derek were as close as two friends could be, there was more than a healthy sort of rivalry between them. It was what kept his brain honed, he told himself.

“All things considered,” Jack replied, moving on to another painting, this one a more dramatic Turner seascape, “I’d rather be back in New York.”

Patrick’s fingers ceased flying over the keyboard as he looked up at his son and shook his head. “You move too fast, Jack. Stop a minute, catch your breath.”

Jack looked at his father over his shoulder. He was irritable because he was standing still, not moving fast. “I’m not out of breath.”

His words had absolutely no effect on his father. “Denial’s a sure sign that you’re even worse off than you thought you were.”

Abandoning the next painting, Jack crossed to his father’s desk and leaned over it, digging his knuckles in on the blotter. “Dad, I like work.”

Patrick’s expression softened, lessening the lines around his eyes. “I know you do, and I appreciate that. There’s nothing more satisfying than earning a living at what you like and what you’re good at.”

“But?” The word literally seemed to be throbbing in the space between them.

Jack was a workaholic of the first water, but that just meant Patrick had to work harder to get through to him. Now that his own soul had been saved, thanks to his wife, he refused to abandon Jack. “But you can’t take it home with you at night.”

Jack laughed shortly. There, he had his father, he thought. “Sure you can. Between laptops, PDAs and the Internet—”

Patrick raised a warning brow. “You know what I mean. You need a family.”

Jack threw up his hands. This was getting annoying. He thought only women had to listen to this kind of thing from their mothers. He would have bet anything that his father was above this kind of nonsense. Obviously he would have lost that bet.

“I have a family, Dad. I’ve got you and Mom and those annoying people you keep telling me are my siblings.” He allowed himself a grin. He cared a great deal for his brothers and baby sister, he just wasn’t about to try to duplicate them by creating children. “I’d say that’s family enough for anyone.”

Patrick’s eyes locked with his son’s. “A family of your own, Jack.”

Jack gave his father an innocent look. “Were you and Mom on loan?”

“A wife, Jack. A wife,” his father emphasized. Before Jack could say anything, Patrick added, “And kids. Lots of kids.”

Restless, Jack moved to the window. The rain that had been threatening since yesterday had finally arrived. Sheets of water were lashing against the window. The world outside looked dreary. The world inside wasn’t much better, he thought.

“I don’t know if I’d be any good at that,” he said, addressing his words to his father’s reflection in the window.

“Well, you certainly won’t find out by hiding behind corporate reports.”

Jack whirled around. No one had ever even hinted that he was a coward. He felt a sharp flare of temper and managed to bank it down. “Not hiding, Dad, analyzing. It’s what I do. What you pay me to do, remember?”

Patrick used the opportunity to swing the conversation back onto its original track. “Speaking of which, how’s that venture with Gloria Mendoza going?”

He noticed that his father had conveniently dropped the woman’s married name. Had Gloria gone through legal channels to do that, or was his father just trying to set something in motion here, make him think of her as a single woman?

No, that couldn’t be right. He and his father had an open, honest relationship. His mother might attempt a little manipulation with romance as the goal, but not his father. They were too alike, he and his father, even though the man seemed to have temporarily taken leave of his senses.

He told his father what was foremost in his mind. “I still think you should have handed this little assignment off to someone else.” He didn’t even have to think about who he’d get in place of himself. “Like Derek. He’s got more patience than I do.”

For a moment Patrick said nothing. Instead he thought of how he’d arranged to have his one-time protégé hire Gloria’s sister to act as his business analyst. It would have been a lie to say that he didn’t feel quite proud of himself. With a little bit of luck, things should be percolating there, as well.

His answer to Jack was vague. “Derek’s got his hands full with other projects.”

Did his father view him as a spoiled, pampered, rich offspring? Hadn’t he proven himself over and over again to be invaluable? “And I don’t?”

“I told you before, Jack, this needs your touch.” And, if I don’t miss my guess, so does Gloria. Almost as much as you need hers.

Jack scrutinized his father’s face. He could almost see the words marching through his brain. See them, but not quite make them out.

Or maybe he didn’t want to, because that would be giving credence to something he felt shouldn’t be going on. “What are you thinking?”

Patrick leaned back in his chair, studying his firstborn. Jack had never given him one moment’s trouble. Maybe there was such a thing as being too perfect, Patrick decided.

“That you’re a chip off the old block. That at your age, I was determined not to slow down, either. But I discovered that I was competing against myself. You can’t win if you have yourself as your opponent.”

Jack laughed shortly. That was true enough. But so was something else. “You also can’t lose.”

Doing nothing but work extracted a toll on a person’s life. And work, Patrick had come to realize, was a cold mistress. “Depends on your definition of losing.”

“I don’t have a definition of losing,” Jack told his father glibly. “Because I never intend to lose.”

Patrick looked at his son for a long moment. Anyone else would have said the man was too cocky, that he needed to be taken down a peg. But Patrick knew that Jack was as good as his word. And failure was not an option with Jack.

Maybe not, but a little humility was in order.

“I hope not, Jack,” he said softly. “I sincerely hope not.”

There was something going on, Jack thought, but he wasn’t exactly sure just what. The old man was acting funny these days. It was more than just his laid-back attitude about the company. Granted, if there was a crisis, the way there had been many times in the past, his father would be right there in the thick of it, leading the charge, rallying his subordinates. Jack smiled to himself. No one did it better than the old man.

But when everything was going relatively smoothly, his father tended to, for lack of a better term, slack off. Maybe age was finally catching up with him. Jack couldn’t help wondering if it was time for his father to step down.

The very thought saddened him. No matter what his father said, Fortune-Rockwell represented the sum total of his life’s work. The senior Fortune would go out of his mind if he retired. No, better to have him where he was and, if necessary, he could pick up the slack for his father. After all, it wasn’t as if there was anything more important to Patrick than the company.

Unexpectedly, a strange, hollow feeling made itself evident for just a split second.

Is that all there is? At the end of the day, is that all there is?

He’d been paying too much attention to his father, Jack thought. Not everyone was cut out for a wife and kids, no matter what his father thought. The one love of his life was dead, and he damn well had no intentions of looking for a substitute.

Glancing at his father, he saw that the latter looked as if he was gearing up again. Jack moved to leave. “I guess I’ll go see how your project is doing.”

Jack saw his father’s mouth pull into a satisfied smile. He doubted if it had to do with the speech he was supposed to be writing. But he isn’t about to ask.

“Good idea,” was all he said to Jack’s departing back.

The sooner he was done, Jack told himself as he parked on the far side of the mall, the sooner he could get out of Dodge, or San Antonio as it were, and back to the fast-paced life he thrived on in New York.

Maybe that was what his father needed, as well, he mused. To get out of here and get back into the mainstream, back to New York where business was business and everything else came in second.

He walked in through one of the four department stores that made up the quadrangle that defined the mall. His mind elsewhere, he made his way to the inner core of the mall without noticing any of the displays.

But as he hurried along the second floor of the mall, his surroundings sank in despite his preoccupation. He realized that Gloria had been right. There were a lot of people frequenting the mall. It was a weekday. The stores had only been open for about an hour and yet there were a great many people milling around, shopping, socializing, on their way to one place or another. Since it was neither lunchtime nor a holiday, he figured this had to represent an average day.

Blind luck?

No, that was a bit harsh, he thought. He had to give the woman her due. Talking to her, he’d come away with the feeling that although she seemed bullheaded, she also seemed to have something on the ball.

He’d done a little poking around into her background, looking into her past business dealings. From all appearances, she had done well in Denver. And there was every indication that she would have continued to do well had she remained there.

But she’d chosen to move back to Texas and start over again. Why?

Was it just to get away from an ex-husband and come home, or something else? Were there memories that haunted her, causing her to leave?

He could understand that. When Ann had died so suddenly, leaving him in an emotional abyss, he’d almost dropped out. He’d found himself unable to deal with seeing her face everywhere he went, remembering the times they’d spent together. It had been hell. If he hadn’t had only one semester to go and his father hadn’t been so persuasive, he might very well have just given in to his desire to become a beach bum.

Who was he kidding? He was far too much of a type A personality to be content sipping drinks out of a hollowed-out coconut shell and make that his life’s preoccupation.

So why had Gloria decided to suddenly uproot everything and start all over again? That was something he hadn’t been able to find out. He didn’t believe she’d just wanted to come home again. You went where the money was.

Reaching her shop, he saw that the glass doors no longer afforded a view of the interior. There was paper taped to the inside to keep passersby from looking in. Given her personality, he found that somewhat unusual. She struck him as someone who enjoyed an audience.

Jack tried the door and it gave.

Leaving the door unlocked was more like her, he mused. The next moment the realization that he thought himself familiar enough with the woman to be able to second-guess her stopped him in his tracks. He had no idea what she was capable of, he silently insisted.

Slipping inside, he saw that rather than a team of people, there was only one worker around, a slender youth bending over a can of paint, preparing to pour the contents into a paint tray. He had on a cap, pulled down low, and there was periwinkle-blue paint drizzled all over his coveralls.

The other workers were probably on a break, taking advantage of the woman, he decided. Good thing he’d decided to show up. Apparently she only knew how to order around one person at a time.

Coming up behind the youth, he addressed the painter’s back. “Excuse me, do you know where I can find Gloria Johansen?”

Startled, the painter swung around. The radio was turned on and although the music was soft, it had obviously masked any noise he might have made entering the store.

A grin flashed and he recognized it instantly. “What’s it worth to you?”

He scowled. Up close, he noticed the figure, even in coveralls, was pretty curvy. “Gloria.”

She set down the roller and laughed as she picked up a towel to dry her hands. “And here I thought you didn’t recognize me.”

He wished she’d stop smiling. It was infinitely more difficult hanging on to his annoyance with her smiling at him like that. “What are you doing?”

She pretended to consider the question. “Well, let’s see. Coveralls, paint, roller—I’ll take a wild stab at it and say I’m painting.”

“I know you’re painting.” He bit the words off. “Why are you painting?”

“Because I’m good at it,” she answered glibly, her eyes twinkling as she added in a hushed, amused tone, “And—and you’ll like this part,” she assured him, placing a hand on his wrist to keep him in place, a move that was far too familiar for his liking. “Because I can save money doing it myself.”

His frown only deepened, as did his annoyance. And yet part of him admired her enthusiasm. Not that he’d ever admit that, of course. “Don’t you have other things to do?”

“Lots,” she said. “And this was supposed to be going faster, but my brother dropped out on me.” She looked at him and obviously decided that he needed more information. “Jorge was supposed to come by to help but he was distracted at the last minute.”

He swore that every third sentence out of her mouth was an enigma. He needed a codebook to understand what she was saying. “Distracted?”

Her tone was resigned, forgiving. “I’m afraid that my brother’s libido is larger than his sense of responsibility when it come to promises he makes to his little sister.” Gloria moved her shoulders in a careless shrug beneath the coarse coveralls. “Maybe it’s for the best. He can be rather sloppy.” And then her eyes lit up again and she looked at him as though suddenly seeing him for the first time. He felt as if he was watching the birth of an idea. “You, on the other hand, would probably do an excellent job.”

He caught on before the sentence was out of her mouth. “If you’re trying to go all Tom Sawyer on me, I’m afraid it’s not going to work.” There were a hundred things he would do before agreeing to pick up a paintbrush or a roller.

Undaunted, she pressed on. He had a feeling that other than tight spaces, very little daunted this woman.

“As I recall, Tom Sawyer pretended he was having so much fun that the other boys begged him to let them try their hand at it and even offered to trade things for the privilege of whitewashing his aunt Polly’s fence.” She opened her eyes wide, the very picture of innocence. A picture he wasn’t buying. “I wouldn’t presume to try to suck you into doing something with a lie.”

She was a clever woman. Was she being transparent on purpose? “No, you’d use flattery.”

The innocent expression remained intact. “No way. Just observation. You’re a type A personality. You believe in being hands-on and you need to oversee everything yourself. People like that are too intense not to be good. Am I right?”

He watched in fascination as the smile on her lips blossomed and subsequently moved into her eyes. He supposed it wasn’t only Irish eyes, as the old song went, that smiled, but dark, mesmerizing Mexican ones, as well.

He found he had to force words to his lips. “I’ve never painted anything in my life.”

She nodded, as though expecting him to say as much. He felt as if he was involved in some kind of cosmic chess game.

“It’s not hard, really. You just put paint on the roller.” She picked one up to demonstrate, moving the roller up and down in the paint tray. “These rollers don’t allow you to drip and they absorb just the right amount to cover a given space.” She raised her eyes to his face. “You almost can’t fail.”

The look in her eyes dared him.

He found part of himself actually entertaining the idea and wondered if the paint fumes were getting to him. In the background he heard Blondie singing “‘I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha…’”

“I’ll get my suit dirty,” Jack continued.

She spread her hands to her sides. “Not a problem. I’ve an extra set of coveralls.” She nodded over to the side.

He didn’t bother looking to verify. For the moment, she had captivated his attention. He told himself he could walk away anytime he chose. So, for the time being, he chose to remain.

“You come prepared.”

“They were for Jorge.” Her eyes slid slowly from his head to his toes. Her smile widened as a tinge of triumph highlighted it. “I’d say that you were about his height, give or take an inch.”

“How convenient.” Maybe this woman could have shown old Tom Sawyer a trick or two, he thought, amused despite himself.

Her smile warmed him as it washed over him. “Yes, isn’t it? They’re in the back room if you feel like trying them on.”

He didn’t move an inch. “And why would I want to do that?”

Her answer came without hesitation. The space between them, he noted, seemed to have been whittled down to nothing without either of them taking another step.

“So that you can conquer something else,” she told him.

He wasn’t altogether sure if she was talking about painting or if “something else” referred to a whole different subject entirely. All he knew was that the chemistry that seemed to act up every time he got within ten feet of her was present as always.

She stood waiting for his answer. Her expression indicated that she was rather certain of the outcome. He knew he should just turn on his heel and walk out. That would have been the smart thing to do. After all, he didn’t like the smell of paint and he was far too busy a man to waste his time dipping a roller into a tray of periwinkle-blue liquid.

Finally, with a shrug, he turned away from her. But instead of heading for the papered doors, he walked in the opposite direction, toward the back.

So he’d try something new, he told himself.

He supposed Gloria was to be commended for trying to cut corners and save money. That made her a decent businesswoman. It was in keeping with what he’d already found out about her.

And he’d lied to her. He had painted before. He’d helped one of his roommates paint their dorm room while he was in college. They’d painted one wall stark black, the other three walls a virgin white. It had been very dramatic at the time. Now he had a feeling it would have driven him crazy.

He found the coveralls hanging on the inside of the back room door. Shedding his jacket and tie, he pulled the garment over his slacks and shirt.

“You’re right.” He snapped shut the row of snaps that ran along his chest. The coveralls felt a little tight, but not as bad as they could have. He could still move his arm. “Your brother and I are just about the same size…”

His voice trailed off as he came out of the back room and saw her balancing herself on the next-to-the-topmost rung on the ladder. Was she crazy? “What the hell are you doing up there?”

She turned around slowly to look down at him from the top of the ladder. Humor curved the corners of her mouth. “Am I going to have to explain this all over to you again? I’m painting.”

“No, you’re not,” he corrected, really angry. “You’re risking breaking your neck.”

He wasn’t just a type A personality, she thought, he was a worrier. She bristled against his implication that she was too clumsy to be careful.

“I’m standing on a ladder—A does not exactly equal B here.”

He wasn’t going to debate this with her. “Get down,” he ordered.

Humor vanished. Her eyes narrowed into slits. He should have picked up on the warning, but he could almost see her flying off the ladder. “You’re not in charge of me, Fortune.”

He had a different opinion. “I am when you don’t make an effort to use your brains and right now, they appear to be taking a break.”

“For your information, I’ve climbed ladders before, Fortune.” Open space had never been a problem for her. She had absolutely no fear of heights.

“Only means your luck is that much closer to running out.” Crossing the floor, he came up to the ladder and stood right beneath her. “Now get down.”

Anger surged through her. She stubbornly refused to budge. “Damn it, Jack, why do you insist on always seeing the glass as half empty?”

“Because it usually is. Now get down,” he ordered again.

Gloria was sorely tempted to give him a piece of her mind, but she didn’t want to alienate his father and most fathers didn’t relish hearing that their sons compared to jackasses.

She blew out a breath. “All right, I’m coming down, but only because I need to refill my roller.”

“Whatever.” He held the ladder braced as she made her way down. In his opinion, she was moving awfully fast.

She was moving faster than that when she hit the next-to-the-last rung. Missing it, she slipped and went sailing off.

Right into his arms.

Chapter Eight

Sheer instinct had guided his movements. Jack caught her without thinking. One second he was standing below Gloria, the next she’d somehow twisted around and was airborne.

The ladder she’d involuntarily vacated wobbled dangerously for a second, but mercifully remained standing upright. Jack hardly noticed. He was too busy assessing the immediate situation. That he was holding a stunningly gorgeous woman in his arms.

And that he was reacting to her.

Gloria’s eyes widened and for a second he thought she’d suddenly become aware that she had hurt something. But when she blurted a heartfelt, “I’m so sorry,” followed by possibly the sexiest giggle he could ever recall hearing, Jack knew that there was nothing broken, bruised or injured.

At least where she was concerned. The jury was still out in regard to him.

Her eyes weren’t on his face. Looking somewhat chagrined, she was staring at his chest. Jack looked down to see what she was looking at. The roller she’d been wielding was still clutched in her hand. He realized that Gloria must have accidentally hit him with it when she’d come sailing off the ladder. He was now sporting the same color across his chest that was on the freshly painted wall. Periwinkle blue.

He frowned. It didn’t take much imagination to realize how narrowly she’d missed hitting his face. “I thought the idea was to paint the wall, not me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

Looking closer, he could see that Gloria was obviously battling facial muscles, trying to keep them in line so that she could at least look somewhat contrite. But the grin was winning. Why he found that endearing rather than annoying he had no idea.

She blew out a breath, still tugging the corners of her mouth down. “Lucky thing I had you put on those coveralls.”

“I think it was luckier that I was here to catch you.”

“It was only one rung,” she pointed out. “And I wouldn’t have slipped if you hadn’t made me so nervous.”

Other than the incident with the air bag, Gloria Mendoza struck him as someone who possessed nerves of steel. And, he had to admit, he also found it a little intriguing.

His face still inches away from hers, Jack searched her expression for the telltale signs of humor. But this time, there was none. She was serious. His interest heightened.

“I make you nervous?”

Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have said that, Gloria upbraided herself. But it wasn’t as if she were giving away some kind of deep, dark state secret. The man had to know that his looking over her shoulder was making her second-guess herself. That kind of thing would make anyone nervous.

Gloria looked at him pointedly. She decided not to backtrack. Honesty was usually the best policy, anyway. Lies were far harder to keep straight. “Yes, you do. By the way—” amusement played across her lips “—when do you think you’ll be putting me down?”

He’d gotten so caught up in his reaction to her, he’d completely forgotten that he was still holding her. Feeling a little like an idiot, Jack set her on the floor. As he did so, it felt as if he was doing it in slow motion. He was utterly aware of every movement, every part of her body that came in contact with his as he released her.

Moreover, he could feel a reluctance humming in his body, an annoying reluctance he was entirely unfamiliar with.

Well, perhaps not entirely, he amended silently, but it had been a long, long time since he’d felt the stirrings of genuine desire awakening his body.

It was just a male reaction to a beautiful woman, he insisted, nothing more.

Except that he generally wasn’t laid siege to by those kinds of feelings. He kept himself so busy that physical reactions were things that, for the most part, did not enter into his life. Even on those rare occasions when he had to take someone to a business function, he was more interested in working the room, in securing professional alliances for the bank, than he was with being attentive to his date of the evening.

He might be a brilliant strategist in the corporate world, but in the social realm, he knew that he was woefully out of step.

And he intended to remain that way no matter what the hell was going on here.

“How…” His throat felt strangely tight and he cleared it to not sacrifice his normal deep pitch. “How exactly do I make you nervous?”

When she raised her eyes to his, he felt something turn over in his belly then tighten into a knot. “Just knowing you’re watching does it.”

Jack fell back on sarcasm, his weapon of choice around someone like Gloria. “Can’t very well walk around with a blindfold when I’m around you, can I?”

“No.” Her mouth curved and he had the oddest desire to taste her lips. To see if they were as velvety smooth as they appeared.

The thought sent a jolt through his system.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was Jack Fortune, he could have any woman he wanted and he didn’t want any.

He didn’t want any, he underscored fiercely, knowing in his gut that he was doing one damn poor job of convincing himself.

For self-preservation, he took a step away from her. It made him angry that he suddenly seemed to have no control over himself. “Okay, where do you want me?” he snapped at her.

An answer flew to her lips. She counted herself fortunate that her mouth was closed at the time because what she would have said in response to his question would have gotten them both in trouble.

Next to me. In bed.

She was just as startled to think it as he would have been to hear it. What in heaven’s name had come over her? After realizing just how bad Gary was for her, she had managed to wean herself off the idea of men altogether. They were in part responsible for the uneven, disastrous path she’d followed for more than ten years.

But her bet with her sisters had been more for their sakes than for her own. When she’d made it, she’d been more than confident that she wouldn’t succumb to any kind of temptation because after what she’d been through with Gary and the men who had come before, she was utterly certain that she could swear them off as easily as a nonsmoker could swear off cigarettes.

So why did smoking suddenly seem so alluring?

The man didn’t even like her, for heaven’s sake. And he was the son of the man who was backing her business. This had “complications” stamped all over it. Was she utterly out of her mind?

Yes, she had to be. Because she didn’t need or want to be involved with any men except for those within her own family. End of story.

Except that it wasn’t. Damn him, Jack was holding her in place with that dark look in his eyes, the one that should be putting her back up because it generally appeared to be so superior-looking.

But her back wasn’t up and she felt as if her body had been placed on alert. Waiting for something to happen. Dreading it and wanting it at the same time.

Her mouth felt dry. Gloria was uncomfortably aware that other more sensitive parts of her body had obviously absorbed all the moisture. She shifted her weight. It didn’t help.

“Where do I want you?” she repeated, as if giving the matter genuine thought rather than lip service. She looked around the shop. There were only so many places for him to work. “Over there would be nice,” she finally replied, pointing vaguely toward the opposite wall.

It was as far from her as was physically possible within the store. In distance there was safety. Or so she could hope.

“Okay,” he agreed mechanically. He wasn’t even looking where she was pointing.

Instead of picking up the paint can that Gloria had pushed up against the counter, Jack took the paint roller out of her hand and placed it on top of the closed container.

“You’re not moving.” The words, uttered in slow motion, tasted like cotton.

His eyes were intent on hers as he made up his mind. The second he did, excitement telegraphed itself through him. “I think that we need to get something out of our system first.”

Her mind whirled as she desperately searched for something to say. Something flippant to put him off because, God help her, she had a feeling she knew what was coming. And that it would be her undoing.

She took a deep breath. “I was never one for purging.”

“Sometimes—” his voice caressed her “—it has to be done in order to move forward.”

Think, Glory, think. “I heard leeches are coming back into vogue.”

Damn it. It felt as if his eyes were nailing her in place. This wasn’t even sporting. Why couldn’t Patrick Fortune have had ugly children? Or, barring that, why did he have to have a son who set her pulse racing the moment said son was anywhere within fifteen feet of her?

It just wasn’t fair, she’d done her time, Gloria thought in mounting desperation, still not moving from where she stood. She didn’t want to sink back into the velvet confines of desire. She wanted to be a nun—no, better than that, she wanted to be like one of those poor souls in Arabian fairy tales whose duty it was to guard the sultan’s wives. Eunuchs had their desire made null and void.

There was nothing null and void about her reaction to him.

Damn, she was supposed to be through with desire.

Jack pretended to dig through his pockets, searching for imaginary leeches. “Fresh out.”

“That’s a shame.” Gloria could feel the air getting caught in her throat. It had to be forced out. “I’ll take a rain check.”

“Gloria?”

Jack’s breath whispered along her skin. She would have swallowed if only there was something to swallow. “Yes?”

“Shut up.”

He saw a flash of temper in her eyes before it faded away. It only served to excite him further. Jack feathered his fingers through her hair, framing her face as he tilted it up to his.

If her heart hammered any harder, it was going to break into a million pieces. In self-defense, she began to talk again. “I heard a moving target is more of a challenge.”

“All right then, consider me challenged.”

He ran his thumb along her lower lip. He felt a pulsing in his loins as desire took a larger bite out of him. Unable to breathe, Jack brought his mouth down on hers.

Her mind went blank.

Her body went on automatic pilot.

Gloria threaded her arms around his neck, leaning her body into his as something that sounded vaguely like Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” suddenly exploded inside her body and head.

Sunshine shot beams right and left, all but setting her on fire.

No, scratch that, she thought, he was setting her on fire.

Desperation scrambled through her, screaming, “Mayday.” Damn it, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But oh dear Lord, it was glorious.

She clung harder, kissed harder. Determined that if she was going to be plowed under, she was going to leave her mark on him before she disintegrated.

It wasn’t working.

He’d made himself beard the lion in his den. Her den as the case was, he amended. More than anything, he wanted to get this, whatever it was that was bedeviling him, out of his system, put it behind him so that he would stop being ravaged by the claws of temptation and get on with his life.

In his experience, nothing ever lived up to hype, never came close to meeting expectations. Immeasurable disappointment always followed swiftly in the wake of anticipation, even minor anticipation. Forget about anything major. Major expectations always brought major disappointment crashing down about his ears.

And yet, he wasn’t disappointed.

At least, not in his expectations. What he was disappointed in was himself. Because instead of backing away, instead of feeling nothing more stirring than a smattering of indifference when he kissed her, he wanted more.

Hell, he wanted her.

Here, now, with paint being transferred from his coveralls to hers, he wanted to make love with her on the floor, on the counter, against the ladder. Everywhere and anywhere.

A rush was traveling through him the likes of which he couldn’t begin to fathom.

He wanted no part of it, it would only serve to confuse and complicate everything.

And yet he wanted more.

Wanted to embrace this sweet, agonizing sensation and fall into it until it completely cocooned him.

His very lungs ached.

It was not unlike the way they had felt when he had run his one and only New York marathon at the age of thirty. Any second now his lungs were going to explode. They’d already put him on notice.

With effort, he pulled himself back, abruptly ending what he’d abruptly started.

Gloria looked up at him, her expression as dazed as he felt.

It was a full minute before there was enough air in her lungs for her to form even a single word. “So,” she finally whispered.

“So,” he echoed, his mind nothing more than a vast wasteland.

Gloria pressed her lips together, wanting to kiss him again. Wanting to make love with him. Grateful that he hadn’t pressed the advantage that was so obviously his. Eventually she gathered together enough breath to say, “It’s behind us.”

Not by a long shot, Jack thought, unless he exerted superhuman control. Still, for the sake of sanity he went along with the pretense.

“Guess so.”

Any second now she was going to do something very stupid and throw herself back into his arms. Desperation began to vibrate through her. Her eyes never leaving his face, she took a step backward. “Maybe we should get back to work.”

“Maybe.”

All he could do was utter a solitary word, perhaps two. The way his thoughts were all scrambling into each other, he didn’t think that he was capable of constructing a coherent compound sentence. Right now, every word in his vocabulary was on a fantastic ride inside the blender that was his brain, whirling around and making no sense whatsoever.

Her legs felt shaky, just the way they had when he’d pulled her out of the car earlier this week right after the air bag had threatened to separate her from her claim to being a rational being. Maybe she should lump him right up there with claustrophobia. Heaven knew he had the same kind of impact on her that she felt when she was confined to small spaces. Panic had been at the center of her reaction just now. The kind of panic that occurred when she found circumstances utterly out of control and beyond her reach.

He had done that to her.

So why did she want to kiss him again?

And why in heaven’s name did she want to take what was going on here to the next level?

The second she’d thought of making love with him, something snapped to attention inside of her, an iron resolve set in place to keep her sane.

No, damn it, she wasn’t going to go that route again, she wasn’t going to follow her hormones down that same hazardous, slippery slope. She was older, wiser—well, at least older. Wasn’t wisdom supposed to kick in at some point by now?

Willing herself back to some semblance of composure, she looked down at her overalls. The vivid splotch of paint she’d smeared across his chest when he had caught her had transferred itself onto her. Despite the seriousness of the situation she found herself in, Gloria could feel her mouth curving.

“Looks like we’re part of some club.” And then she cleared her throat, determined to give the performance of a lifetime. She fixed a bright, cheerful smile to her lips, the kind she summoned when dealing with a particularly trying customer whose account she wanted to acquire.

“Well, I’m glad that we got that out of our systems. Now maybe we can get down to work.” She pointed toward the far wall. “If you take that wall over there, I’ll finish up over here.”

She sounded glib, as if she was accustomed to being kissed by men all the time.

Given the way she looked, maybe she was, Jack decided. Women like Gloria were the object of a great many men’s fantasies and desires.

Something else stirred inside of him. Jealousy.

Jack banked it down, swiftly, firmly. There was no way he could be jealous. He hardly knew her. And it was going to stay that way.

He gratefully took his cue from the woman, relieved that she wasn’t asking to have some kind of a heart-to-heart about what he had just foolishly done. A lot of other women would have demanded to have it out, asking him where he thought “this” was going to go.

As if he knew.

He hadn’t a clue. He didn’t even know what “this” was. And right now, he wasn’t up to discussing anything except how many coats of paint she wanted to spread on her walls. Anything else would have required a more complex thinking process than he was capable of mustering at this point in time.

Nodding, he picked up the container of paint and took the roller she handed him. “Thanks.”

Her throat felt bone-dry as she replied, “Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t.”

It was a promise he was making her, she suddenly realized.

She stood and watched him for a second as he pried off the container’s lid, then poured some of the contents into a tray. Did that mean he had felt something, too? It would be nice to know that she hadn’t been alone during the blitzkrieg she’d just experienced.

“Fine,” she responded.

Then, to keep him from saying anything else, Gloria turned up the radio. A love song filled the air. She was quick to switch stations. But the next one belonged to a call-in talk show. The host was venting about a proposed tax bill. Muttering under her breath, she switched around until she found a country-and-western station.

With a smile, she left it on.

Roller raised to begin, Jack groaned as he looked at her over his shoulder. “Oh, God, you actually listen to country music?”

Good, they were back in their corners again, she thought. On opposite sides of an issue. She waited for the safe feeling to return, the one that told her she had nothing to fear.

This time, the feeling didn’t come.

Maybe later, she thought hopefully. “Every chance I get.”

Jack frowned, turning back to the wall. Trying to block out the music. “I didn’t think you were the type for crying-in-your-beer songs.”

“I’m not.” She loved music and country and western was her favorite kind. “And they don’t cry in their beer. There’re a lot of good words, a lot of good sentiments to be garnered from country-and-western music.”

“If you say so.”

“Yes,” she said cheerfully, dipping her roller in the tray, “I do.”

She began to hum to the tune on the radio, doing her best to silence the tune her body was humming as she remembered that kiss.

Chapter Nine

There was a pizza between them on the back room desk. Because they’d badly needed a break after three hours of painting, Gloria had ordered a pepperoni pie from the pizzeria at the other end of the mall. Large, half-finished containers of soda stood like frosty sentries on either side of the opened box, standing guard over the more than half-consumed pie.

There was a great deal more than dough, cheese, sauce and pepperoni shimmering in the air between them, though.

Tasting a bit of sauce along her mouth, Gloria wiped her lips before continuing to work on her slice. She still didn’t know what to make of Jack, or even if she should try.

But Jack Fortune wasn’t the kind of man you could just write off or walk away from.

Especially after he’d kissed her in a manner that would have burned off a woman’s socks.

Better just to go on eating and not say anything, Gloria told herself, even though the aftereffects of his kiss were lingering a lot longer than she’d thought they would.

That was only because she’d been celibate so long. Even plain tap water tasted like sparkling wine if your thirst had gone unquenched for two years.

Trouble was, she thought, watching Jack beneath hooded eyes, she hadn’t realized she even was thirsty until she’d taken a sip.

Annoyed that she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering down a path she didn’t want it to go, she took a healthy swig of her diet soda and then leaned forward to take another slice of pizza.

At the same time that he did.

Both reaching into the box, their hands brushed against one another. It took effort not to pull back her hand. When he raised his eyes to hers, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “You lasted longer than I thought you would.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was she talking about his staying here after he’d kissed her? “Come again?”

“Painting,” she explained, picking up her slice. “I half expected you to make a U-turn at the door when I suggested you put on the coveralls and pitch in.” And I would have stayed feeling a whole lot safer if you had, she thought. “Thanks to you, we’re almost done.” She flashed a grin, pausing to take a bite of what amounted to her fourth slice. “At this rate, I’ll be ready to open in another week. The man who does the lettering is coming tomorrow.” She watched as he took another slice himself.

Jack raised a brow in mock surprise. “You mean, you’re not going to do that yourself, too?” Where was she putting all this food? he wondered. So far, the woman had consumed more than his last three dates put together and she looked fantastic doing it.

Careful, buddy, he warned himself. You’re on dangerous ground here. You start admiring the way a woman eats, you’re lost.

Gloria shook her head and laughed. “No way. I’ve got terrible handwriting. No one would know what the name of the store was.”

He was vaguely aware of nodding in response, hardly hearing what she was saying. His attention was riveted to the way her mouth moved as she spoke. To the way she breathed. Because it was warm inside, she’d unzipped her coveralls down to her waist when she’d sat at the desk. Beneath the bland garment with its paint splatters she was wearing a tank top that adhered to her like a hot-pink skin. It molded itself to her breasts, softly hinting at cleavage while it brought out the deep black of her hair.

She’d loosened her hair, as well. It was skimming along her back now like a black velvet cape.

One hand holding his slice, the other wrapped around the soda container, Jack could still feel an itch working itself across his palms.

He wanted to touch her. To run his palms along her body. He wanted to see for himself if it was as soft, as firm, as it appeared.

In a desperate attempt to mentally backpedal before he found himself in too deep, he searched for something to use as a barricade between them. Something official. “What kind of insurance are you going to be carrying?”

It took her a moment to absorb the question. He’d been looking at her with a gaze hot enough to burn away her coveralls and everything else, as well. She was grateful to talk about something as bland as insurance. Even so, she took a sip of the cold soda to quench a thirst that only partially resulted from the spicy slice of pizza she was consuming.

“Same as before,” she told him. Then, in case he hadn’t come across that when he was conducting his intrusive research into her life, she added, “I went with Gibraltar Insurance when I opened up my store in Denver.” Before he could ask, she gave him the reasons behind her choice, enumerating them on her fingers. “Reasonable rates, accessible agents. They were right there for me after the robbery.”

“Robbery?” The slice halfway to his lips, Jack stopped and looked at her incredulously. “You were robbed?”

Gloria bit her tongue, but it was too late. She should have done that before she’d said anything.

Big mistake, her mind taunted.

She shrugged as carelessly as she could, dismissing the incident, and then smiled at him prettily as she held up her thumb and forefinger barely three inches apart. “It was just a small robber.”

“Bullets are the same size no matter how tall or short the shooter,” he pointed out.

Damn, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “Yes,” she said patiently, “I suppose they are. But no one was hurt,” she was quick to add. “The guy who robbed us looked more scared than anything.”

“You saw his face?”

“His eyes,” Gloria corrected. “And he was terrified.” She just knew he’d had to have been driven to do what he had by awful circumstances. “If my customer hadn’t started hyperventilating just then, I think I might have had a shot at talking the robber out of what he was doing.”

Just what kind of a nutcase was his father backing? The woman was certifiably insane. “Or a chance at getting shot—”

She finished off her piece and picked up a fresh napkin, wiping her fingers. “You know, Jack, you really have to do something about that upbeat outlook of yours.”

There was nothing funny about the situation she was telling him. “I’m a realist.”

Collecting a handful of used napkins from the desk, she dumped them into the garbage can, then cocked her head, studying him. “Maybe that’s your problem.”

He resented what she was implying. “I don’t have a problem.” Other than dealing with you and these weird feelings.

Gloria looked him in the eye, sensing that he was a soul in turmoil. More or less just the way she was right now.

“Are you happy?” she suddenly challenged.

Where the hell had that come from? “Ecstatic,” he told her through clenched teeth.

Gloria laughed, the sound rippling through him like rings in a lake marking a disturbance. Which was exactly what the sound of her laughter created inside of him. One hell of a disturbance.

“All right, then maybe you don’t have a problem,” she allowed glibly.

“Thank you,” he replied icily before getting back to the topic they were both pretending to discuss with interest. “What are you paying for insurance?”

One corner of her mouth rose in a teasing, provocative smile. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

“A kiss is personal.” Now why the hell had he said that? He’d promised himself not to think about or make reference to what had transpired earlier. The less time spent on that, the better. It was almost as if he was doomed to repeat it.

Jack quickly tried to distract her from his error. “This is business.”

She gazed at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “Then you didn’t mean business before?”

His eyes narrowed. “When?”

“When you kissed me?”

He stood by his original reason, no matter how flimsy and paper-thin it seemed. “I was just trying to get it out of the way.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right,” she murmured, the words emerging one at a time in slow motion. “Okay, then.”

She quoted him the price she was paying. He looked at her in surprise.

“And that covers it?”

“Two million dollars’ worth of coverage. I don’t expect to have more than that on hand at any one time. Less, most likely. I provide a service,” she explained. “Creating something to match the customer’s personality rather than selling them something out of my inventory because I over-ordered sapphires last month.”

It was an interesting philosophy, but he doubted its validity. “How can jewelry reflect a person’s personality?” he scoffed.

She studied him for a long moment, then said, “Yours would be reflected in a gold ring. With a panther carved out of black onyx embossed on it. And maybe one small eye that seemed to watch you no matter where you moved. An emerald.”

“Is that how you see me?” He wanted to know. “Flashy gold with embossed onyx?”

He was trying to throw her off. “Nothing flashy about gold,” she informed him. “All the kings wanted it. And the ring would be in the image of a panther,” she said pointedly. “That’s how I see you. A panther. Sleek, deadly. Showing your opponents no mercy.” That was the way she saw him, she insisted silently. Cold, removed.

Nothing cold about the way he kisses.

She banked down the stray thought. It had no place here.

Gloria forced a smile to her lips. “I’ve done a little homework on you, too.” He looked surprised. And not pleased. “In the age of the Internet, no one’s safe.”

He dropped the last slice he’d been nursing back into the box. It was there alone. Between them they’d polished off almost an entire large pizza. “Apparently.”

For some reason the space around her felt as if it was getting smaller, she realized. She could feel her claustrophobia kicking in. But for once, she almost embraced it. It allowed her to block out the other sensations that were swirling through her, the ones that worried her a great deal more than an attack of claustrophobia did. She knew how to deal with that: get out in the open again as fast as possible. Dealing with this attraction to Jack Fortune was another matter. And she wasn’t going to be free of it until he went back to New York.

Rising, she brushed off her hands. “I’m going to go finish up,” she announced.

Jack nodded, then looked back at the slice he’d just dropped. He picked it up again, using it as an excuse. He needed to regroup. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

She gave him a meaningful look. “Don’t hurry.”

Jack sat back in the straight-backed chair she’d rustled up, watching her walk out of the small office. Watching the way her hips moved from side to side like a lyrical song.

More like a prophecy of doom, he told himself. And he would do well to heed it.

Gloria knew she needed help.

If she hadn’t been aware of it before, that kiss she’d allowed to happen—that kiss she’d more than welcomed—had shown her just how vulnerable she was.

The man exuded sexuality with every breath he took. As they finished painting the showroom, she caught herself staring at Jack’s coveralls a half a dozen times, wanting to take them off him using just her teeth.

Instead of getting better, this attraction was getting worse.

If she wasn’t careful, she was going to wind up exactly where she had that time she’d come off a three-day bender after she’d had that awful falling out with Christina. When the fog had left from her brain, leaving behind one killer of a hangover, she’d discovered herself in bed with a man she hadn’t recognized no matter how hard she’d tried to activate her brain.

She’d made a promise to herself then, a promise never to wind up beside a man she had no intention of being with again.

Gloria had an uneasy feeling that promise was going to ring hollow if she didn’t do something to reinforce it, and fast.

She needed backup. She needed to touch base with someone sensible, someone who was grounded, who’d keep her grounded.

Until Jack had kissed her, she would have said that person was her. But after feeling lightning flashing wildly through her veins, she knew that she had just been kidding herself.

Just like alcoholics never really fully recover but remain one for the rest of their lives, the same could be said for a woman who made bad choices. She was doomed to remain in that mode, to continue making bad choices because she was constantly being drawn to men who were bad for her.

And in his own way, Jack Fortune was bad for her. He certainly didn’t come with the promise of a happily-ever-after attached to him. Jack was clearly a man who wanted no attachments. Any sort of physical relationship she shared with him would be just that, physical, nothing more. It wouldn’t lead anywhere. Besides, she’d had her share of hurt feelings and wasn’t eager to go through that again.

To give the man his due, he hadn’t pushed his advantage—and he’d definitely had one—when he’d kissed her. God knew she wasn’t a pushover any longer, but with the right man—or the wrong one, depending on which side of the situation you were on—she had absolutely no willpower to speak of. Until he’d blown her resolve to pieces, she’d thought she had, but now she knew she didn’t.

Which meant that she was going to have to be more vigilant, she told herself as she dipped her roller into an all but empty paint tray.

She could swear she felt him watching her.

That made her reinforce her promise to herself: no more being caught alone with him, even with paint buckets between them. If she was going to have any further dealings with Mr. Jack Fortune, there was going to have to be someone, anyone, present at the time.

But for now she needed to talk to someone rational, someone more cold-blooded and tougher than herself. Her sister Christina was the perfect choice.

Gloria put on the last finishing strokes, then retired her roller. Jack, she noticed, was still busy. She moved to the far end of the showroom—as far from Jack as she could get.

She knew she could turn to Sierra just as easily, but secretly she’d always admired her cool, calm, collected older sister. Even during the height of her rebellion and her awful period of acting out, a part of her had longed to be exactly like Christina.

The second she came home, Gloria shed her coat, purse and shoes and made a beeline for the telephone. Her body was still humming from this afternoon, from an onslaught of desire that almost had her kissing Jack as he took his leave. That had to stop.

Gloria reached for the phone and just as her fingers came in contact with the receiver, it rang beneath her hand. She hesitated, looking at her Caller ID. The number identified the call as coming from Fortune-Rockwell Bank. Jack?

The second she thought of him, her pulse rate escalated. God, this had to stop, she thought again.

She couldn’t talk to him, she told herself. She’d let her answering machine pick up, then call Christina.

Gloria made her way to the kitchen, trying to ignore the phone, listening for the sound of a male voice anyway. What she needed, she decided, was a cup of coffee. Strong, black coffee. And maybe a lobotomy.

The machine beeped. She held her breath even as she told herself not to.

“Glory? It’s just me, Tina, calling to see how you were doing. I’ll try you again la—”

Pivoting on her stockinged heel, Gloria made a dive for the phone on the coffee table. She managed to lift the receiver just as her sister was about to hang up. “Tina? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Relieved, Gloria sank onto the sofa. Her legs felt as if they had all the structural integrity of thin rubber bands. “You sound breathless. What’s up?”

If she was going to have a serious conversation with Christina, she wanted it to be face-to-face, not over the phone. So for now, she just went with the obvious excuse. “Just dashing across the room to get to the phone before you hung up.”

“Didn’t realize you were that eager to talk to me,” Christina teased, then her voice grew tight with emotion. “I’ve missed you, Glory. Why did we waste so much time getting back together?”

“My fault.” She was willing to take all the blame for the schism. She’d been the stubborn one, the one whose brain had been pickled more than half the time. “But it’s over now. We’re back in the same area and we’re friends again. That’s all that counts.” She made herself comfortable, just as she had in the old days when she’d spend hours on the phone with nothing serious pressing on her conscience. “So, what’s up?”

“That was what I was going to ask you,” Christina responded, her voice warm, interested. “How’s the place coming along?”

“Fantastic.” She thought of the work she’d done last night. She’d stayed up until the wee hours, worked with a desktop publishing program. And then, for relaxation, she’d gotten in a little designing. “I’ve printed up all the fliers with the new address and posted them to all my old customers.” Including one of the major studios that had commissioned her to design jewelry for one of its most popular situation comedies and the number one drama program on television. “I’ve even updated my Web site to let everyone know about the move and I’ve got a shipment of raw materials coming in at the end of the week.”

“Raw materials,” Christina echoed, then laughed. “First time I’ve ever heard diamond and emeralds called that. Sounds like you’re getting ready to open sooner than you originally thought?”

“I am,” Gloria confirmed. She tucked her feet under her and stared at the rain as it came down outside her window. It made the interior gloomy. “The weekend after this one.”

“That soon?” She heard the soft sound of keys being struck on a keyboard. Christina was multitasking again. They got that from their parents, she thought. “I thought you said you hadn’t decided on a painter yet?”

“I did. Me.” And then she decided to be completely honest. “Along with some help.”

“Help?” Her sister’s voice sounded on alert.

Gloria took a deep breath, bracing herself before she continued. “Jack Fortune came by to harass me about insurance. He obviously didn’t think I was bright enough to have any. I told him who my carrier was and I put him to work.”

“Good girl.” Delight resonated in Christina’s voice as she applauded her.

Not exactly quite so good, Gloria thought, knowing she hadn’t quite been truthful about the sequence of events. She glanced at her watch. It was too late today to meet Christina, plus she was pretty tired. The idea of a hot shower was too alluring to pass up. “Um, Tina, are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure, why?”

She paused for a second, then forged ahead. “I need to talk to someone.”

“About Jack?”

At the last minute Gloria chickened out. She and Christina had just gotten back on firm ground and she didn’t want someone she admired, someone who had never made all the missteps that she had, to think of her as a weakling. At least, not before she could present her side of the picture.

“No,” she denied vehemently. “I want to design a necklace for Mama and I thought I’d bounce a few ideas off you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gloria’s back stiffened. “Don’t give me that big-sister, I-can-see-right-through-you stuff. I really want your opinion.”

“Okay. Why don’t you come by the office tomorrow and we’ll grab a bite to eat while you impress me with your designs.”

She grinned, pleased. She felt better already. “Sounds good. What time?”

“Make it eleven-thirty. I’ll get off early so we can beat the crowd.”

“You’re on,” Gloria said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven-thirty.”

She was smiling as she hung up the receiver, all thoughts of Jack pushed aside. At least for the time being.

Chapter Ten

Preoccupied, Gloria didn’t see Jack until she physically got on the elevator the next day.

She thought her radar would have warned her that the one person she desperately wanted to avoid was in the area. But just as she’d rounded the side that led to the bank she’d heard the bell sound for an arriving elevator car and, in a hurry to get the ride to the thirtieth floor in a cylindrical tube over with, she made a dash for it.

And narrowly avoided colliding with the tall, well-built man coming in from the other side.

Face to cloth, Gloria recognized the cut of the suit first. Custom. Hand-sewn. The cologne was a close second. There was no one else in the elevator to share the ride with them.

Her heart froze just as the doors closed behind her. She took a step back and looked up at him. Her verbal skills lagged behind by a full beat.

“Jack.”

“Gloria.” He acknowledged her presence a bit curtly. But she was the last person he wanted to run into, literally or otherwise. He was on his way to a private meeting with his father about the Gloria situation. After that little incident in the shop, for which he wholeheartedly accepted the blame, he definitely wanted out. According to her own words, her shop would be ready for business within the week. Her insurance was in order, as was her inventory. And she had a security firm coming out to safeguard the store against break-ins. There was no reason for him to stick around. He wasn’t aware of the bank holding anyone else’s hand so tightly.

His eyes washed over her. She was bundled up in a three-quarter-length suede coat. Suede had never been a turn-on for him.

Until now.

Maybe he should have arranged to meet his father for dinner instead, he thought darkly. There was precious little chance of her turning up at his father’s house.

Damn it, why did she feel like a cross between a James Bond martini and a malt every time she ran into him? Stirred and shaken.

Gloria forced a smile to her lips. “Looks like we can’t seem to avoid running into one another.”

He decided that his best bet was to stare straight ahead at the steel doors. “Looks like.”

As talkative as ever, she thought. Maybe she should have been grateful for that, but she wasn’t. She hated silence when she was uncomfortable and right now after yesterday she was very uncomfortable.

What was he thinking? Had he relived that kiss over and over again the way she had? Or did he regret the impulse that had prompted him to turn her knees into churned butter?

Or had the whole thing been so insignificant he wasn’t wasting any time at all thinking about it?

Gloria cleared her throat, summoning words to fill the silence. “I’m on my way to meet my sister for lunch. Christina,” she added for good measure in case he had forgotten which sister worked here. When he made no effort to respond, she pressed, “You?”

A trace of confusion marred his perfect forehead. “Me, what?”

Was he tuning her out completely? “Who are you going to see?”

Jack turned his face forward again. “My father.” To get me off this damn assignment from hell once and for all.

“Oh.” Extracting words out of the man was like trying to pick hot coals out of a fireplace. They came swiftly, but sparingly. “Tell him I said hi.”

Jack made no reply, merely nodding that he’d heard her. According to the flashing numbers at the front of the car, the floors were flying by.

Not fast enough to suit him, he thought. The space within the smooth, steel-gray walls was filling up with her perfume and it was getting to him. Arousing him. Making him remember what her lips had felt like pressed against his.

Ten more flights to go.

And then the elevator jerked to a stop. The light went out, leaving them in complete darkness.

The next moment he felt his arm being clutched. “Clawed at” was more like it.

“What just happened?”

Her voice was breathless, panicky. Just like when the truck had struck his car flying through the intersection. “It’s just a malfunction. Don’t start screaming,” he warned.

He thought he heard her swallow. “I won’t.” She sounded utterly unsure of her promise.

“It’ll only be a few seconds,” he assured her. This was a relatively new building. Fortune-Rockwell had moved out of its old home office into this one less than five years ago. Everything was supposed to be state-of-the-art.

Which meant that these kinds of things weren’t supposed to happen.

“The lights are bound to come back on.”

Extricating his arm, he put his hands out to feel for the wall in an attempt to find the phone. Somehow he got turned around and he found her instead.

Instantly he pulled back his hands. Whatever he had touched—and he had a real suspicion what that had been—was incredibly soft, even if it was packaged in suede.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s okay.”

Her reply was barely above a whisper. He could hear the fear mounting in her voice. “We’re going to be all right,” he told her firmly.

“I know we are.”

Although she didn’t sound quite so sure she believed him.

Just as he wondered if she was going to faint, an auxiliary light came on. The illumination it cast was dim, but at least they were no longer in the dark.

Her skin looked almost translucent, he thought, glancing at her face. “There.” Jack indicated the emergency light source. “See?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I can.” She could see just how small, how confining, the space was. For some reason the dim light only made it feel that much smaller. A tightness was taking hold within her chest.

“And so can I,” he told her. And what he saw was unadulterated fear. The same fear that had been in her eyes when he’d pulled her out of the car when the air bag had deployed. “It’s going to be all right,” he repeated. The words felt empty, hollow, highlighting the frustration he felt.

She turned desperate eyes on him. “When? When is it going to be all right?”

“As soon as the lights come back on.”

He knew his answer wasn’t very reassuring. Nothing frustrated him more than not having control over a situation. Annoyance strumming through him, he opened the panel just above the keypad of floor buttons and extracted the closed-circuit telephone receiver. “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?”

There was no answer. For a minute he felt like hitting the receiver against the wall, but losing his temper wasn’t going to solve their dilemma. He tried his cell phone. There was no signal. When it rained, it poured.

“The power must be out.” Gloria’s voice was hardly above a whisper. She could feel her throat closing up again.

He shook his head. “The phone lines are on a separate circuit.” Swallowing a curse, he hung up the receiver. “Maybe some of the other elevators are out, too, and whoever is supposed to be answering the phone is out checking on another car.”

“Yeah, right.”

His attention shifted toward her. Poor lighting or not, she really didn’t look too good. “Sit down before you fall down.”

But Gloria remained standing where she was, her whole body as rigid as if it had been chiseled out of rock. She turned her eyes to his face.

This was what they meant by a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, he thought.

“Do something.” It was half a command, half an appeal.

Just what did she expect him to do? There were precious few options available. “Well, I’d get out and push the car up to the next landing, but my cape’s at the cleaners.”

“Do something,” she repeated, more insistently this time.

Okay, he’d bite. “And just exactly what is it that you’d have me do?”

She shrugged helplessly. If she knew, she’d have done it herself. “I don’t know—a guy thing.” Looking around, she saw what appeared to be a removable panel directly above their heads. “Like climbing up and pushing that off.”

He looked up at the same panel. “What good will that do?”

“We could climb out.” With a dismissive snort, he looked down at her high heels. “I’m very nimble,” she insisted.

He decided to humor her for the space of a moment. “Okay, supposing we could climb out, then what?”

She didn’t know about him, but it would do her a world of good. “At least we wouldn’t be trapped in here, suffocating.”

“We’re not suffocating. There’s plenty of air in here.”

She had her hand on his arm again. For a relatively small woman, she had really strong fingers. “Please.”

Jack knew she wouldn’t give up until he gave in. He supposed that since there was no one answering him on the phone, it wouldn’t hurt to try to see what was going on, although he wasn’t about to attempt shimmying up the cables to the next floor. There was no way he could possibly pry open the doors on the next landing. Even if he were a weight lifter, it wouldn’t be possible.

He moved to the wall and tested the integrity of the railing that ran along three sides of the car. Recessed from the wall, it seemed sturdy enough to hold him.

Jack glanced back at her. She’d shed her coat in a heap on the floor. “Come here, give me your shoulder.”

He watched her tongue lightly run along the outline of her mouth and tried not to let it affect him. “Why?”

Exasperated by the situation and by the fact that there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to negate the mounting anxiety in her eyes, he snapped, “Because I didn’t have any breakfast this morning and I’m hungry.” Taking her arm, he pulled her over to the wall. “I need it for leverage, that’s why.”

Removing his shoes, Jack clamped his hand on her shoulder. She wobbled a little, then braced herself. The phrase “iron butterfly” teased his brain. “You’re sturdier than you look.”

“So they tell me.”

He raised his foot as far up as he could, getting it onto the railing. Gloria spread her legs apart, taking a stance as he pushed off her shoulder and rose up parallel to the wall. There was a space between the ceiling and where the sides ended. He secured his fingers along that ridge. Moving in half inches, he managed to make it to the trapped door.

Holding on with one hand, he pushed the panel with the other. It took a little doing, but the panel finally gave way. Jack moved it to the side. Clearing an opening large enough to accommodate him, he pulled himself up with his arms.

Watching his every move, Gloria held her breath. She saw him disappear through the opening. For a moment she was alone. Alone in a small space. Just as she had been all those years ago. Perspiration was forming all up and down her spine. She could feel her blouse adhering to her back.

Damn it, stop panicking. It’s not going to do you any good, she insisted silently.

Gloria forced her feet to move until she was standing directly under the opening that the panel had covered. She craned her neck. There was nothing but darkness outside the car.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Disappointment resonated through her like a death knell.

“Nothing,” he repeated. “No lights, not even slivers of light between the floors. No nothing.” Which, as far as he could see, could mean only one thing. “It looks like there’s some kind of power failure going on in the building.”

Her breath felt almost jagged as it caught in her throat. “Do you think it’s affected the whole city?”

“Probably just us,” he told her in the calmest voice he could muster.

And then he looked down into the car. She’d been right. He had to do something. “Look, I’m going to try to see if I can get to the next floor.”

“No!” Her sudden cry surprised him. Her next words surprised him even more. “Don’t leave me.”

She wasn’t being rational. “Gloria, I—”

“Don’t leave me,” she repeated, the urgency in her voice growing.

He supposed there was no way of knowing just how far up he was going to have to climb before he could get out. And if he left her, there was no telling what condition she’d been in by the time he could get back to her. He made his decision.

“Okay, stand back,” he ordered. “I’m coming down.”

She moved to the opposite wall, pressing her back up against it, her eyes never leaving his face. Gloria held her breath as she watched him jump down. He winced as he landed.

“Are you all right?”

He’d landed wrong on his ankle. Testing it now, he shrugged. “I’ll live.” And then he looked at his clothes. “But I don’t know about my suit.”

She tried to smile and succeeded only marginally. The space around her was growing smaller. “Can’t stay clean around me, can you?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” They both jumped when the elevator phone rang. Jack grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Hello? This car number seven?” a deep male voice rumbled against his ear, carrying beyond the receiver.

Jack glanced up at the certificate housed behind glass. It okayed the car for service. He squinted to make out the number.

“Yeah. We’re stuck.”

“So are all the other elevator cars.” The technician sounded harried and resigned at the same time. “Power’s out throughout the building. You’re going to have to hang tight.”

Gloria was directly behind him. Desperate, she grabbed the phone from his hand and yelled, “How long?”

“Dunno. We’re working as fast as we can.” There was a pause, as if the technician was calculating time. “Couple of hours, maybe more.”

“A couple of hours?” Her eyes widened as her claustrophobia threatened to take over every square inch of her. She could feel it cutting off her air, making her want to gasp.

“Can’t be helped,” the technician informed her.

Jack looked at her as she handed him the phone. “Is the blackout confined just to this building?”

“Looks more like a few blocks. As close as I can tell, a grid went out.” Then, because nothing could be solved on the phone like this, the technician said, “I’ll get back to you.”

And suddenly the line went dead.

A fresh assault of panic struck Gloria. She felt as if they’d been abandoned.

“No, wait, wait,” Gloria cried as she grabbed the receiver from Jack. But there was no one on the other end to hear her.

They were alone, she thought, anxiety coarsely rubbing against her. Alone for who knew how long?

Very gently, Jack pried the receiver out of her hand. The woman had a death grip, he thought as he removed her fingers from the phone and hung up.

The annoyance he’d initially felt had turned to protectiveness. “He’ll call back when he has something to say.”

Lips pressed together, she nodded. But when she spoke, there was despair in Gloria’s voice. “We might be dead by then.”

Maybe he could kid her out of it, he thought. “You always exaggerate like that?”

Instead of answering him, she turned desperate eyes up to his face. “Talk to me.”

“I thought I was.”

But she shook her head. “No, talk to me. Get my mind off this.”

Maybe if he could get her to talk about her fears, it would help her to deal with the situation. “What is it with you and tight places?”

Ordinarily she might have said something flippant, or even denied that there was a problem the way he was implying. But the man had eyes. He could see there was a problem. Could hear it, too. There was no disguising her reaction, no matter how hard she tried. “I don’t like them.”

He laughed shortly. “That’s rather obvious. Any particular reason?”

Instead of answering him immediately, Gloria took off her jacket, tossing it on top of her coat. She opened the top two buttons of her blouse. Even in this light, he could see the perspiration along her forehead and on her cheeks. It wasn’t that hot in here, he thought.

Jack watched in fascination as she pulled her blouse out from the waistband of her skirt, fanning her middle with the shirttails.

When she paused and raised her eyes to his, he said, “Don’t stop on my account.”

She hated the feeling of desperation that was eating her alive. She should have outgrown it by now, risen above it. “It’s hot in here.”

It wasn’t the heat she was feeling and they both knew it, but he let her have her lie.

“And panicking is going to make it seem hotter.” He waited for a second, certain she would continue. But she didn’t. That alone told him that the situation was dire. The woman never missed a chance to talk. “You didn’t answer my question. Any particular reason confined spaces make you break out in a sweat?”

“Yes.”

They weren’t making any progress. “And that would be?”

Gloria’s eyes shifted from his face. This wasn’t something she talked about, at least not to anyone outside of her own family and even that was rare.

She glanced toward Jack. He was still waiting. Okay, maybe he deserved to know why she’d clawed his arm. At the very least, it would pass the time.

She took as deep a breath of the increasingly hotter air as she could and began.

“When I was a little girl, my family lived in Red Rock. My parents still live there.” A slight smile faintly crossed her lips. “It was as developed then as it sounds.” For just an infinitesimal second, she was that little girl again, free of the demons she had acquired. “Wonderful place to grow up,” she testified. “My brothers and sisters and I had no end of places to play.”

And then her expression sobered. “There was this one field that ran behind an abandoned old house. We used to call the house the Spooky place—”

“Very original,” Jack commented, never taking his eyes off her. Watching emotions cross her face in the dim light.

“We were kids,” she reminded him. And then, as he continued to watch her, she seemed to brace herself before she went on. “One day, we were playing hide-and-seek.” Her breath began to grown audibly shorter. “The way we had a hundred times before.”

She was going to stop. He saw it in her eyes. “And?” Jack prodded.

Gloria raised her chin, a shaky defiance trying to take hold. And failing.

“And I fell into this abandoned shaft. I found out later that it was an old well that had gone dry.”

Suddenly she was there again, in that hole. The dirt walls threatening to close in on her with every grain of dust that fell. Tears rose to her eyes as she remembered the terror that had gripped her.

“Christina ran for help while my brothers and Sierra talked to me, trying to keep me calm. Christina came back with my mother who’d called the fire department. More and more people kept coming, blocking out the light. It took what felt like forever for them to get me out. I was six at the time,” she whispered, more to herself than to him, “and convinced that I was going to die.”

Gloria caught her lower lip between her teeth as she looked up at him again. “I stopped being fearless that day.”