“You want me to trust you? You’ve lied to me since the day we met.”

Client privilege be damned, Joel decided. He couldn’t let Riane continue to believe the worst. “I came to West Virginia to see your mother because I thought she might be able to help with a case I’m working on. I have a client who’s trying to find someone.”

“A missing person?”

“Not missing, exactly,” Joel hedged. “The woman I’m looking for was adopted twenty-two years ago.”

“Why do you think my mother can help?”

He hesitated, reluctant to state the conclusion that would crumble all Riane’s conceptions about her life. But the fierce determination in her eyes forced his hand. She wouldn’t let him continue to evade. More compelling than that, however, was the realization that he owed her the truth.

“I think you’re the woman I’m looking for.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another fabulous month of the most exciting romance reading around. And what better way to begin than with a new TALL, DARK & DANGEROUS novel from New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann? Night Watch has it all: an irresistible U.S. Navy SEAL hero, intrigue and danger, and—of course—passionate romance. Grab this one fast, because it’s going to fly off the shelves.

Don’t stop at just one, however. Not when you’ve got choices like Fathers and Other Strangers, reader favorite Karen Templeton’s newest of THE MEN OF MAYES COUNTY. Or how about Dead Calm, the long-awaited new novel from multiple-award-winner Lindsay Longford? Not enough good news for you? Then check out new star Brenda Harlen’s Some Kind of Hero, or Night Talk, from the always-popular Rebecca Daniels. Finally, try Trust No One, the debut novel from our newest find, Barbara Phinney.

And, of course, we’ll be back next month with more pulse-pounding romances, so be sure to join us then. Meanwhile…enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Some Kind of Hero
Brenda Harlen

MILLS & BOON

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BRENDA HARLEN

grew up in a small town surrounded by books and imaginary friends. Although she always dreamed of being a writer, she chose to follow a more traditional career path first. After two years of practicing as an attorney (including an appearance in front of the Supreme Court of Canada), she gave up her “real” job to be a mom and to try her hand at writing books. Three years, five manuscripts and another baby later, she sold her first book—an RWA Golden Heart Winner—to Silhouette.

Brenda lives in Southern Ontario with her real-life husband/hero, two heroes-in-training and two neurotic dogs. She is still surrounded by books (“too many books,” according to her children) and imaginary friends, but she also enjoys communicating with “real” people. Readers can contact Brenda by e-mail at brendaharlen@yahoo.com or by snail mail c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001 New York, NY 10279.

A lot of this book is about family,

and I’d like to dedicate this story to mine.

To my parents—

Diane & John and Dan & Marj—

for giving me such a wonderful example of family.

To Shelly and Jim,

whom I am privileged not just to call

my sister and brother but also my friends.

To Robin & Hazel—

for always accepting me as part of their family.

And, of course, to Neill and Connor and Ryan.

I love you all.

P.S. This book is also dedicated to Ken, who didn’t even blink when his wife said three unknown women were coming to invade his cottage for a weeklong writers’ retreat. (During which time this story took form in spite of Kate and Sharon and Sheryl. Thanks anyway, ladies.)

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

It took Riane Quinlan half a minute to peg the tall, dark-haired man across the room as an out-of-towner, another thirty seconds to figure him for a cop.

She’d spotted him the minute he stepped through the ornately carved double doors of the hotel ballroom where the Fourth Annual Quinlan Camp Charity Ball was in progress. Part of the reason was that his was an unfamiliar face at this type of event. Another part of the reason was much more basic. Whoever he was, he was an incredible specimen of masculinity: broad shoulders, hard muscles, thick dark hair that was just a little too long for the conservative tastes of the social elite.

Not a departmental regulation crew cut, but some guys took pride in breaking the rules. This man, with the chiseled jaw, strong nose and slashing brows, looked like one of them.

From a distance, Riane couldn’t determine what color his eyes were, just that they were dark and intense.

He took a slow survey of the room. Deliberately casual. Too casual.

Definitely a cop.

As the daughter of a U.S. senator, Riane had been shadowed often enough to recognize the inherent attributes of those in law enforcement. The sculpted physique, the guarded stance, the constant attentiveness. There were security personnel hovering in the background this evening, but she knew this man wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t hired muscle—just a cop.

Her lips curved in a small smile. Just a cop was hardly an accurate description. He was almost larger than life—a real man’s man, the type of man she didn’t often have opportunity to cross paths with in her social circles.

As he continued his perusal of the room, his gaze collided with hers. The force of the impact literally took her breath away. His eyes narrowed, skimmed over her in a blatantly masculine assessment. She felt her skin heat, an unavoidably feminine reaction.

He held her gaze a moment longer, then turned his head, dismissing her.

Except that Riane wouldn’t be dismissed.

She made her way through the sea of rustling silk and black ties, stopping now and again to speak with someone she hadn’t caught up with earlier. She smiled at the secretary of state and tried to ignore the fact that her toes were starting to cramp.

It had been a mistake to wear new shoes when she was going to be on her feet for the better part of the evening, but the sling-back sandals were such a perfect match for the silk crepe dress, she hadn’t been able to resist. She’d spent the better part of her twenty-four years in the public eye and knew that image was more important than comfort.

She glanced toward the back of the room again, and her eyes locked with his.

Blue, she realized. His eyes were a startling, stunning shade of blue. And just a little wary.

Her curiosity further piqued, she breached the last few feet that separated them and offered her most winning smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

He hesitated a beat before he shifted his untouched champagne glass and offered his hand. “Joel Logan.”

His voice was deep and incredibly sensuous, causing her blood to heat in her veins. She disregarded the sensation. She was more than likely overheated from the multitude of lights in the enormous chandeliers, not from hearing this man speak two words to her.

Reassured, she put her hand in his, felt it engulfed by his warm strength. His handshake was firm, his palm wide and slightly callused. There was nothing improper or inappropriate about the contact, and yet she felt a sudden burst of heat arrow straight to her core. She withdrew her hand quickly from his grasp.

“Riane Quinlan,” she told him.

“I know.”

He said nothing else, offered none of the usual pleasantries.

Riane was intrigued. Her family’s wealth and political connections had accustomed her to more deferential treatment. People went out of their way to impress her, never knowing when they might need a personal favor or political ally. But she’d bet every last dollar of the trust fund her grandmother had left her that Joel Logan didn’t bow and scrape for anyone, and she couldn’t help but admire him for it.

She tried another smile. “What brings you here tonight, Mr. Logan?”

“A desire to support the Quinlan Camp for Underprivileged Children?”

It was more of a question than an answer, and she couldn’t decide if he was just unsociable or deliberately trying to annoy her. She should thank him for his support and leave it at that, but there was something about him that made it impossible for her to walk away.

“It must help that your shoulders are so broad,” she commented.

He frowned at her. “Excuse me?”

“Your shoulders,” she said again. “They must be the reason you can walk upright with the size of that chip you’re carrying.”

He shifted his champagne glass into his other hand again, his scowl deepening.

Dark, moody, and no sense of humor, Riane decided. She signaled to a nearby waiter, turned to speak with him briefly. When the server disappeared, she plucked the crystal flute from Joel’s hand and brought it to her own lips, sipping the cool, bubbly liquid.

“I wasn’t finished with that,” he said testily.

“I know.” Her response was unapologetic.

His mouth opened, then closed again when the waiter returned with a tall pilsner glass filled with amber-colored liquid, a thick foam head skimming the frosty rim.

“Thanks, Jeffrey.” Riane took the glass and offered it to Joel. “I thought this might be more to your liking.”

For half a second she thought he might refuse the drink, but thirst must have triumphed over obstinacy as he reached for the glass. His fingers brushed against hers and she felt that zing again.

“What makes you think you know what I like?” Joel challenged.

She took another sip of his champagne before responding. “It’s something of a hobby of mine—studying people.”

“Have you been studying me?”

“I study everyone.”

“And what do you think you’ve learned?”

“You don’t like champagne,” she said, “and you won’t pretend to enjoy it, even though everyone else guzzles it like water at this kind of event.”

He tipped the glass of beer to his lips and drank, his eyes still on hers.

“I imagine you suffered through dinner,” she continued.

“The food and the conversation. You would probably have preferred a nice thick steak, rare, and a discussion about the Yankees’ chances at the pennant.”

She saw the corners of his mouth twitch, wondered if he might actually smile. He didn’t.

“Medium well,” was all he said.

“Sorry?”

“My steak,” he clarified. “Medium well. I like to be sure it’s dead.”

“And the Yankees?” she prompted.

Now he did smile, and it completely transformed him. With his dark and somber expression, he was dangerously handsome. With those sensual lips curved, he was devastating.

“Absolutely.”

She nodded, but couldn’t for the life of her even remember what the question had been. The man had just smiled, and her mind had blanked.

“Is that the end of your analysis?” he prompted.

“Not quite,” she said, wondering whether she should pursue the issue or make a tactical retreat. He intrigued her—maybe too much. She was a woman used to being in control of her life and her emotions. But after less than ten minutes in Joel Logan’s company, she felt her comfortable world tilting crazily on its axis. It thrilled her. And terrified her.

“What else do you think you know?”

“You’re looking for someone. Someone you expected to be here. Whether he is or not, I couldn’t say, because I don’t know who it is, but I know you haven’t found him. Or her,” she amended quickly.

He pinned her with that deep blue gaze, and she felt as if all the bones in her body had simply melted. When he spoke again, the low, throaty tone was as seductive as a caress. “Maybe I’m just looking for someone to take home for a quick bout of hot, sweaty sex.”

“I hadn’t completely disregarded that possibility,” she acknowledged, a little breathlessly. “But I think if that was what you wanted, you would have found her by now.”

“I’m flattered, I think.”

“Just an observation, Mr. Logan. So why don’t you tell me what it is that brought you to West Virginia?”

“Why do you assume I’m not a local?”

“If you were, we’d have met before now.” And she definitely would have remembered. Joel Logan wasn’t the type of man any woman would forget.

“I’m here on business,” he admitted after a pause.

“What kind of business?”

“You haven’t figured that out?”

“I’m still working on it,” she said. “But I haven’t been able to think of any reason why an out-of-town cop is at my fund-raiser.”

“I’m not a cop.” He took another sip of his beer.

“Oh.” She frowned. Then, in an accusatory tone, she said, “You look like a cop. Standing at the far end of the room, your back to the wall, as if you expect armed gunmen to come charging through the door.”

This time his smile seemed to come more easily. “I used to be a cop,” he conceded.

“And now?”

He shrugged. “Now I’m not.”

Joel tipped his glass to his lips again and drank deeply, wishing for at least the hundredth time since Shaun McIver walked into his office that he’d refused this assignment. It should have been a simple job: to find a child who had been adopted twenty-two years earlier. But four months later Joel had made scant progress.

The few facts he’d managed to uncover so far led him straight to Senator Ellen Rutherford-Quinlan. If the senator had information that would help find Shaun’s fiancée’s sister, Joel was determined to get it. Which was his reason for coming to West Virginia.

He hadn’t counted on crossing paths with Riane Quinlan, though. And he’d been completely unprepared for the quick punch of arousal that struck low in his belly when he’d first set eyes on her.

A smart investigator would turn the situation to his advantage—get whatever information he could from the daughter as the mother was nowhere to be found. But he was having difficulty thinking like an investigator with the subtle scent of Riane’s perfume fogging his brain.

Which meant that the wisest thing would be to establish and maintain a safe distance from Riane Quinlan. He needed answers, and he wasn’t going to get them if he allowed himself to be distracted. The senator’s daughter was quite a distraction.

“Riane, darling—”

Joel exhaled a silent sigh of relief as she was forced to turn her attention to the stocky woman who descended upon them in a cloud of sweet scent and glittering sequins.

“Margaret,” Riane said, exchanging air kisses with the older woman. “I’m so pleased you could make it.”

The woman looked vaguely familiar to Joel, but it took a moment to search his memory banks for the reference. When it clicked, he wondered that his jaw didn’t hit the floor. Margaret Cassidy. The attorney general of the United States.

The upper echelons of political society had turned out for this event—all the way from Washington, even. A reminder of how much political clout the Rutherford-Quinlans wielded. As if he needed any reminders. He’d tangled with them once before, and that encounter had cost Joel his reputation and his career.

He was clearly out of his element here, even if no one else seemed to realize it. He didn’t fit in with these people; he didn’t want to. He’d attended this gala event because his client was paying all incidental costs—including the thousand-dollar ticket for dinner and the rental of this damn tux—and because he’d been confident he could remain in the background. Riane had taken that option away from him. And he wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or annoyed that he’d caught her attention.

While she was preoccupied with the attorney general, Joel scanned the room again, searching for the elusive senator. Ellen Rutherford-Quinlan’s name had been on the top of the guest list. This charity camp was her daughter’s pet project. So where the hell was she?

His head snapped back to the conversation beside him when the attorney general said, “I’m so sorry I missed your mother.”

“She didn’t want to miss the ball,” Riane told her. “But Daddy convinced her that it was more important to celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

Daddy. Joel fought the urge to roll his eyes. How many grown women referred to their fathers as “daddy”? Then the impact of what she was saying registered and he nearly groaned out loud: the senator wasn’t going to make an appearance here tonight.

He accepted the fresh glass of beer the waiter brought to him without question and tipped it to his lips, cursing the fact that he’d wasted his time—and his client’s money—in attending this gala event. Hell, his whole trip to West Virginia might turn out to have been a waste of time.

Riane said goodbye to the older woman, turned back to him and smiled. Joel felt that quick punch of desire again and had to remind himself of all the reasons that the senator’s daughter was off-limits.

She wasn’t his type, anyway. She was too sophisticated and high class. Too everything. He preferred a woman with more simple tastes, more basic desires. And blond, he reminded himself, even as his fingers itched to pull the pins out of Riane’s dark silky hair to let it tumble freely down her back.

Joel swallowed, hard. Yeah, he definitely preferred blondes.

Like the one beside the window, tall and slender in body-hugging green velvet. Her hand was on the arm of a short, portly man who looked old enough to be her father, but the hefty chunk of diamond on the woman’s hand suggested otherwise.

Despite the ring and the presence of her companion, she caught Joel’s eye and sent him a blatantly invitational glance from beneath lowered lashes. There was nothing complicated about that one, Joel thought approvingly. Except that he never cut in on another man’s territory. It was one of few rules he lived by, and one he’d never consider violating. He knew too well how it felt to be on the other side of that equation.

“Meredith Ashcroft,” Riane said, close to his ear. “Of the Boston Ashcrofts—by marriage. Now divorced and currently engaged to Justice Cunningham.”

“The man in the ill-fitting tux?”

“That’s the one,” Riane agreed. “He hasn’t bought a new suit in the past ten years because he won’t admit that he’s put on forty pounds. He thinks he has the same physique that impressed his first wife. She left him more than a dozen years ago and took half his money. He still possesses a sizable fortune and an impressive position on the bench, which is why Ms. Ashcroft is in line to become wife number three.”

“A friend of yours?”

Riane’s smile was thin. “An acquaintance,” she clarified.

“But I could arrange an introduction, if you wanted.”

“You said she was engaged.”

“Does that matter to you?”

“Yes.”

“A cop with morals,” she mused.

“I’m not a cop,” he said again.

“So you said. But you didn’t say what you are.”

Not wanting to reveal too much about his reasons for being in West Virginia, he opted to try diversion again. “Do you dance?”

She tilted her head. “Is that a hypothetical question or an invitation?”

“An invitation.”

She studied him for another moment, as if considering his motives, then nodded. “All right.”

Joel led the way to the dance floor, reassuring himself that he’d issued the invitation solely to prevent her from continuing her inquiry. He wasn’t ready for her to find out who he was, his real reason for being there. Not until he knew whether or not she was the answer to his questions.

Then Riane put her hand in his, and desire surged through him. Hot and hard. And he knew that however he chose to rationalize the request in his own mind, the simple fact was that he’d wanted to hold her. She was sexy and beautiful and intriguing, and it had been far too long since he’d been with a woman.

The intensity of his own reaction shook him. He was a man of action, in charge of his life, responsible for his own decisions. Yet the moment she turned into his arms, he felt a spiraling sense of panic, a stunning realization that this was out of his control.

He’d only ever felt this way once before—toward the end of the Conroy investigation. Just as all the pieces seemed to be falling into place, he’d known that it had been a little too easy. He’d ignored the instinct, convinced himself it was paranoia.

He’d been wrong.

There was no way he’d make the same mistake again.

Okay, so maybe he was overreacting a little this time. Riane Quinlan was a woman. She might be beautiful, sexy, intriguing, but she was still just a woman.

Yet his instincts warned him that she was dangerous. Very dangerous. Because the scent of her clouded his mind; the subtle curves of her body made him forget his reason for being there; those full, painted lips tempted him to taste. Riane Quinlan made him not just forget, but want to forget, that she was off-limits.

Just a woman?

Like hell. This woman was more dangerous than a roomful of Zane Conroy’s trigger-happy minions with fully automatic Mac 10s.

He misstepped, and her hip brushed against his thigh. The fleeting contact jarred him, and he felt his blood begin to migrate southward. He forced himself to concentrate on moving his feet, determined to avoid any more such accidents so that she wouldn’t notice how affected he was by her.

Not that his physical response should surprise her. He was, after all, just a man, and she was as warm and soft as the scent that clung to her. And she fit in his arms as if it was where she was meant to be.

Joel gave himself a mental shake. It was ridiculous to even imagine such things. Riane Quinlan might fit in his arms, but she could never fit into his life. Nor he in hers. He knew that opposites could attract. He also knew, from personal experience, that they couldn’t coexist for very long.

“How long are you going to be in West Virginia?” Riane asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between them.

“I’m not sure,” he responded, then he made the mistake of looking at her. She’d tilted her head upward to speak to him, and her glossy lips were mere inches from his own. He only needed to lower his head a fraction and he could taste her. It was a tempting proposition. Too tempting. Too dangerous.

He tore his gaze from her mouth, saw that she was watching him. Her own eyes were dark, aware. He’d feel much more confident in his ability to do his job if he could keep his distance from Riane Quinlan. And he wouldn’t be able to keep his distance if she kept looking at him like that.

Focus, Logan.

Somewhere in the back recesses of his mind this niggling reminder from his conscience registered. He knew he was dangerously close to losing his focus, and he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Not this time.

“Riane,” he said. “That’s a rather unusual name, isn’t it?”

“It’s a feminine form of Ryan, which is my father’s name.”

His preliminary investigation had revealed that fact, but he didn’t know if the similarity was by design or coincidence. That was what he needed to find out, and that was why he needed to talk to the senator.

“Isn’t your mother usually a supporter of the Quinlan Camp Charity Ball?”

So much for being discreet, he thought, as the question blurted out of his mouth. But he was more worried about self-preservation than discretion at this point.

If Riane was startled by the abrupt change of topic, she gave no indication of it. “Yes,” she admitted. “And I was a little worried that her absence this year would affect attendance, but thankfully it hasn’t been a problem.”

“She won’t be making an appearance tonight?”

“I doubt it.” She smiled at him once more, drawing his gaze back to that luscious mouth, tempting him all over again. “She’s in Thailand.”

“Thailand?”

Riane nodded. “She and my father went on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary.”

Joel expected to be annoyed, even angry, at this revelation. His sole purpose in being here this evening was to contact the senator. But it was difficult to be angry when there was a soft, fragrant woman in his arms. Impossible to be annoyed that his source of information had been wrong.

“How long will they be gone?”

“What is your interest in my mother, Mr. Logan?”

“Joel,” he said, and smiled.

But she’d homed in on the direction of his questions and wouldn’t be deterred. “What is your interest in my mother, Joel?”

“I was just hoping, since I was in town anyway, that I might have an opportunity to meet with the senator.”

“Are you a Republican supporter?”

He realized, with reluctant admiration, that she was trying to trip him up. And had he not done his homework thoroughly, she might have done so with that question. Her mother was a Democrat.

“I’m not a card-carrying member of any party,” he told her.

He wasn’t sure if his response convinced her, but she let it drop. Joel accepted the reprieve, recognizing that he’d have to be a little more subtle if he didn’t want to raise Riane’s suspicions any further.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, he failed to spot the photographer until the flash of the camera’s bulb blinded him. He instinctively stepped away, crushing Riane’s toes in his haste.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled the apology automatically, concentrated on breathing to slow the rapid beating of his heart as different reminiscences assailed him. Flash after flash. The incessant glare blinding. Reporters shoving, shouting. Microphones thrust at him. Headline after headline. Day after day. Until he dreaded even leaving his home.

“Are you undercover?” Riane asked.

Joel scowled. “I’m not a cop.”

“Then why did you jump three feet when that flashbulb went off?”

“I don’t like having my picture taken.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not very photogenic,” he said dryly.

Riane laughed, and the soft, sexy sound was a welcome distraction from the recent direction of his thoughts.

“I doubt that,” she said.

“I didn’t know the press would be here,” Joel admitted. But he should have known, and he should have been prepared.

“I would have been disappointed if they weren’t,” Riane told him. “The more publicity we can generate for the Quinlan Camp, the better. High-level exposure equates to high-level contributions.”

He understood that. Just as he understood that Riane was accustomed to living in the spotlight—the last place Joel wanted to be. He’d had his life scrutinized by the media before, and he never wanted to live like that again.

He could only hope that some enterprising young reporter didn’t dig deep enough to discover the identity of Riane Quinlan’s dance partner. Then as soon as this case was closed, he’d be out of her life forever.

Still, as the song began to wind down, Joel found himself reluctant to let her go. He knew she was a distraction he could ill afford, a complication he wasn’t prepared for, but he couldn’t deny his attraction to her.

And when the final notes of the song merged into the first bars of the next, he didn’t figure it would hurt to hold her just a little while longer.

Then there was a firm tap on his shoulder and a smooth, masculine voice saying, “If you don’t mind, I’d like a dance with my fiancée.”

Chapter 2

Riane felt the censure in Joel’s gaze as he relinquished her hand to Stuart without comment and walked off the dance floor. She wanted to follow him, to explain, but pride prevented her from doing so. He had no right to make judgments about her, and besides, a well-bred lady didn’t chase after any man.

Instead she concentrated her attention on her new dance partner, who had already swept her into his arms and was moving smoothly to the strains of the music. Stuart’s movements were effortless, each step and turn flawlessly executed. There wasn’t anything that he didn’t do well, and he was an incredible dancer. But his touch didn’t heat her blood the way Joel’s had done. Her body didn’t yearn to press close to his as it had when she’d been dancing with the mysterious Mr. Logan.

She pushed the traitorous thoughts impatiently aside. She was a twenty-four-year-old woman, not a hormonal adolescent. It wasn’t like her to react to a man on such a primal level. Human beings were supposed to be civilized, to have power over their more basic urges.

Still, she couldn’t deny that something about Joel Logan appealed to her on a most fundamental level. Unwillingly, her gaze strayed to the back of the room where he’d once again stationed himself.

The formality of his attire failed to disguise the raw power he exuded. He had to be well over six feet—as she’d had to tip her head to meet his gaze despite the three inches her heels added to her five-foot, ten-inch frame—with broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist and long, lean legs. Just the memory of those muscles, solid and unyielding, caused her breath to quicken, her pulse to race.

“You seem lost in thought,” Stuart commented lightly.

Riane started, felt her cheeks flush. “Just tired.”

“You’ve had a busy few weeks preparing for tonight.”

“Yes,” she agreed, grateful for his easy acceptance of her explanation. Still, she was embarrassed to admit, even to herself, that Stuart’s absence had gone unnoticed until he’d interrupted her dance with Joel. She’d been so preoccupied with the success of the charity ball she hadn’t spared him a single thought.

And then she’d met Joel Logan, and she hadn’t thought about anything else.

She felt a twinge of guilt at the realization, but only a slight twinge. After all, she wasn’t really engaged to Stuart Etherington III. Although they’d talked, in abstract terms, about marriage, she resented his reference to her as his “fiancée,” as if their engagement was a fact rather than a possibility. But she wasn’t in the mood to take issue with his vocabulary now. It had been a wonderfully successful evening and she wouldn’t ruin it by bickering with him.

So she ignored the multitude of recriminations running through her mind and only said, “You were late.”

“I’m sorry.” His apology was more automatic than sincere. “I got tied up in meetings.”

She wasn’t surprised. Stuart had a successful corporate law practice and was often required to work long into the evening and frequently on weekends. She knew his hours would grow longer still when he launched the political career he wanted so much.

“You missed dinner,” she told him. “Cream of artichoke soup, warm chicken salad with rosemary dressing, poached salmon with tarragon sauce, champagne sherbet and peppered strawberries.”

“That sounds much better than the Italian takeout I had delivered to the office.”

“I’m sure it was,” she agreed. “But as long as you paid for your ticket, I won’t complain about the squandered meal.”

“You’re a mercenary.” There was admiration mingled with amusement in his tone.

“This camp is important to me. And to the kids who visit every summer.”

“I know,” Stuart placated. “And, yes, I paid for my ticket.”

She smiled. “Then I thank you for your support.”

“Has it been a successful evening?”

“Very,” she told him. “Even more so than last year.”

“You have a knack for this sort of thing,” Stuart told her.

“Organizing, fund-raising, delegating. Valuable qualities in a politician’s wife.”

Riane’s smile was strained. She resented Stuart’s implication that tonight’s charity ball was an exercise in politics for her; she hated that he couldn’t understand how much the camp mattered.

And yet, despite this fundamental difference of opinion, Riane believed that they were well suited for one another. They had similar goals and interests. They’d both been raised in political families, and they both understood the expectations and responsibilities of living in the public eye.

She sometimes wondered if he was more attracted to her political connections than her person, but she could hardly judge him when her own motives were less than ideal. Ultimately she and Stuart wanted the same thing: the White House. He had the ideas and the connections to take him there, and when he did, Riane had no qualms about exploiting her position as his wife and first lady to focus attention on the plight of underprivileged children in this country and around the world.

Yes, her relationship with Stuart was exactly what she wanted. She just sometimes wished he made her feel…

The thought fizzled. She didn’t know what was missing; she only knew that she wanted to feel the way she’d felt when Joel had held her in his arms.

She glanced toward the back of the room, searching, seeking.

But he was already gone.

Joel awoke the morning after the charity ball with the mother of all hangovers. He winced against the bright sunlight flooding through the window and cursed himself for not remembering to close the curtains the night before. Slowly he eased his legs over the side of the bed and found the floor. Satisfied that the world was once again solid beneath his feet, he scrubbed a hand over his cheek. It had been a lot of years since he’d drunk himself into a stupor, but he’d done it often enough in the past that he should have known better.

Women, he thought disparagingly. They were all the same. From his mother, who’d abandoned him when he was six, to Jocelyn, who’d dumped him with no hint of remorse when the going got tough, they weren’t to be trusted. It was a lesson he should have learned long ago.

Unfortunately, he was a man, and there were times that basic urges couldn’t be denied. But sex and love were different things, and he’d managed to avoid emotional entanglements for the most part. Since Jocelyn, anyway. He was smart enough and discerning enough to seek companionship from women who wanted the same thing he did: simple, uncomplicated sex.

Riane Quinlan had almost made him forget that. There was nothing simple about the way she’d looked at him. Nothing simple about the feelings she’d roused inside him.

He shook his head, then winced at the explosion of pain that resulted from the movement. He’d obviously been too long without a woman if he could be taken in by a pair of dark eyes.

Cursing Shaun McIver for ever asking him to take on this case, everyone with any connection to the name Rutherford, and Riane Quinlan in particular, he stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. He splashed cold water on his face, then filled a glass and fished a couple of aspirin out of the bottle.

He winced again when the shrill ring of his cell phone echoed in the empty room. He might have been tempted to ignore it, but he knew the only person who would be calling this early on a Sunday morning was his partner. And Mike would only be calling if he had information to share.

“Logan.”

“I tracked Felicia Elliott to Flint, Michigan,” Mike said without preamble. “She was in a women’s shelter there for a few months after she left her husband.”

“Have you spoken to her?” Joel was less interested in the trail than he was in the results.

“She moved out several weeks ago.”

“Where is she now?”

“The director of the shelter wouldn’t give me that information.”

Although Joel understood the reasons for such a policy, he was frustrated. Every time he started to make any headway in this case, yet another obstacle was thrown in his path.

“Maybe I should go to Michigan,” he suggested. He needed to wrap this case up and move on to something else. Somewhere else. Anywhere but West Virginia.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Mike told him. “I left our number with the woman at the shelter. She agreed to pass it along to Felicia Elliott if she hears from her again.”

Joel knew it was the best they could hope for, which only frustrated him further. “Do you have any new leads to follow?”

“I could get in touch with Gavin Elliott again, to see if he’s remembered any other details that might be helpful.”

“Don’t bother,” Joel said, rubbing absently at the throbbing behind his temple. “It looks like we’re just going to have to cool our heels on this one until we hear from Mrs. Elliott.”

“You haven’t made contact with the senator yet?” Mike asked.

“No,” Joel admitted. “Apparently she’s in Thailand.”

“Thailand?”

“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction,” Joel agreed.

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Her daughter wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the details.”

“You’ve spoken to the daughter?”

Unbidden, a series of images came to mind. Riane moving toward him. Long legs, short dress, easy smile. Riane in his arms on the dance floor. Creamy skin, subtle curves, intoxicating scent. Riane with her fiancé.

Fiancé.

None of the information Joel had gathered indicated that Riane Quinlan was engaged, and he was certain something like that would have been splashed across all the society pages. Still, he’d recognized the man who’d intruded on their dance. Stuart Etherington III, a corporate lawyer at one of the biggest firms in nearby Huntington and an up-and-comer on the local political scene with big ambitions. Apparently Senator Rutherford-Quinlan’s daughter was one of his ambitions.

“Joel?” Mike’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “Did you meet with the daughter?”

“Yeah,” he said again.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, then, “What was your impression?”

Long legs, short dress— Joel severed the thought abruptly this time. “I’d say there’s more than a passing resemblance between the two women,” he said instead. “And too many other coincidences to ignore.”

His years on the police force had taught him to be wary of coincidences, and the scandal that ended his career had given him more than enough reason to distrust anyone with the name Rutherford.

When Joel had first started to examine the potential Rutherford connection in this case, Mike had accused him of letting his personal quest for vengeance interfere with his professional judgment. Joel couldn’t deny that his impartiality had been compromised, but regardless of his personal feelings, facts were facts. And all the facts in this case had led him to West Virginia.

“I just can’t believe that someone trying to pass off someone else’s child as their own wouldn’t at least change the name,” Mike said.

“The spelling is different,” Joel pointed out.

“So is the date of birth,” Mike reminded him.

“Do you really think I’m looking for something that isn’t there?”

“It would take quite a conspiracy to pull it off.”

“Or a lot of money,” Joel countered.

There was a long pause, then Mike said, “You know I have the greatest respect for your instincts, but I can’t help thinking that your interest in this case is more about digging up dirt on the Rutherfords than finding the woman we’re looking for.”

“I know what my job is,” Joel said coolly. But if he happened to find some dirt in the process of doing that job, he sure as hell wasn’t going to wipe it off his hands and pretend it didn’t exist.

“Okay,” Mike relented.

Joel sighed as he disconnected the call. It looked as if he was going to be stuck in West Virginia for a while after all.

West Virginia.

He’d known that he’d find her. He hadn’t expected it to be so easy. And he hadn’t expected it to be in West Virginia.

He was a little disappointed. He’d wanted a challenge. A task worthy of his time and attention. She had rarely been either.

He should forget about her. He knew that was the smart thing to do. But he couldn’t forget—or forgive—her betrayal.

She would pay for what she’d done.

But that was only the first part of his plan.

Four days after the charity ball, Riane hadn’t stopped thinking about Joel Logan. Even sitting across from Stuart at their usual table at the Casa, where they dined every Wednesday night, she couldn’t help but think about the other man.

It was because of Joel that she’d decided to shake up her relationship with Stuart a little. Maybe Stuart wasn’t passionate with her, she reasoned, because she didn’t inspire him to passion. So she’d bypassed the dark blue Chanel suit in favor of a scarlet silk A-line dress she’d bought several months earlier but hadn’t yet found the courage to wear. The dress had a plunging neckline and a back slit that cut more than halfway up her thighs. It was bold, vibrant, daring. Everything she wasn’t. Everything she wanted to be.

Stuart hadn’t even commented on the dress except to say, as he always did, “You look lovely, Riane.”

Not stunning.

Not sexy.

Lovely.

Several hours later, as Stuart pulled through the gates of the Quinlan estate, Riane found herself exhausted and frustrated. Dinner had been delicious, the service impeccable, their conversation monotonous.

It was all she could do not to scream.

When they arrived at the house, Stuart parked his Mercedes in front and came around to open her door. Always the gentleman, she thought, with an unfamiliar hint of resentment.

He walked with her up to the front porch, then touched his lips to hers. She willed herself to feel something, anything, in response to his kiss. But there was no tingle, no warmth, no desire. Nothing.

And then it was over.

“Good night, Riane.”

“Good night, Stuart.” She held back the sigh until he was in his car again and driving away.

Sophie was waiting for Riane when she stepped into the marble-tiled foyer.

“Good evening, Miss Quinlan.”

The housekeeper’s presence, as much as the formality she’d used, surprised Riane. “I told you not to wait up, Sophie.”

“You have company, miss.”

“Company?” Riane frowned.

“A gentleman.” Sophie’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

Riane’s frown deepened.

“He’s waiting in the den,” Sophie told her.

Riane didn’t want to deal with anyone else tonight. Her dinner with Stuart had been an exercise in monotony; his good-night kiss at the front door had left her uninspired. And she mentally damned Joel Logan for showing up at her charity ball and making her feel as though she was missing something.

All she wanted now was to slip into her favorite pair of satin pajamas and climb into bed. But she was a Quinlan, and the responsibilities she bore as such were equal to the rights and privileges. She squared her tired shoulders and turned toward the den.

The unnamed visitor was standing in front of the window, his back to the door. He didn’t turn around; he didn’t need to. Riane recognized him immediately. She wasn’t sure if it was the breadth of his shoulders, the tension in his posture, or maybe just his aura. But she knew it was Joel, and her breath caught in her throat, her heart thudded heavily against her ribs.

She chided herself for the instinctive reaction. She was twenty-four years old, not a law school freshman enamored of the editor of the Law Review. But the feelings he stirred in her weren’t so different from those she’d felt the first time she’d set eyes on Cameron Davis. And the first time he’d smiled at her, she’d been halfway in love.

The mental comparison terrified Riane. She didn’t want to have these feelings again. She didn’t want her emotions to be out of control. She didn’t want to be vulnerable.

That niggling fear bolstered her lagging resolve. She wasn’t twenty years old anymore—she was a woman. A strong, independent woman, and she could handle this man and her unexpected and inexplicable attraction to him.

“Mr. Logan,” she said, in what she hoped was a casually disinterested tone.

He turned slowly, and she realized then that he’d been standing at the window watching for her. That he’d seen her arrive. That, in all likelihood, he’d seen Stuart kiss her good-night.

“Good evening, Ms. Quinlan.”

She didn’t insist that he call her Riane this time. She’d already decided it would be best to keep this man at a distance—as far a distance as possible. He was too potentially dangerous to her peace of mind to allow him to encroach on her carefully ordered life.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded.

“Your housekeeper, Sophie, let me in.”

“I didn’t mean into the house—I meant through the security gates.”

“Sophie again,” he told her.

Riane frowned. “She’s not in the habit of opening the gates to strangers.”

“But I’m not exactly a stranger, am I?”

“You are to Sophie.”

“I told her that we’d met at the charity ball, and that I had something that belongs to you.”

“And do you?”

He gestured to the wrap draped carelessly over the back of her father’s chair. The velvet wrap that she’d belatedly realized she’d left in the ballroom.

“I didn’t realize you worked in lost and found.”

One side of his mouth kicked up in a half smile. “Apparently I do.”

“Well, thank you for returning it.”

“You’re welcome.”

But instead of moving toward the door, as she expected him to do, he leaned back against the corner of a bookcase and folded his arms over his chest. His pose was deliberately casual, his gaze leisurely as it skimmed over her. His self-confidence bordered on arrogance, the boldness of his stare almost insolent. It unnerved her, and aroused her.

“You look…” Joel paused, his deep blue eyes filled with heat as he sought the appropriate word to complete his thought, “…stunning.”

Stunning.

Riane felt her cheeks flush with guilty pleasure. Why did it matter what Joel Logan thought? Why did his reluctant compliment mean so much to her when Stuart’s words had only annoyed her?

The answer came quickly, unbidden. Because Joel Logan made her feel like a woman—feminine, attractive, desirable. With Stuart she only ever felt like an accessory—a suitable companion for any press conference or primary.

Uncomfortable with the comparison, with the feelings he stirred inside her, Riane refused to acknowledge the comment. “Was there something else you wanted, Mr. Logan?”

“I expected at least a few minutes of small talk, maybe the offer of a drink.”

Riane bit back another sigh, resenting that the manners so carefully ingrained since childhood demanded that she participate in such formalities. But she’d managed to convince herself that Joel Logan had gone back to wherever he’d come from, and his unexpected appearance here—in her home—disconcerted her.

“Forgive my lack of manners, Mr. Logan. It’s been a very long day and I wasn’t expecting company.” She didn’t care that her apology sounded more like an accusation. She would go through the motions, but that was all. “Would you care for a drink?”

He inclined his head slightly, watching her intently. She stood firm, unflinching beneath his steady gaze.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he said at last.

She crossed over to the sideboard, removed the crystal stopper from the Waterford decanter and poured a generous amount of scotch into two highball glasses.

She passed one to him, careful that their fingers not brush in the transfer. She was determined to avoid any and all physical contact with him. She’d let him have his drink, find out what he wanted and send him on his way.

But Joel obviously had other plans, because he set his glass down on the shelf and brushed his fingers over her bare shoulder, down her arm, linking them loosely around her wrist. She felt the jolt of awareness reverberate through her system, sending tingles from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and all the erogenous zones in between. Still, she refused to let him see how he affected her, refused to let him know that her whole system went into overload when he touched her.

She looked at his hand on hers, raised a brow. Most of the men she knew would have taken the not-so-subtle hint and terminated the unwanted contact, but Joel either didn’t understand her signal or simply refused to comply with it. She suspected it was the latter.

“How long have you been engaged?” he asked.

The abruptness of the question, as much as the hint of annoyance in his tone, startled her. “The engagement isn’t official yet,” she told him, silently wondering if it ever would be.

“No wedding date set?”

“No.” She tugged out of his grasp and stepped away. She tipped her own glass to her lips and drank deeply, the scotch burning a fiery path down her throat that didn’t compare to the heat on her arm where he’d touched her.

He picked up his glass again and sipped. “Nice scotch.”

Riane downed the last of her drink, set the glass down with a snap. “Did you come her to discuss my wedding plans, my father’s scotch, or was there something else you wanted?”

“Have I said or done something to upset you, Ms. Quinlan?”

Yes, damn it. She wanted to scream the words at him, to let her anger and frustration spill over. She’d been perfectly happy until Joel Logan had come into her life. Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. But she’d been content, for the most part, because she hadn’t known what she was missing.

She still didn’t know, but every time he looked at her, every time he touched her, he made her wonder.

“You’re here,” she said simply.

“I was thinking if either one of us had a right to be annoyed,” he said casually, “it would be me.”

“Why?”

“Because a woman who’s engaged to be married shouldn’t look at another man the way you were looking at me Saturday night.”

She dropped her gaze and moved to refill her glass. “I’ll apologize for the fact that you obviously misunderstood my intentions.”

“I didn’t misunderstand anything,” Joel said coolly.

Riane lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug, raised the glass. Joel was at her side before it touched her lips, his fingers wrapped around the wrist that held her drink.

Her first thought was that he moved fast.

Her second, he was dangerous.

Her next, she wanted him.

It was irrational, it was insane, but in that instant, she knew it was true. It wasn’t the subtle tug of desire she’d felt when she’d danced with him at the ball. There was nothing subtle about this at all. It hit her with the force of a runaway freight train, uncontrollable, unstoppable, undeniable.

Chapter 3

Joel could read the emotions reflected in her eyes.

Surprise. Awareness. Desire.

She wanted him; he wanted her. The attraction between them was simple. Unfortunately, everything else about the situation was not.

Her lips curved slightly and he tightened his grip. He prided himself on having a great deal of control but right now, he was very close to losing it. That sexy little smile almost put him over the top.

Almost.

He dropped Riane’s wrist abruptly, unaccountably angry with her for the desire her mere presence stoked inside him. Angrier with himself for not being strong enough to resist. He knew he should back away. Better yet, he should leave—this house, this state. But he stayed where he was, mesmerized by her presence.

Her lips curved again. They were glossy and red, the same tempting shade as her figure-hugging dress and those killer shoes. At the charity ball she’d looked the part of a senator’s daughter. Elegant, sophisticated, untouchable. Tonight she didn’t look like anybody’s daughter. She was all hot, steamy sex appeal in a beckoning package. And if she’d been his unofficial fiancée—not that that would ever happen—there was no way in hell he’d have said good-night at the door. But the proper Stuart Etherington III had, and his kiss hadn’t even smudged Riane’s lipstick.

“It’s late, Mr. Logan, and I’m too tired for games. So why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me why you’re here?”

It was a valid question, but he’d forgotten all the reasons he’d contrived for his visit the minute he’d seen her get out of the car. Something about getting answers, he recalled vaguely. He’d decided that the senator’s absence didn’t have to be a complete roadblock to his investigation, it only required a slight detour. And spending some time with Riane might prove to be a very pleasurable side trip.

But face-to-face with her now, he felt a little uneasy about his agenda. He didn’t want to be with Riane under false pretenses; he genuinely wanted to be with her. He wanted to know the woman behind the facade. He wanted to take his time and explore the attraction between them.

But his wants and desires were irrelevant here. His sole purpose for being in West Virginia was to finish the job he’d been hired to do. It was best to remember that, and to remember that a woman like Riane Quinlan was out of his league.

“It looks like I’m going to be in town a while,” he said, “and I thought we could spend some time together while I’m here.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really know anyone else.”

Her soft, smoky laugh went straight to his loins, making him again question the wisdom of the course he’d decided to pursue.

“That’s the most unique, if not the most appealing, invitation I’ve ever received,” she told him.

“Is that a yes?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Joel nodded, as if her response was what he’d expected. “Your fiancé probably wouldn’t approve.”

“Stuart’s not my fiancé,” Riane said again. “And he doesn’t dictate how I spend my time.”

“Then there’s no reason why you can’t show me around.”

“Except that I don’t want to. I’m a busy woman, Mr. Logan.”

“I’m sure you are,” Joel agreed easily. “I just thought you might enjoy the opportunity to show an outsider the beauty and bounty of your home state.”

“There are all kinds of tours you can take if you want to see the sights. You don’t need my help for that.”

“I was hoping for a more authentic experience.”

She smiled again. “Authentic?”

There was something in the mischievous curve of her lips that set off warning bells, something in the gleam of those dark brown eyes that hinted at a secret agenda. Maybe he should back off, reconsider his plan. But he’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

“I’d like to do whatever native West Virginians would do if they had a few days to play.”

She studied him for a long moment, considering. “What is it that you really want from me?”

Was she innately suspicious, or had his powers of persuasion been affected by his frustration with this assignment?

Determined to try harder, he smiled. “Just the pleasure of your company.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Riane. Intelligent, charming—when you want to be. Why do you find it so hard to believe that I want to spend time with you?”

“Most people who seek out my company are more interested in my political connections than sharing conversation,” she said candidly.

“Including your fiancé?”

Her eyes narrowed, and her voice, when she responded, could have frosted the windows. “My relationship with Stuart is none of your business.”

“Did I hit a nerve?”

“Not at all,” she denied in the same icy tone.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he was. Although he was curious about her relationship with the other man, he was sorry he’d put that guarded look in her eye.

Riane shrugged stiffly.

“I’d appreciate it if you could find some time to show me the sights.”

“I’m going to be at the camp all day tomorrow.”

“What about Friday, then?”

She hesitated.

“Please.”

Sighed. “All right. Where are you staying?”

“At the Courtland Hotel, downtown.”

“I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock. Wear something comfortable, casual.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“I’m going to show you some of West Virginia’s most impressive sights,” she promised.

But Joel didn’t wait until Friday to see her again.

He awoke in the morning determined to move on with his investigation. After all, that was his reason for being in West Virginia, and he was certain there must be other avenues to explore, other possibilities to examine.

According to the travel agent he’d consulted, the only cruise ship currently near Thailand had sailed out of Hong Kong nine days earlier and wouldn’t complete its journey until it reached Singapore in another six days. Which meant that he had six more days to wait—seven, if the senator and her husband stayed an extra night in Singapore. Surely, he could occupy himself for that amount of time.

Yet when he left the hotel late that morning, he found himself stopping at the front desk for directions to the Quinlan Camp—just in case. When he found himself following those directions, he told himself it was simple curiosity. When he pulled through the wrought iron gates, he figured she probably wasn’t even there.

There were several cars parked outside a long, low building built of hand-hewn logs. Colorful blooms spilled out of the large clay pots that flanked either side of the wooden stairs.

Joel parked his dusty Explorer beside a shiny red pickup truck and got out to stretch his legs. It was still early in the day, and the breeze was cool, the air crisp and clean and scented with the tangy perfume of cedar from the surrounding woods. Having grown up in the city, he wouldn’t consider himself a nature lover, but he couldn’t deny the appeal of this place.

He followed the flagstone path to the wide porch that spanned the length of the building. There were three doors at evenly spaced intervals, the one on the far end slightly ajar. He made his way in that direction, and his heart did a slow roll in his chest as he heard Riane’s voice coming from inside.

He paused with his hand against the heavy wood. The rational part of his brain reminded him that he shouldn’t be here. There was nothing to be gained by pursuing the attraction between them.

Okay, maybe he was hoping that she could give him some of the answers he needed. And he hadn’t completely disregarded the possibility that she was the answer he was seeking. But he wasn’t entirely comfortable using her in such a subversive manner. He was even less comfortable with the feelings that were churning inside him. Feelings that had nothing to do with his reasons for coming to West Virginia and everything to do with the woman who was Riane Quinlan.

There was a pause in the conversation, and he realized that she was on the phone. Then she laughed, and he felt that quick punch of arousal in response.

He should get back in his truck and go.

He pushed open the door.

Riane glanced up, her eyes widening. First with surprise, then pleasure—just a quick, almost imperceptible glimpse of it, immediately supplanted by annoyance. She frowned.

“Someone just came in. Can you call me back later, Adam?”

Adam? Just how many men was Riane juggling in her life? And why was he willing to stand in line to be yet one more?

She nodded and doodled on the legal pad on her desk as she finished up her call. He took a moment to scan the room—utilitarian furnishings, unadorned walls, a few potted plants. It was safer than looking at Riane, at the loose-flowing tresses that framed her delicate features, at the soft pink lips that curved slightly in response to something he couldn’t hear, at the close-fitting sweater that seemed to mold to her breasts—

He tore his gaze away.

“I’ll talk to you later, then,” she agreed.

She hung up the phone, then tilted her head to look up at him again.

“Mr. Logan.” It was more of a question than a greeting.

Without waiting for an invitation he knew wouldn’t be forthcoming, Joel folded his frame into one of the hard plastic chairs facing her. Riane picked up the mug of coffee on her desk, took a sip and grimaced.

“Do you want to take a break?” he asked. “We could go somewhere to get a hot cup of coffee.”

She set the mug back down. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

When she looked at him again, her deep brown eyes were wary.

“I didn’t plan on coming here today,” he admitted. “But I was lying alone in my bed last night, thinking about you. Then I woke up this morning thinking about you. And here I am.”

“I’m not going to be a distraction for you while you’re in town,” she said.

“I just want to spend some time with you.”

“I agreed to show you around tomorrow.”

“I was bored today.”

Riane sighed, shaking her head as she pushed her chair back from the desk and stood up. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll give you a tour of the camp.”

It wasn’t quite what he wanted from her, but he figured it was a start. So he walked around the grounds with her, listening as she explained the function of the camp, the program, her plans for expansion. She had such passion for the project, such focused enthusiasm. It was obvious the camp meant a lot to her, more than he’d realized during their brief discussion at the charity ball.

“This will be our fourth season,” Riane said proudly.

“And two of the counselors we’ve hired for this summer were campers here our first year.”

“You must be very proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

“For the most part,” she agreed. “But there are still too many kids turned away each year simply because of the limited size of our facility.”

“And that’s why you’re expanding?” he guessed.

“We have the space,” Riane told him. “And, thanks to increased contributions this year, we have the funds. By the start of next season, we’ll have six new cabins, each one designed to sleep five campers and a counselor.”

“How many buildings do you have now?”

“Twelve cabins, a mess hall, an arts and crafts center,” she gestured as she explained, “and the stables.”

“Stables?”

She nodded and set off toward a fenced paddock he’d passed on the drive in. “We have half a dozen horses the children are taught to care for and ride.”

“How many people work here?”

“In addition to the counselors, who are mostly volunteers, there’s a registered nurse and child psychologist on staff. Plus Jared, our horse trainer, year-round groundskeeper, camp supervisor and chef.”

“Chef?”

“Someone has to feed the kids.”

“How many kids?” Joel wondered aloud.

“We have sixty kids for each of four two-week sessions.”

“That’s a lot of macaroni and cheese.”

“Jared does better than that,” Riane assured him.

They stopped at the fence that bordered the paddock, leaning against the rails to watch the horses grazing.

“Have I bored you to death yet with all this stuff?”

Joel shook his head. “I think it’s a wonderful thing you’re doing.”

“Even with the expansion, it won’t be enough. We’re considering weekend programs in the spring and fall in addition to the summer camp. In the not-too-distant future, I’d like to open another site—maybe in Virginia or Pennsylvania. Somewhere close by, so I can stay involved with both.”

She sighed again, a heartfelt expression of frustration and futility. “Let’s talk about something else,” she suggested.

“Like what?”

“You.”

He studied the pair of sleek, chestnut horses grazing contentedly in the paddock. “I’m not very interesting.”

Riane clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a sound of disapproval. “That’s hardly the kind of statement to impress a woman,” she chided.

Joel couldn’t help but laugh. “What should I say?”

She shook her head. “I would have thought a guy like you would have figured that out by now.”

“And I would think that a woman like you wouldn’t be swayed by mere words.”

She smiled now, and the curve of those soft, tempting lips did strange things to his heart again.

“You’re right,” she admitted.

Unable to resist, he reached out and skimmed the pad of his finger over her bottom lip. He heard her breath catch, watched her lips part slightly in response to his touch. When he looked up at her again, her eyes were wide.

“What would sway you, Riane?”

She swallowed, her scrambled brain desperately searching for coherent words to respond to his question. She had to say something, anything, to get him to back off. Anything but the truth. Because the truth was that all it would take to sway her was his touch. He hadn’t even kissed her; he’d just brushed his finger over the curve of her lip and her insides had melted.

She’d experienced attraction before but never like this. The jolt of desire, so quick and unexpected, completely debilitated her.

He skimmed his knuckles over her cheek, threaded his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back. She forced herself to meet his gaze, then wished she hadn’t done so. Tightly restrained passion simmered in the depths of his blue eyes. A challenge. A promise.

“What would sway you?” he asked again.

She swept her tongue along her bottom lip, unconsciously following the same path as his fingertip.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be swayed at all,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth again. “Maybe it would have to be your decision.”

“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly. Yes, it would be her decision. And yes, she wanted him.

“You’re a strong woman,” he continued, the low tone of his voice as hypnotic as the desire in his eyes. “Capable. Confident. Passionate.”

Her heart melted just a little. No one had ever called her passionate before. No one had ever made her feel so passionate.

“And complicated,” he finished, almost reluctantly, before combing his fingers through the ends of her hair and dropping his hand back to his side. “I don’t have time for complications.”

The desire he’d so effectively stirred up inside of her gave way to hurt and disappointment. She shoved those unwelcome emotions aside in favor of anger.

“What are you looking for, Logan, a quick tumble to satisfy your basic urges?”

“I wasn’t looking for someone like you,” he admitted.

“Then what are you doing here?”

He looked around, and seemed almost surprised by the setting. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

“I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“I know,” he admitted. “And I thought I could stay away. But I can’t. You’ve got me all tied up in knots and I don’t know what to do about it.”

As far as poetry went, it was somewhat lacking, and yet his words touched something inside her. Or maybe it wasn’t the words so much as the frustration evident in his voice. He didn’t want to want her, but he did. The realization soothed her bruised pride, empowered her fragile heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “Why don’t we just forget about that little outburst and start over?”

“Sure,” Riane agreed, wishing it would be half as easy to forget the unwelcome feelings he’d stirred inside her. She folded her arms against the wooden fence. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

Everything. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Joel Logan, especially what it was about him that had her so enthralled. Through her charity work and her parents’ political connections, she’d had occasion to dine with millionaires, dance with movie stars, discuss international relations with heads of state. She’d never been flustered by the mere presence of a man—until Joel had shown up at her ball.

But that was hardly an admission she was willing to make, so she opted to start with something more simple. “Where did you grow up?”

He seemed surprised by her question, almost relieved. “Philadelphia.”

“Is that where you live now?”

He shook his head. “No. I moved to Fairweather, Pennsylvania, a few years back.”

“Is that where your family is?”

“I don’t know that I have any family left.”

“What do you mean—you don’t know?”

“I haven’t seen my mother since I was six years old. She left me with my grandmother and took off for parts unknown. My grandmother died five years later.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling unaccountably saddened on his behalf. Her mother often teased that the kids who came to her camp were her surrogate siblings—the brothers and sisters she never had. Riane couldn’t deny that there was probably some truth to that. But if she felt there was something missing from her life, she also knew how fortunate she was to have always had the unquestioning love and support of her parents. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be well and truly alone.

“What about your father?” she asked.

“I have no idea who my father is.”

“You never knew him?”

“I don’t know if my mother knew him,” he said dryly.

Her brow furrowed; Joel laughed.

“Not everyone has had the life you’ve had,” he said.

Riane felt her back go up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were raised in a perfect little family, in a cozy mansion on the hill. Between your private school education and ballet lessons and horseback riding, you probably never imagined that there were kids who went to bed hungry at night—or kids who had no bed to go to.”

Riane’s eyes narrowed on him. “Do you think I don’t realize how lucky I’ve been? I may gave grown up in a home of wealth and privilege, and I’m grateful that I’ve never had to worry about my next meal, but I’m not oblivious to what goes on in the rest of the world.

“My parents were in the Foreign Service when I was born. We lived in various places in Central America, Eastern Europe, Africa. It was an incredible opportunity, and it was incredibly disheartening at times. I saw things most people don’t want to hear about.

“I went to visit orphanages with my mother—dirty, overcrowded, unsanitary buildings where most of the children weren’t just orphans but were sick or dying. There was one little girl—” Even after so many years, her throat tightened at the memory. “She was about three years old, but she weighed no more than fifteen pounds. She wasn’t just malnourished, she had AIDS. Both of her parents had died of AIDS a few months earlier, her older sister only days before I met her.

“There was something about her, this child more so than any other I’d seen, that tore at my heart. Maybe it was the way she so simply and quietly accepted her fate. Knowing it was only a matter of time before she died.

“For almost three weeks, I went to that orphanage every day—to see her, to read stories to her. She loved fairy tales. As she listened, she’d smile and get this faraway look in her eyes, as if she was imagining herself inside the story—a life so much better than the one she was living.

“So don’t you dare compare my life to yours and say I don’t understand. Why don’t you stop feeling sorry for yourself for five minutes and compare your life to hers?”

Riane was out of breath by the time she finished, and a little ashamed by her impassioned outburst. It wasn’t like her to go off so easily. She was used to people making judgments about her, treating her commitment to the underprivileged like a hobby or, worse, a stage she would outgrow.

Even Stuart had once suggested that she was too involved with the kids, that she needed to detach herself from their problems. He’d only said it once.

Still, Joel couldn’t have known the depth of her feelings, and she shouldn’t have taken her annoyance out on him.

“You’re right,” he said at last. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” She was more embarrassed than angry now.

“I guess I’ve spent so much time being bitter and resentful about my childhood that I never considered the others who were less fortunate. My grandmother might have bitched and grumbled every time she put a plate in front of me, but she never let me starve.”

She felt his hand on her arm, his touch gentle but firm, forcing her attention back to him. “The little girl in the orphanage, is she the reason you have the camp?”

Riane nodded. “She died just a few weeks after we got there. That was when I resolved to do something to help children like her.”

“How old were you?” he asked.

She looked away again. “Twelve.”

“That’s a hell of a commitment for a twelve-year-old to make.”

“It’s a hell of a way for a three-year-old child to die,” she replied sadly. Then she shook her head, shook off the melancholy mood that had stolen over the moment.

“We were talking about your childhood,” Riane reminded him.

“I think you got the gist of it.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

He shook his head. “I had a sister. She was a few years older than me, took off on her own when she was fifteen and died on the street of a drug overdose less than a year later.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. As an only child, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to grow up with someone, to lose that someone, to be left alone to remember. For so many years she’d wished for a sister—would willingly have settled for a brother—but her parents hadn’t been able to have any more children. Riane knew it had to be easier to have never had a sibling than to have shared such a connection and have it ripped away.

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“You were close,” she guessed.

“At one time.” Then, in a not-so-subtle effort to change the topic, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Riane shook her head. She’d agreed to play tour guide for him to prove that she was her own person—and to prove to herself that she was immune to whatever chemistry she thought existed between them. Her reaction to his unexpected appearance at the camp today proved otherwise. She wasn’t immune at all.

She’d never believed in chemistry or destiny or any other such nonsense. But the more time she spent with Joel, the more she found herself questioning her beliefs. Rational or not—and she was pretty sure it was not—she was attracted to Joel Logan. Which was why she was determined to keep her distance from him as much as possible. She may have already committed herself to showing him around the following day, but that was going to be the extent of her involvement.

“Do you have other plans for dinner?” Joel’s question interrupted her meandering thoughts.

“Yes.”

“With the fiancé?” Joel prompted.

“No.”

Joel didn’t take the hint. “What are you doing?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Riane said, “but I told Sophie I’d be home to eat.”

“What’s she making?”

“Pot roast.”

“Sounds better than anything room service has to offer,” Joel said hopefully.

“I’m not inviting you to my house for dinner.” Although there was a part of her that wanted to do just that. She was intrigued by this man who’d appeared in her life seemingly from nowhere. She wanted to spend time with him, to get to know him. All she really knew was that he was a former cop who lived in Fairweather, Pennsylvania. These sparse details didn’t begin to satisfy her curiosity.

Despite her curiosity, though, she was afraid. Not of Joel, but of her own responses to him. And it was this fear that held her back.

“Please.”

She sighed again. Although she knew it could be dangerous to spend more time with him, they wouldn’t be alone together. Sophie would be there.

So she relented, not entirely unwillingly, to his request. “Dinner will be on the table at seven o’clock.”

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