“So…” Erin asked casually, turning on her tape recorder. “What’s your idea of the perfect date?”

Jared paused. “A leisurely drive to the coast. We’d walk on the beach and have lunch at some cute little place, maybe buy saltwater taffy and fresh-baked bread. Then we’d walk through town and stop at the bumper cars, go for a spin on the merry-go-round, feed the sea lions at the aquarium. Later we’d find some nice, out-of-the-way seafood restaurant and have clam chowder, garlic bread, whatever else strikes our fancy. After dinner, we’d drive home, exhausted and fat, but happy.”

Erin sat as still as stone, stunned by what he’d said. If he’d read her mind, he couldn’t have picked a more perfect response. The only thing she might add would be a long night at a cozy little bed-and-breakfast. Provided, of course, that her date was Jared….

Dear Reader,

We’ve been busy here at Silhouette Romance cooking up the next batch of tender, emotion-filled romances to add extra sizzle to your day.

First on the menu is Laurey Bright’s modern-day Sleeping Beauty story, With His Kiss (#1660). Next, Melissa McClone whips up a sensuous, Survivor-like tale when total opposites must survive two weeks on an island, in The Wedding Adventure (#1661). Then bite into the next juicy SOULMATES series addition, The Knight’s Kiss (#1663) by Nicole Burnham, about a cursed knight and the modern-day princess who has the power to unlock his hardened heart.

We hope you have room for more, because we have three other treats in store for you. First, popular Silhouette Romance author Susan Meier turns on the heat in The Nanny Solution (#1662), the third in her DAYCARE DADS miniseries about single fathers who learn the ABCs of love. Then, in Jill Limber’s Captivating a Cowboy (#1664), are a city girl and a dyed-in-the-wool cowboy a recipe for disaster…or romance? Finally, Lissa Manley dishes out the laughs with The Bachelor Chronicles (#1665), in which a sassy journalist is assigned to get the city’s most eligible—and stubborn—bachelor to go on a blind date!

I guarantee these heartwarming stories will keep you satisfied until next month when we serve up our list of great summer reads.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

The Bachelor Chronicles
Lissa Manley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Kevin, Laura and Sean, for being so patient and self-sufficient while I write. Your faith and support means the world to me. I love you all.

LISSA MANLEY

has been an avid reader of romance since her teens and firmly believes that writing romances with happy endings is her dream job. She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her college-sweetheart husband of nineteen years, Kevin, two children, Laura and Sean, and two feisty toy poodles named Lexi and Angel, who run the household and get away with it. She has a degree in business from the University of Oregon, having discovered the joys of writing well after her college years. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, crafting, attending her children’s sporting events, and relaxing at the family vacation home on the Oregon coast.

Lissa loves to hear from her readers. She can be reached at P.O. Box 91336, Portland, OR 97291-0336, or at http://lissamanley.com.

MEMO

To: Erin James, Staff Reporter

From: Joe Capriati, Assignment Editor

Subject: THE BACHELOR CHRONICLES

Erin—

The Beacon will be running a special-interest feature entitled THE BACHELOR CHRONICLES, which will consist of interviews with local, wealthy bachelors.

To motivate a little healthy competitive reporting, the reporter who turns in the most interesting, attention-grabbing piece will win the byline, a nice bonus and will write the follow-up I have planned.

This is a great opportunity for you, Erin. Find an interesting bachelor (or two) and write a juicy story. Maybe this will be the big break you’ve been after for the last year.

Get out there and snag a fantastic man!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

Erin James stepped into Warfield’s, the hottest java bar in Portland, Oregon, and inhaled deeply, savoring the rich scent of freshly ground coffee. She adjusted her glasses, and her gaze landed on the guy standing behind the counter, studded-out in a designer suit, gold chains and enough hair grease to roast a pig. He had to be Jared Warfield. No surprise that he looked like a carbon copy of every other bachelor she’d interviewed in the past week for her article.

She moved toward the counter and mentally cursed “The Bachelor Chronicles,” her latest project. Interviewing rich bachelors who reminded her way too much of her heartless ex-husband, Brent, seemed trivial. But her editor had promised a fat bonus to the reporter who came up with the best story, and she was counting on getting the byline.

She hated the story idea, which involved featuring wealthy local bachelors in the Beacon and then having each bachelor go on a date with one of the women who wrote to the paper. But she would interview Frankenstein if it kept her house out of foreclosure, the wonderful legacy her ex had bestowed upon her when he’d lost his gigantic trust fund in day trading two years ago, then taken off to parts unknown with one of Erin’s best friends. She’d been stuck with his overdue credit card debt and a mortgage payment she hadn’t been able to cover in months. For the millionth time, Erin wished she’d had the brains to close out their joint charge account before their divorce had been final a year ago.

A pang of anxiety slid through her. She knew too well where uncontrollable spending could land a person. She had no intention of repeating her mother’s mistakes or of hanging on the hairy brink of homelessness. Never again.

Frowning, she pressed a hand to her midsection, systematically forcing herself to relax. She would be a fool to alienate Jared Warfield with a sour attitude before she could get the interview that could turn her life around.

Taking several deep breaths, she manufactured her best reporter smile, determined to free herself from the financial mess she’d been left in and make a new start, on her own.

“May I help you?” Mr. Oily Hair said.

“Yes, Mr. Warfield. I’m Erin James from the Beacon.” She extended her hand over the counter.

He shook her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. James, but I’m Dan Swopes, the manager. This is Mr. Warfield.” He gestured to the man who had just walked behind the counter, a tray of dirty coffee cups in his hands.

Erin barely kept her jaw from falling. That was Jared Warfield, maverick entrepreneur, casually dressed in beige khakis and a navy-blue polo shirt? He looked more like the cashier than the millionaire owner of one of the fastest growing businesses in the city.

As Erin struggled to shift gears, her feminine interest exploded. Jared Warfield was good-looking—very good-looking—in an unconventional kind of way. His buzz-cut dark hair, while severe, enhanced the chiseled bone structure of his face. His mouth was generous yet masculine, and his eyes, which he turned toward her as she stepped closer, were the most unusual shade of brown she’d ever seen. They reminded her of the steaming coffee in mugs being handed over the counter. Rich, dark, yummy coffee.

His well-fitting, short-sleeved shirt accentuated a toned chest, broad, capable shoulders, nicely muscled arms and a taut waist. He was tall and lean and hot, and on second look, much too self-assured and imposing to be the cashier.

Her heart spasmed in her chest and she faltered, but quickly recovered, chiding herself as she moved toward the register. She wasn’t about to have a heart attack over the first really handsome man she’d encountered since her divorce. Brent had been just as gorgeous on the outside, but as ugly as a worm-filled, rotten apple on the inside. Appearances, she’d discovered, were very deceiving.

She took a deep breath and smiled politely. “Oh, I see I’ve made a mistake.” She extended her hand. “Erin James, Mr. Warfield.”

He put the tray down, wiped his hands on a towel and reached out and shook her hand. “Ms. James,” he said, pressing his lips together in a strange scowl. “I’ll finish up here, and then we can sit down and have some coffee and talk.”

As Erin wondered about his frown, hot sparks shot up her arm at his firm, warm handshake. She extracted her hand and words stuck in her throat like a glob of peanut butter. She had finally fulfilled her mother’s dream. She was speechless.

Jared pulled his brows together tighter. “Is that all right?”

Erin cleared her throat, thrown off balance by the ribbons of fire shooting from her hand into her bloodstream and by how unhappy he looked to be meeting her. It didn’t bode well for the interview. “Uh, sure, sure, whatever you say,” she said, hoping the warm blush she felt spreading through her face wasn’t too obvious. “I’ll wait over there for you.” She gestured to a blue flowered couch against the far wall.

He nodded and Erin walked over to the overstuffed couch and sat down. She took a deep breath and plastered a calm expression on her face. Heavens, she hoped her strange reaction to him was only surprise at finding him to be so good-looking yet so unflashy—at least on the outside. Whatever the case, with her house on the line, this was the wrong time to get in a muddle over a man.

But as she sat and waited, her eyes kept wandering in Jared’s direction to watch his capable movements behind the counter. She couldn’t help but notice how his muscled torso bunched and moved beneath his blue shirt as he reached for coffee mugs and made cappuccino.

When he came out from behind the counter and headed her way, she bit her lip hard. Figured. His bottom half was just as well put together as his top half. When he turned and greeted a customer, she found her interested gaze glued to his backside.

“Wow,” she whispered, her jaw hanging. He had the cutest, tightest pair of buns she’d ever seen.

She dragged her gaze away and closed her mouth, wondering why she was so enthralled by Jared Warfield. Maybe she’d been alone for too long. Yes, that was it. Not allowing a man in her life since Brent, who had cut out her heart, was obviously the problem. She was sure any reasonably attractive guy would have the same effect on her.

Relaxing, she leaned over and rummaged in her brief-case for her small tape recorder. She reminded herself it really didn’t matter how movie-star gorgeous this Warfield guy was. She didn’t need or want a man now, especially not after her disastrous marriage and gut-wrenching divorce.

As if the only man, other than her father, that she’d ever loved walking out on her wasn’t bad enough, the icing on the cake had been when Brent had announced he was broke because of bad investments. The day their divorce had been final, she’d sewn her tattered heart back together as best she could, thrown out all of Brent’s stuff, sworn off men and promised herself to avoid anything resembling love. She intended to stick to that vow and concentrate on writing her story, digging herself out of debt and saving her house and her self-respect. No man was worth the heartache or distraction, not even one with café au lait eyes and a body to die for.

Though he would rather shove bamboo under his fingernails than give an interview, Jared moved toward the stunning redhead from the Beacon, still puzzled by her strange behavior. A few minutes ago she’d looked downright flustered. He shrugged irritably and passed it off as simple embarrassment for mistaking Dan for himself.

Of course, she could just be putting her antennae up to scope him out, like he’d seen loads of women do to the Warfield men, hoping to marry a millionaire.

Balancing a mocha cappuccino in one hand and a plate laden with a fresh apple turnover in the other, he navigated over to the reporter. Hopefully this interview would be done soon and he could get back to work. He resented wasting his time on this stuff. He’d only consented because Warfield’s needed the publicity. If not for Warfield’s, he wouldn’t go anywhere near the press. He had Allison to think of now.

When he arrived at the couch, the reporter looked up at him, her beautiful moss-green eyes glinting behind her tortoiseshell glasses.

“Thanks for waiting.” He set the cappuccino and pastry down on the low coffee table in front of the couch, ignoring his sudden, strange urge to study those eyes and her flawless, creamy skin. Lowering himself into the wing chair behind him, he told himself to loosen up. He’d give a few stock answers and then send the reporter on her way. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

“Do you make a habit of working behind the counter?” she asked, her brows raised.

He sensed the surprise behind her question. “Not usually, but we’re short on help today, and I pitch in where I’m needed. I started Warfield’s with one store and one employee, so I’ve had plenty of experience waiting on customers.”

She picked up a small tape recorder. “Do you mind if I tape this interview?”

His first instinct was to refuse; why make her job easier? But it wasn’t as if he had anything against this particular reporter. Besides, he reminded himself, Warfield’s would benefit from a spread in the Beacon. “No, not at all,” he replied, striving to keep the impatience from his voice. “And help yourself to the cappuccino and apple turnover.”

She pulled her mouth into a tiny smile. “I love apple turnovers and cappuccino.” She picked the flaky pastry up and took a big bite. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

He smiled. Her enjoyment of the pastry, one of his own favorites, pleased him. Maybe this interview wouldn’t be so bad after all. Relaxing against the back of the chair, he drew his leg up and propped his ankle on the opposite knee, liking the sight of her unselfconsciously demolishing the turnover.

He knew he shouldn’t stare but did, anyway, letting his gaze wander over her rose-tinted face, liking the light freckles that dusted her straight, just-the-right-size nose. He wondered if that thick mane of auburn curls falling like waves of flame to below her shoulders was as soft as it looked. He wished he could run his fingers through the fiery strands to find out.

Enjoying his exploration, he let his eyes roam lower, taking in her full lips, the exact color of the delicate carnations he’d planted in his backyard. Drawing a deep breath, he moved his gaze downward past her blue skirt to her legs. Though her skirt wasn’t particularly short, it still displayed her legs below her knees. And what perfect, stunning legs they were, willowy and curved exactly the way he liked.

His heart began to beat heavily in his chest. Heat enveloped him. He looked back up and found her delicately licking pastry sugar from her fingers. He stifled a groan, unable to help watching in blatant fascination as her pink tongue came out and cleaned her fingers of sugar, one…by one…by one. Swallowing, he averted his gaze again, fighting for control, and repositioned his watch on his wrist.

Don’t go there, buddy. Don’t want what you don’t need. Getting hung up on a reporter would be the one, surefire way to expose little Allison to the rabid media, which had burned him before.

When he looked back at Ms. James, she had thankfully finished cleaning her fingers. She flicked on the tape recorder. “First, I’m going to ask you some questions, like your age and what you like to do. Then I’ll let you talk for a while, all right?”

He nodded tersely.

She scooched over on the couch until she sat just a foot from him. Her delicate scent—roses—floated over him, and he fought the urge to sniff the air and drag in more of the wonderful, feminine smell through his nose. The last time he’d smelled anything that good was while standing in the middle of his flower beds when they were in full bloom.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Thirty-two.” He tried to make his voice sound like her perfume wasn’t wreaking havoc with his senses.

“And have you always lived in Portland?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Soooo…what are your interests?” She licked at the sugary coating on her lips again.

He watched her tongue stroke her lip, and the heat in his body was stoked back to life. “Uh, interests?”

She pursed her sugary lips, then picked up her cappuccino. “You know, hobbies, likes, dislikes. That kind of thing.”

Jared ruthlessly forced his eyes, and thoughts, away from her mouth and how much he wanted to take care of that sugar himself. “Well, I like to ski and work in my garden—”

She stopped midsip and looked at him over the rim of the cup. “You like to garden?”

He lifted a brow and nodded. “Sure. I grow enough vegetables to keep me supplied all summer.”

“Oh, come on.” She put her cup down. “You grow your own vegetables?”

He gave her a stony glare, feeling his strange attraction being replaced by his earlier irritation and wariness. “Yes, I do, Ms. James. I also like to cook. Surprised?”

“Quite frankly, I am,” she said, tucking some stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Most men like you wouldn’t want to get their hands messy enough to garden or cook. I figured you’d be more interested in fast cars, wild parties and loose women in lingerie, stuff like that.”

He clenched his jaw and dropped his foot to the floor. Loose women in lingerie? Damn, how he hated what everyone expected him to be, the wealthy guy without a care in the world, tooling around in his hot car, chasing women day and night. Sure, he had nice things and a nice car, but he’d worked his butt off to make Warfield’s what it was today and to enjoy the perks that came with being a successful business owner. And, yeah, he’d had his share of chasing women in his younger days, but he was over that now that he had Allison in his life.

“I guess I’m not like most men, then, am I?” he said, just managing to be civil.

Her gaze flicked down and held on his wristwatch for a long, significant moment. “Well, most men don’t have trust funds to live on, do they?” Her mouth spread into a tight, judgmental smile.

He clenched his hands. His instincts about this interview had proved dead-on. The press was bad news. They’d ridden his back his whole life, always groveling for some kind of story about his famous family. And then, before he’d threatened one reporter with libel a year ago, they’d tried to do a hatchet job when his half sister, Carolyn, had died.

The media had been too damn eager to exploit the circumstances of the famous Janet Worthington’s daughter’s death. Not only had a slew of reporters hounded him for details of the motorcycle crash that had snuffed out Carolyn’s life, they’d jumped on him like a pack of wolves when he’d adopted Carolyn’s six-month-old baby daughter, Allison. The press had wanted to splash her picture across the front page. Man, how Carolyn would have hated that.

The familiar guilt for failing to save Carolyn jabbed at him, fueling his desire to cut this interview short. He knew he was overreacting, but this snooty reporter had managed to push his buttons, right off the bat. Ms. James might be really nice to look at but she was obviously nothing but a self-serving reporter out to dig up dirt.

He rose, staring her down. “Trust funds? How do you know what the hell I live on?”

She blinked and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Uh, well…” She hesitated, clearly unprepared for his sudden turnabout. Luckily he had been prepared for her ambush.

Jared didn’t wait for her to say more. “Your interview’s over, sweetheart.” He leaned down and deliberately placed his hands on the coffee table and bent in close. Her scent washed over him again, but his anger doused its effect. “For your information, I’ve worked damned hard to get to where I am today and I don’t need you turning your pert little nose up at my lifestyle.” He straightened and sent her a hard glare. “Go find someone else to insult.” He turned to walk away.

“Mr. Warfield?”

Something in her soft tone made him stop, his hands still fisted at his sides. He didn’t turn around.

“I chose you for this article because you have the kind of lifestyle our readers want to read about. Unfortunately, I guess, money is part of your life. It’s my job to write the story my editor wants.”

Unmoved, he swiveled back to face her. She might not have been technically out of line, but she’d implied that he was a lazy idiot who had nothing better to do than piddle away his inheritance. She’d struck right at the heart of one of his biggest pet peeves: people who assumed he’d ridden his father’s coattails to instant wealth. Her rude assumptions were so far from the truth that they would be laughable if they didn’t make him so angry. He hadn’t used one penny of the Warfield millions to build his business, which he was damn proud of.

Yeah, he would follow his instincts on this one. To hell with her story. He was out of here.

“Too bad.” He ignored how her pretty green eyes widened in stunned surprise. “You can go back to your editor and tell him this rich guy changed his mind. The interview’s off.”

He stalked off and left her sitting on the couch with her sugary mouth hanging open and her tape recorder still running.

Heart pounding, Erin watched Jared walk away toward a door at the back of the store, unable to resist taking one last peek at the rear view of his perfect male body. The guy had just told her to take a hike, yet she could still feel the pulse of her attraction sizzling through her body like an electric current. Who would have guessed a man could turn her on while telling her off?

But that didn’t matter. Her desperation was what counted here. What had possessed her to bring up loose women in lingerie? She’d blown it, big-time.

Nibbling a nail, Erin acknowledged she’d been thrown off whack ever since she saw Jared standing behind the counter. Had her neglected libido sent her good judgment flying out the window? That had to be the problem. What else could have caused her to alienate part of her biggest story opportunity in months, jeopardizing her only chance to pay off Brent’s debts and save her house in one fell swoop?

Shaking her head, she flicked her tape recorder off, fighting away panic. What now? She sat and munched on her turnover, but the sweet sugar and tart apples suddenly tasted like sawdust.

She had to admit, Jared wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d been ready for a shallow jerk. Instead she’d met with a gorgeous male with fathomless brown eyes, a body like a Greek god and an interest in growing vegetables, for goodness sakes! If he’d told her he was a leprechaun from Ireland she wouldn’t have been more surprised. He had to be putting on an act for the interview. She’d noticed his Rolex watch and designer label khakis. He might look normal from a distance, but he probably wasn’t. Brent had worn the same designer pants and had sported a similar watch.

Despite glimpses of tantalizing ordinariness, Jared was more than likely a replica of Brent, which would be too bad if she were in the market for a man. She definitely wasn’t, though she could easily lose herself in Jared’s sexy eyes and intensely appreciate his big, male body. She might have sworn off men, but apparently she wasn’t dead.

Reality check. Even though Jared Warfield had brought her stupid body back to life, Brent’s success at ripping her heart out made Jared off-limits. But for an instant, that cute, normal, cashier guy had been her fantasy man come true.

She snorted under her breath. So much for fantasies. After Brent she knew better than to believe in dreams. How could she forget the scorn he’d hurled at her until there was nothing left but the bitter knowledge that she was just as useless to Brent as she had been to her mother?

Brent had hammered that message into her heart with a nail when he’d left her.

Standing, she fingered the chain around her neck, the one tangible thing she had to remind herself how important it was not to love any man again. She fought off her bad memories and the gathering sense of doom, then picked up her stuff, took one long swig of her cappuccino and headed out the door. Warm air surrounded her, and she raised her face to the sun, trying to let the gorgeous September day ease the frustration of ruining her interview.

She made a left on the sidewalk and walked back toward her office. She came to the end of the block and waited for the signal to change, searching her mind for a rich bachelor she might have missed in her search for interview subjects. But she came up empty. Jared was her last hope. She had to get that bonus.

Suddenly a familiar tune caught her ear. She turned toward the sound and realized the music came from a late model, bright-red BMW convertible sedan with its top down in the street in front of her. She glanced at the driver. And blinked. Jared. The expensive sports car wasn’t a surprise. What was a shocker was that he was singing along with the seventies tune on the radio while a huge, shaggy dog buckled in the front passenger seat of the car, his furry head thrown back, howled along with him.

The two of them were singing their hearts out, in perfect unison. Though horribly off-key, as she would expect, the dog could sing. She chuckled under her breath. She’d never seen or heard anything like it before.

The light and the walk signal changed. As Jared pulled away, Erin noticed a child’s car seat in the back next to a dog crate much too small for the dog in the front seat. She also caught a glimpse of the car’s license plate, which simply read Coffee.

Surprise froze her to the curb. Gardening. A howling dog. A kid’s car seat? Jared Warfield was becoming more of a mystery by the minute. Since she’d been pressed for time, she had done only minimal research on Jared, but she was certain she hadn’t read anything about a child. As far as she knew, he’d never even been married. She found herself intrigued. Was he hiding a love child? Or was he secretly married? It would be interesting to peel back the layers to the real man beneath—along with his clothes, of course.

Sirens went off in her brain. What was she thinking? A droolworthy, loaded guy was the last person she should spend any time with. But she had to see him again whether she liked it or not. She needed that bonus desperately, and her reporter’s instincts told her she wouldn’t get it without Jared featured in her article. He was a hot commodity right now, and his family was famous in Portland. If she didn’t interview him, somebody else would and she’d lose out. No, she couldn’t give up on interviewing “Hunk” Warfield.

Then again, “Elvis” Warfield seemed appropriate. When she thought about it, so did “Farmer” Warfield. And “Daddy” Warfield, too. As she started walking again, she wondered if Jared was really what he seemed—an ordinary man who liked dogs and kids and who would undoubtedly love a woman the way she’d always dreamed of, with his heart and soul and everything in him?

A man so different from Brent.

No. That man didn’t exist. Even so, her insides melted at the thought of someone loving her, reminding her of how long it had been since anyone had really cared about her, how many years had passed since her father had died while illegally racing his souped-up ’67 Mustang.

She reached up again and grasped the dime-store chain that had once held the sapphire ring he’d given her a few days before he’d died. Oh, how she wished he’d loved her enough not to risk his life racing cars. Unfortunately, the ring was gone now….

Erin closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the pain of the day her mom had yanked the chain from around Erin’s neck to pawn the ring for cash. Fighting off a wave of grief and yearning, she forced herself to focus on her predicament rather than her innumerable old hurts. She was totally intrigued with a man who would probably stick pins in a voodoo doll with red hair, given the chance.

How was she going to dig herself out of this mess? She didn’t have a clue, but she wasn’t about to roll over and let fate knock her to her knees again. Not after the sheer hell Brent had put her through. One way or another she’d get her interview and the bonus, and she’d satisfy her reporter’s curiosity and discover exactly what kind of man Jared was—without drooling.

She turned the corner, again noticing the beautiful day, complete with clear blue sky, warm, calming breeze and green trees gently rustling in the light wind. It was too lovely a day for her life to fall apart. Yes, she would turn Jared around. She had to.

Failure simply wasn’t an option.

Chapter Two

Erin stepped through the door leading to the roof of Jared’s office building and shielded her eyes from the bright sun and intense blue sky. She hung back, gathering her courage, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say to him.

When she’d returned to her office yesterday after she’d seen Jared and the singing dog, she’d done a little research on Mr. Warfield. She’d found oodles of information about his father, who was a business icon in Portland, having made a fortune in commercial real estate investments.

She’d come across a little information about his half sister, who’d had problems with drugs and was the daughter of Janet Worthington, a former Hollywood actress who’d died of cancer three years ago. She’d also found a bit of information on Jared, mostly stories about Warfield’s, especially in its early days when coffeehouses were still novel. But she’d hit the jackpot when she’d found an article in another paper about Jared adopting his niece when his sister died in a motorcycle crash.

Bingo. The mysterious car seat had been explained. Jared was a dad to his adopted niece.

Even though she had her answer about the car seat, she still needed to convince Jared to give her an interview. Taking a deep breath, she pressed a shaking hand to her twisting, rolling stomach, her white silk blouse sticking to her damp palm, praying that the sparks and heat she’d felt at Warfield’s were nothing but a fluke.

She glanced around, taking in the colorful rooftop garden Jared had presumably created, and suppressed an inward cringe. He did like to garden. Way to go, Erin.

She spotted Jared in the corner, squatting with his wide back turned, his hands buried in a large pot. Her stomach somersaulted again, and her heart jumped in her chest like a hyper kangaroo. With a muttered oath, she backed up a few steps, urging herself to calm down.

After she’d sucked in several long breaths and dried her hand on her beige linen skirt, she moved forward again, summoning up the courage to speak. “Mr….Mr. Warfield?” Oh, great start. She sounded like a scared little girl about to confront the boogeyman.

He snapped his head around, his face pressed into a surprised frown, then stood. Walking toward her, a crease in his brow, he wiped his hands on the denim work apron he wore over a pale-yellow oxford shirt that made his eyes look like dark, creamy chocolate. “How did you get here?”

Erin raised her chin, trying to ignore how he loomed over her, the masculine breadth of his shoulders blocking the bright sun and azure sky from her view. “Your secretary told me where you were.”

“Really? Now why would she do that when I gave very specific instructions not to be disturbed?”

Erin uneasily lifted a shoulder, forcing herself to display a nonchalance she hadn’t felt since she’d laid eyes on Jared yesterday. “I sort of told her I had a few more questions to ask you.”

“A few more? Did you forget to mention that I canceled the interview?”

She glanced down, wishing she were a better liar. “I, uh, might have forgotten to mention that, yes.”

“What do you want?”

She suppressed a flinch at his rude tone, smiled tremulously and stood her ground, forcing herself to remember what was at stake despite the anxiety ripping her in-sides apart like razors. “I came to apologize for my…unprofessional behavior.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And what else?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You didn’t come here just to apologize.”

He was right, and it was time to quit quaking in her boots, get the job done and claw her way out of the hole she’d dug for herself.

She swallowed. “Actually, Mr. Warfield, I was hoping you’d reconsider and consent to the interview—”

“Why should I?”

“Because you promised you’d give it?” she asked, hoping to appeal to his sense of fair play—if he had one.

He shook his head. “I never agreed to be insulted and pigeonholed with all of the other jerky men in the world.”

She held up her hands. “I know, but I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m much too outspoken, it’s my biggest fault. I’d like to start over.”

He squatted down and put his hands in another pot. “I’m sure you would, but that’s impossible. I only agreed to the interview because my advertising people thought it would be good publicity. But no publicity is worth being badgered about my money or lifestyle.”

While she didn’t really think she’d badgered him exactly, she would say anything to convince him to give her a second chance. “Can I explain?”

Without waiting for him to reply she kept going. “I… I’d had several other interviews and all of them were the epitome of the spoiled, lazy rich guy. I guess I assumed you were, too. I made a mistake and I’m very sorry I offended you.” She paused and drew a deep breath, prepared to beg. “I really need this story. Please, won’t you reconsider? I know the story idea is a little lame and the date you’d have to go on might be awkward—”

He swung his head around. “Date? What date?”

“That’s part of the article. The Beacon features you in the Saturday edition, and then women write in and try to convince you to take them on a date. My editor chooses a winner and then—”

“No way.” He rose and rubbed the dirt from his hands. “No one but me chooses who I date. Sorry, Ms. James, my decision stands.” He untied his apron, yanked it off and threw it in a box of gardening supplies next to the door. “If you’ll excuse me?”

As she vaguely wondered why Jared seemed so against one little date, panic seeped through her. With as much bravado as she could muster, she shoved the desperate feeling aside. This wasn’t the time to become spineless.

Jared stepped past her and moved to the stairwell. She followed him, noticing how nicely his well-muscled shoulders flowed into his narrow waist and tight rear end. She jerked her thoughts away from his body, back to the pressing problem at hand. “Please, Mr. Warfield. I need this interview, and the publicity would be good for business.”

“I don’t need the publicity that bad,” he said, stomping down the stairs.

“But you just said your marketing department thought it was a good idea,” she said, struggling to keep up with his hasty descent down the stairwell. “Think of it as free advertising.”

He held up his hands, then turned and unlocked the door to his office. “Look, Ms. James, I appreciate your effort.” He pushed the door open. “But I’ve made my decision—”

A tiny, white puppy exploded from the small office and jumped at Jared’s legs.

All thoughts of the article disappeared from Erin’s head. “Oh, look at that! What a sweetheart.” She squatted and held her arms out. “Come over here, puppy.”

The fluffy puppy bounded over to Erin and launched itself into her arms. Enchanted, Erin flopped sideways onto the carpeted floor as best she could in her skirt and held the dog close, taking every single kiss the enthusiastic puppy had to dole out.

She loved dogs. She’d had a dog once, a fluffy mutt her dad had named Max. But her dad died when she was eight, and so her mom had given the dog away, claiming Max made her allergies flare up. Erin had never been aware of any allergies and said so, but it hadn’t made any difference. The dog was gone within hours, to where, Erin never knew. She’d cried for days, in private, of course. Her mom found fault with almost everything Erin did, but displays of emotion topped the list.

“What a cutie-pie you are, yes you are.” She stroked the puppy’s curly fur and planted kisses on its fuzzy head, falling headfirst into memories of her dad and Max. The three of them had spent hours together on walks and playing at the park. Those days, spent with her dad, were the only time in her life she’d felt truly loved and cared for. Of course, true to the pattern in her life since, her happiness had come to an abrupt end when he’d died.

After a few melancholy moments she pulled herself out of her reverie, sensing the force of Jared’s burnished gaze. She glanced up at him, noting his puckered brow. Uneasiness slid through her.

He cocked a slight smile. “Do you really love dogs, or are you just trying to soften me up to get your interview?”

She clambered to her feet, the puppy still in her arms, and smoothed her skirt down at the hips. She gazed at him frankly. “Look, I love dogs with or without the interview.” She shook her head, perplexed. “What could my love of animals possibly have to do with the interview, anyway?”

“You could pretend to like dogs so I’d look down and think how cute you two look together and—”

She handed the pup back to him. “Yes, well, that’s a little farfetched. I reacted the way I always do when I see a cute baby animal. I got down on the floor to play.” Erin’s curiosity about what drove Jared, already piqued, rose even higher. Why was he so wary about every little thing she said and did?

She looked directly in his eyes and raised an inquisitive brow. “You don’t trust me very much, do you, Mr. Warfield?”

“I don’t particularly distrust you, Ms. James,” he said slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully. “I’m sorry if I offended you, but I’ve learned to be cautious around the press.”

She would love to know why he was so skittish. Fortunately, she wouldn’t know him long enough to find out, and she doubted her article would delve that deep. And this certainly didn’t seem like the time to press him about his daughter. “I’ve noticed that.”

She leaned toward him and nuzzled the pup in his arms. Realizing how close she was, she stiffened and looked up. Her eyes met his and their gazes held. Silence strung out between them, taut and tense. She was so close she could smell his scent, coffee and earth, swirling around her. Sparks of awareness tingled along her skin. Her heart leaped. Obviously, the attraction she’d felt earlier was not a one-time thing.

His gaze flicked to her lips and stopped, and her body tightened. She swayed toward him, wishing with everything in her that he would close the distance between them and press that wicked mouth against hers for a long, deep kiss.

The puppy yipped, breaking the spell, scrambling Erin’s control like eggs in a sizzling frying pan. She took a quick step back and drew in a ragged breath. Man, Jared was hot. His smell and gorgeous body were enough to make control a foreign word.

Enough, already! Shocked, Erin moved back another step and ripped her gaze from his, hoping he didn’t notice her blush. She scrabbled for control, focusing her wayward attention on what she’d come here for. Her story. The bonus. Financial salvation.

“So, about the interview?” she asked, proud of how normal she’d made her voice sound after she’d almost burst into flames.

He turned and moved behind his neat-as-a pin, heavy wood desk, an expression on his face she couldn’t decipher. “Still after that story.”

She regarded him solemnly. “It’s my job.”

He tucked the puppy under one arm and looked through some papers on his desk with his free hand, but didn’t speak right away. Her heart pounding, Erin waited for an answer.

Finally he looked up, his face hard. “I’m sorry, Ms. James.”

Erin fought the panic spreading through her, grasping at straws in a last-ditch effort to change his mind. “Even if I let you have final approval of the article?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No.”

The burn of defeat spread through her, creating a lump in her throat the size of a boulder. She vaguely wondered how she was going to clean up the gigantic financial mess Brent had saddled her with and how she was going to complete “The Bachelor Chronicles.”

She nodded woodenly and pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. “I guess… I guess I’ll go now,” she managed to say. She wished she could forget this story and Jared Warfield and everything else that had happened in the past two days.

And then, because she had no choice, she turned and walked away, hoping she would wake up and discover this was all just a bad dream.

Jared watched Erin leave, admiring her slender legs from the back, loving the way her curvy hips moved under her skirt.

When she was gone, he rubbed Josie behind her ears and tried to regain control of his body, floored at how close he’d come to kissing Erin a few minutes earlier. Thank goodness Josie had let out that bark in the nick of time.

Despite his irritation over the pull he felt toward Erin, he still wondered if he shouldn’t have given her the damn interview. If marketing said Warfield’s needed the publicity, then Warfield’s needed the publicity.

Oh, man. Had he let his desire to protect Allison intrude on his good business sense? Maybe he should call Erin back.

The sizzling look they’d shared was incentive enough, as was the way she’d looked sitting on the floor with Josie, her skirt hiked up above her knees, her long, shapely legs exposed. With her auburn curls framing her face and her moss-colored eyes sparkling with delight, she’d looked like a woodland goddess come to life.

He brought his thoughts up short. He met beautiful women every day. Why was he even thinking about calling back this woman reporter? Why should he trust the media, especially now, when he and Allison were finally taking baby steps toward recovering from the heart-tearing grief of Carolyn’s death?

No. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up with Erin James, or any other woman for that matter. All of his father’s wives had left him, and he’d died alone and miserable, and that had taught Jared an important lesson: never let a woman worm her way into his life only to leave him or take advantage of him in the end. He had to protect himself, and now he had Allison to think about, too.

No way was he going to mess up his precious daughter’s life by getting involved with a woman. Sure, he dated occasionally to satisfy his need for social activity, among other things. But drinks and dinner, usually never with the same woman more than a few times, were as far as his dating ever went. He made it a point not to date anyone he might be tempted to bring home, or anyone who might want to get her hooks into a millionaire—and that seemed to be everybody. He avoided emotional entanglements like a dreaded disease.

And Erin was a reporter, to boot. No way was he going to let some gossip-chasing journalist close enough to hurt Allison.

No. Erin James was out for her story and would probably exploit him given the chance. Flower-colored lips and leaf-speckled eyes couldn’t change that. Nothing could. Resolutely he vowed to put the whole thing from his mind. He’d never wanted to do the interview, and now he wouldn’t have to.

He put Josie in her crate next to his desk, then leaned back in his chair, fiddling with his watch, waiting for relief to surface.

A few minutes later his eighteen-month-old daughter, Allison, appeared in the doorway holding her nanny, Mrs. Sloane’s, hand. “Hi, Dada!” Allison crowed, waving. She ran into his office and jumped into his outstretched arms, looking absolutely adorable in light-blue pants and a pink top with fuzzy yellow bunnies all over it.

He pulled her close and buried his head in her wispy, blond curls, loving how her baby-fresh hair tickled his nose. “Ally-Bear. What a nice surprise.” He gave Mrs. Sloane a questioning look.

She smoothed her gray hair, pulled back in its customary bun, and smiled indulgently at Allison, her gray eyes sparkling. “She wanted to come visit her daddy. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” He pressed his mouth to Allison’s neck and made raspberry sounds. “I’m always happy to see my pretty girl.”

Allison chortled in delight and squirmed away. “Tickly, Dada.” She pulled back and plopped down on his lap, then maneuvered herself around and scooted out until she sat just behind his knees. “Horsey, Dada, horsey!”

Smiling, Jared put his hands under her arms and moved his legs up and down in a jerky, horselike fashion. “We’re going on a ride, Ally-Bear. Hold on!” he playfully warned, then moved his legs faster and faster.

Allison shrieked in delight.

Jared had never heard a more wonderful, happy sound in his life. He didn’t want to do anything that might threaten his angel, something that might someday give her a reason not to giggle her heart out.

He made the choice then and there not to second-guess his decision to back out of the interview. Erin James had gotten his back up from the get-go. He didn’t trust her, and he never would. Too much was at stake to risk opening up to her. He’d forget everything remotely connected with the delectable reporter and put his darling Allison first.

Allison laughed again, and the sound echoed within his heart, filling a space that he’d always thought would be empty. Allison was all he needed.

Case closed. He’d do everything possible to stay away from Erin James, no matter how good she smelled.

Erin looked up from the legal pad on her lap. “Come on,” she said to her best friend, Colleen. “Get over here and help me. I need to figure out how to get this interview.”

Colleen glared at her over the door of Erin’s refrigerator and shoved her blond curls out of her eyes. “Would you cool your jets? You burned dinner, so I’m starving.”

Erin pressed her lips together and pushed up her glasses. Colleen was no help at all. “How can you think about food at a time like this? My future’s at stake here.”

The fridge door slammed. Colleen stalked into the living room, an apple in her hand. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?” she said, her eyebrows lifted high, a mock-accusatory look on her face.

Erin raised her hands in surrender. “I know, I know, I blew it. You don’t have to say it again.”

“Oh, but I do,” Colleen said, her mouth curved into a satisfied smile. “For the first time in ages a man’s gotten to you. This day has been long in coming.”

Erin dropped her shoulders and gave her friend a dispassionate look. “Would you get serious? He hasn’t ‘gotten to me’ at all.”

“You get serious. You haven’t been with a man in more than two years. It was only a matter of time before your self-imposed celibacy landed you in trouble.”

“It wasn’t that at all,” Erin said, only half believing the statement herself. “It was my big mouth, as usual.” And her darn curiosity.

“Maybe so, but you said yourself this guy was good-looking. Would you have blown the interview if he looked like Elmer Fudd?”

Erin hesitated. Colleen had made a good point. The disgusting truth was, Erin had been nothing but a big old mass of need since she’d clung to Jared’s hot, interested gaze over the puppy’s head. It looked like her plan to avoid being affected by men had backfired.

“Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants, you’re right,” Erin finally said. “I’m attracted to him. But that’s pointless, and so is analyzing why I messed up the interview.” She gazed speculatively at Colleen. “Did I tell you I discovered Jared adopted his niece when his sister died a year ago?”

“Yes, I think you’ve mentioned it a time or two,” Colleen mumbled around a chunk of apple.

Erin lifted one shoulder. “Okay, I’ll admit that bit of information intrigues me. I mean, how many single guys would adopt a child?”

“Not many,” Colleen admitted. “Pretty fascinated by this guy, aren’t you? Do I sense a romance in the making?”

Erin stared at Colleen, her friend’s question restoring Erin’s vow not to be so darn interested in Jared, aside from the interview she needed. “No, you don’t. I’m not fascinated. All I’m interested in is finding a way to get the job done, not encourage a romance.”

“Okay. So what about sex?”

Erin wasn’t at all surprised by Colleen’s statement. With Colleen, everything came down to sex. Erin looked at her as if she was a dull child. “This isn’t about sex. It’s about getting that bonus.”

Colleen slid her gaze to Erin, her blue eyes gleaming. “Of course it’s about sex. Men relate to sex better than anything. Use it to get the interview.”

Erin blinked and widened her eyes. “You think I should…have sex with him to get the interview?”

“Of course not! Just use your sexuality to soften him up. More than one man has been known to give in to a sexy, confident woman.”

Colleen’s idea sounded stupid. Erin was hardly sexy, and she was feeling far from confident about this situation. Yet, Jared had stared back today. Though she’d been out of commission for a while, Erin knew the look of an appreciative male when she saw it. But using that to her advantage seemed…well, sleazy. Though she’d used some sly tactics in the past to get a story, she’d never used sex to do her job. Besides, she thought, glancing down at her baggy sweats and toe socks, she would never be enough of a femme fatale to pull it off.

She bit her lip, remembering how Brent had called her a fat cow the day he’d left her. The wound on her heart throbbed.

Self-consciously pulling her sweatshirt down over her hips, she shook her head. “No way,” she stated emphatically. “Sex is out of the question.”

Colleen snorted. “I wasn’t suggesting you strip naked and jump on him. Use what you’ve got to soften him up.”

Erin let out a laugh and gestured to herself with a flick of her hand. “This is all I’ve got.”

“Give yourself some credit. You have great legs, fantastic hair and gorgeous eyes. Use those things to capture and hold Warfield’s interest to get the interview.”

Erin pulled her pencil from behind her ear and chewed on it. Maybe Colleen was right. It wouldn’t have to go far; just a little apologizing, flirting, maybe a flash of leg…

The thought of dealing with Jared under those circumstances sent a major swarm of butterflies into her stomach. Lord, she didn’t know if she could face him again. But she was desperate, and she hadn’t come up with any other bright ideas. She had one more shot to get the interview and the bonus. Drastic measures seemed appropriate.

She looked at her friend’s stylish blond hairstyle and flattering outfit. “Would you help me do this?” she asked, feeling a sense of insecurity.

Colleen wagged her eyebrows. “You want me to come along and coach from the sidelines?”

“Of course not.” The last thing she needed was an audience to witness her trying to attract a man. “But I could use some advice on clothes and makeup. What do you think?”

Colleen smiled conspiratorially and rubbed her hands together. “You’ve come to the right place. Let’s get to work.”

Erin did her best to return Colleen’s smile, but found it difficult. She was an absolute lunatic for thinking she could attract a man like Jared Warfield, even as part of a weird plot to convince him to give her the interview.

Brent’s merciless treatment had struck an almost fatal blow to her self-confidence.

But she had to stuff her doubts, forget about the damage Brent had caused and take the chance. She might lose her dignity, but thank goodness she didn’t have to worry about losing her heart.

Jared read the card he’d found attached to the small, flat gift, wrapped in flowery tissue paper and curly ribbon.

Dear Mr. Warfield:

Please accept this gift as a token of my regret regarding our conversation yesterday. I am officially ready to eat crow and conduct a proper interview. I would love to have you as my guest for lunch today at The Viceroy at noon. See you then.

Sincerely, Erin James.

He shook his head and reached for the heavy package and quickly tore the flimsy tissue aside. Inside was a beautifully done book on flowers of the Pacific Northwest. A smile curved his lips at the significance of the subject matter; Ms. James was trying to make up for her inappropriate comments about his love for gardening.

While he admired her persistence, he still had no intention of granting her the interview and going on some ridiculous, arranged date. Glancing at the picture of Allison on his desk, her four new teeth visible behind her cute little smile, he reminded himself of his vow to keep the media out of their lives for good.

But he might meet Erin for lunch just to see the look on her face when he showed up and refused to talk about himself. This had become a challenge, something he often couldn’t resist. Yes, that was it, this was a game, nothing more. Accepting her invitation had nothing to do with her sexy green eyes, curvy legs and tousled hair that he would love to touch. Nope. Nothing at all.

A light knock on his door pulled his attention away from Erin James and her damn interview.

“Come in,” he said.

Mark Phillips, Warfield’s head of marketing, stepped through the partially open door, his dark eyebrows knitted together. “You got a minute?”

Jared nodded and waved him in. “Sure.”

Mark, whose small stature made him look all of twenty instead of his actual age of thirty-three, stepped in the room and held up a file folder. “The quarterly sales figures,” he said grimly.

Jared raised his eyebrows. “Not good?”

Mark lowered himself into the chair opposite Jared’s desk and rubbed his chin, his brown eyes reflecting concern. “Not terrible, but not great. As expected, we’ve slipped a notch or two.”

Jared reached for the folder. “Anything serious?”

“Maybe.”

That single word sent concern skipping through Jared like a flat rock on water. Frowning, Jared picked up the file and flipped it open. A few minutes later he’d finished scanning the figures. Mark was right. Sales had fallen off over the past six months.

He turned to Mark. “What’s causing this?”

Mark shrugged his suit-jacketed shoulders. Despite Warfield’s casual-dress policy, he still wore a suit to work every day. “It’s hard to say. Could just be the natural business cycle. But my gut feeling is it’s the competition, which is keen right now. Luckily that bachelor article will be out soon. A free bit of publicity could help.”

Shifting uneasily, Jared picked up a paper clip and bent it out of shape. A sharp needle of guilt joined the concern roiling in his gut. “I canceled the interview.”

Mark laughed under his breath. “You’re kidding, right?” He jerked his tie loose and unbuttoned the top button on his dress shirt.

“Nope. The reporter they sent was rude.” Eye candy, but still rude.

“So you backed out?”

He glared at Mark and mentally dug in his heels, remembering Allison. “Yeah, I backed out. I never wanted to do the interview to begin with, and they wanted me to go on some date.”

Mark leaned forward. “Jared, we need this publicity. I think you should reconsider the interview.”

Jared scowled and twisted the paper clip. “We’ve been over this, Mark. I don’t think the interview is necessary.”

“Even after you’ve seen those sales figures?”

Jared hesitated and clenched his jaw tight, hating being pressured to do something that could blow up in his face. “The timing’s bad,” he muttered, looking for an excuse to back out.

“Nothing has changed. Publicity is publicity, any way you look at it, even if it involves a perfunctory date.” Mark leaned back in his chair. “We can’t afford to pass this up. What if they go for Ryan Cavanaugh? Then Java Joint gets the exposure. Is that what you want?”

Jared considered Mark’s words. Cavanaugh was a bachelor and very eligible. And he’d probably love to get the jump on Warfield’s and snag the interview and publicity. Could Jared afford to take that chance? Though he hated to admit it, the decision had been taken out of his hands. He’d have to be sure to leave Allison out of the interview and hope Ms. James hadn’t dug deep enough to discover he’d adopted his niece. He would worry about the date later. He’d definitely find a way to get out of that part of the agreement.

“All right,” he conceded. “I’ll do the interview. But I don’t like this one bit.”

Mark smiled and rose. “How bad can it be? Just give the reporter a few tidbits, show up for the date, and that will be it.”

He raised a brow as Mark left, then roughly adjusted his watch on his wrist. Tidbits? Somehow he doubted Erin James would be satisfied with mere tidbits. She seemed pretty desperate to get the interview, probably because she hadn’t had a fresh kill lately. And the whole pick-a-date concept rubbed him the wrong way. He would decide when he went on a date with a woman, not some newspaper editor looking to increase readership with cheesy features.

But Mark was right. Warfield’s needed the publicity. He’d throw Erin a bone and leave it at that. How difficult could it be?

Jared turned his attention to some paperwork without addressing that particular question. In his gut he knew he wouldn’t like the answer.