﻿There had to be one hundred and one reasons why it would be a bad idea to get involved with Steven Warren.

Still, there was something about the man that tempted Samara to ignore all reason.

“Thanks again for tonight,” she said. “I had a good time.”

“Me, too.” He hesitated, cleared his throat. “Good night.”

She felt a pang of disappointment as she watched him cross the threshold.

“Steven, wait.”

He turned back.

“You, uh –” she felt her heart pounding, her mind racing “ – forgot something.”

He looked at the jacket he carried in one hand and his keys in the other, then back at her. “What did I forget?”

“This,” she said, and tugged his head down to hers for a kiss.

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 practising as an attorney (including an appearance in front of the Supreme Court of Canada), she gave up her “real” job to be a mum 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.

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.

Family in Progress

Brenda Harlen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to my nieces.

To Brianna – a beautiful, intelligent young woman who is going to be a top-notch CA.

I hope you know how very proud I am of you.

To Lauren – her equally beautiful and intelligent

sister who isn’t afraid of any challenge. I know you will succeed in whatever you choose to do.

And to Kaylin –

my baby brother’s beautiful new baby.

Welcome to the world.

Chapter One

Life was much simpler for Steven Warren when he worked at Al’s Body Shop, when someone else was in charge and he simply did what he was told to do. But a man couldn’t work twelve-and fourteen-hour days when he had children at home who needed him, which was why the offer to work at Classic magazine in Chicago had been as welcome as it was unexpected.

Steven had long had a passion for classic cars, and the opportunity to work for the magazine, finding vehicles in need of restoration and leading the team through that process, was one he couldn’t pass up.

And if Steven sometimes felt out of his element now that he spent more time in an office than in a garage, he figured the opportunity to make a desperately needed new start with his family was more than adequate compensation.

But now he felt trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place. He’d been entrusted with the responsibility of hiring a new features photographer for the magazine and he was determined to find the perfect person for the job. Except that—on the basis of the applications he’d received in response to his ad—the perfect person had yet to apply and he was running out of time.

And then, just last week, his sister-in-law sent him an e-mail that offered a solution to his dilemma. Or so he hoped.

He found a bottle of Tylenol in his desk and shook a couple of pills out of the bottle to ward off the headache that had been lurking behind his eyes since breakfast.

The morning had not got off to a great start. His twelve-year-old daughter had been in a mood—again. It seemed Caitlin had given him nothing but attitude since they’d moved to Chicago at the end of the summer.

He wondered if she would ever understand that he’d done it for her and not to spite her. Since her mother’s death almost three years earlier, Caitlin had fallen in with a questionable crowd and Steven hadn’t known how to tear his daughter away from their negative influence. So he’d uprooted his fractured family and moved them to Illinois.

He swallowed the pills with a mouthful of lukewarm coffee and scanned his sister-in-law’s e-mail once again.

Hi Steven,

Richard told me that you’re looking for a new photographer—someone who can breathe new life into the magazine—and it just so happens that I have a friend who would be perfect for the job. Her name is Samara Kenzo. We went to college together then were coworkers and roommates in Tokyo before I married your brother.

Anyway, Samara has recently moved to Chicago and is looking for work. I’m not asking you to hire her, of course, just to meet with her. (Though I’m sure you’ll agree that she’s exactly what you need once you’ve had a chance to interview her and look at her portfolio!) I suggested that she drop off a résumé at your office so that you can contact her directly if you think she might be a suitable candidate. Thanks, Jenny

PS. Don’t forget about the dinner party we’re having on the fourth. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen you and I won’t accept any excuses this time:)

Steven winced as he read the last line, He’d been making a lot of excuses to avoid spending time with his brother and sister-in-law over the past few months. Richard was the only brother he had and he’d liked Jenny from their first meeting, but seeing them together was just too painful a reminder of everything he’d lost.

The buzz of the phone interrupted his melancholic thoughts. He closed his e-mail as he picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“There’s a Samara Kenzo here to see you,” his assistant told him.

“Thanks, Carrie.” He was both excited and wary about meeting his sister-in-law’s friend. Excited because the résumé she’d dropped off was more than impressive, and wary because he knew that if the interview went well, he’d have to attend that dinner party—if for no other reason than to thank Jenny for the referral.

Samara Kenzo was uneasy even before she stepped into Steven Warren’s office. Though she appreciated Jenny’s confidence in her abilities and was aware of her own talent, she wasn’t convinced her friend’s brother-in-law would be impressed with her credentials. She’d taken a lot of pictures in the past six years and even won several awards for her work, but she had her doubts as to whether she belonged at a car magazine and she worried about how she might convince Jenny’s brother-in-law of something she wasn’t even sure of herself.

As she glanced around the space, she was even less sure, but she strode confidently across the room to shake his outstretched hand.

Steven hadn’t come to Tokyo for his brother’s wedding so she’d never had occasion to meet him before now, but he looked enough like Richard that she had no doubt of his identity.

Tall, dark and absolutely yummy.

She shoved that thought aside impatiently. She wanted this job. She did not want to feel the first stirrings of a physical attraction after more than two years of not feeling anything at all.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Warren.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he responded politely.

“Is it?” she wondered.

He seemed startled by her response, and she smiled to soften the words as she handed her portfolio to him.

“I’m guessing that this interview is more in the nature of an obligation than a pleasure,” she explained her question. “But I’m hoping that, by the time we’re finished here, you’ll be glad you took the time.”

He considered her words as he thumbed through the pages of her portfolio, pausing once or twice but otherwise giving no hint of any reaction to the contents.

“Do you always say exactly what’s on your mind?” he asked.

“Usually.”

“And do you find that outspokenness an attribute or a detriment?”

“It can be both. But I’ve found that the best way to get what I want is to communicate what I want clearly.” She met his gaze. “I want this job, Mr. Warren.”

“Why Classic?” he asked. “What is it about this magazine that intrigues you?”

Samara knew she should have been prepared for that question and had an answer at the ready. But her tendency to speak her mind aside, she certainly couldn’t tell him the truth about this—that she needed a job and this one seemed as good as any.

She didn’t really care about cars—classic or otherwise. As far as she was concerned, they were just a means to an end, a form of transportation. But she could hardly tell that to the man whose office was decorated with framed photos of polished vehicles and who had every available surface covered with scale models of classic machines.

“I like a challenge,” she said at last. “I’ve worked at several different jobs, taking pictures of everything from fashion models to fine cuisine, but I’ve never worked with the automotive industry. I thought this job would give me an opportunity to expand my—” she scrambled to find the right word in English “—horizontal.”

Steven frowned, and she wondered what she’d said wrong. Then his eyes cleared and his lips curved slightly. “I think you mean ‘horizons.’”

She shrugged. It wasn’t the first time her grasp of the English language had slipped and she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“I also thought it would be a great opportunity for you,” she told him.

He lifted a brow. “How so?”

“Because your magazine will benefit from my creative energy and enthusiasm.”

He flipped through several more pages in her portfolio before he spoke again.

“You might be right,” he agreed.

But then he stood and offered his hand, and her blossoming hope withered.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Kenzo. I have some other applicants to interview, but I’ll be in touch by the end of the week.”

“Thank you, Mr. Warren.” She forced a smile as she shook his hand. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

And she left his office, resigned to checking the employment listings in the local newspaper when she got home.

But first, she was meeting Jenny for lunch.

Steven watched Samara walk out of his office, noting the way her slim hips swayed in the frilly camouflage skirt that swirled several inches above her knees and showed off legs that were trim and toned. Over it she wore what looked like a man’s oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the tails knotted at her waist.

He didn’t think he’d formed an opinion of Samara from anything his sister-in-law told him, but he must have had a mental image in his mind because her appearance had blown his preconceived notions apart. Her longtime friendship with Jenny had made him think that she would have the same professional, reserved demeanor as his sister-in-law, but Samara definitely made a more artsy and unique impression than his brother’s wife.

Now that he’d met her, he remembered having seen her in photos from Richard and Jenny’s wedding, though she had a much greater impact in person than in pictures. She was maybe five feet four inches tall in the chunky heels she wore, and yet there was a huge energy around her for someone so petite. Her hair was black and shimmered down her back like a silk curtain. Her eyes were almost as dark, bright with humor and intelligence. Her lips were shiny with some kind of gloss, a trio of silver hoops hung from each of her ears, and though her fingernails were short and unvarnished, her fingers sparkled with an assortment of rings.

She didn’t look as if she was long out of high school, though he knew she had to be around his sister-in-law’s age since they’d gone to college together.

Still, he shouldn’t be concerned about how she looked or dressed. If he hired her, she would be working behind the camera, not in front of it. But he was concerned because she was an undeniably attractive woman who would be working in a predominantly male environment at Classic. Of course, most of the men were gearheads who were more likely to get turned on by V-8s than G-strings, but it was another factor to be taken into consideration.

Not as significant a factor as her portfolio, though, and that had been more than impressive. Since leaving the Tokyo Tribune almost two years earlier, she’d been doing mostly freelance work, traveling around the world to take pictures of everything from spiritual ceremonies in Tibet and orphaned children in Afghanistan to beach resorts in the Caribbean.

He wasn’t sure that any of that experience qualified her for the job at Classic, though, except insofar as it proved she could work magic with almost any subject through the lens of her camera. Which should have been enough to tip the scales in her favor, but there was still something about the woman that gave him pause. A sense that she was maybe holding something back?

He shook his head. He’d never been accused of being particularly insightful, so he wasn’t sure why he had the feeling there was more to his sister-in-law’s friend than she wanted him to see. He only knew that he wasn’t going to rush into making any decisions. As anxious as he was to have the matter settled so they could get to work on the next issue of the magazine, he wanted to be sure he hired the best candidate. He didn’t want to go through the arduous interview process again in another three months.

He flipped through the other résumés on his desk, then pushed the meager pile away and bit back a sigh as the phone on his desk buzzed again.

This time he punched the intercom button. “Yeah?”

“The principal of Parkhurst School is on line two,” Carrie said.

Calls from his daughter’s principal had been all too frequent in the last year—and were a major factor in Steven’s decision to take the job in Chicago and move what was left of his family to Illinois. He’d thought—hoped—that the change would be good for them. But the kids had been in school less than a month and apparently Caitlin was up to her old tricks already.

The pounding in his head that had begun to lessen roared to life again.

He braced himself and connected the call. “Steven Warren.”

“Mr. Warren. It’s Louise Crawford from Parkhurst Elementary. I’m calling about Tyler.”

“Tyler?” He was stunned.

His nine-year-old son had never given him a moment’s trouble. When he’d announced that they were moving halfway across the country, Caitlin had kicked and screamed from that moment until they’d arrived in Chicago. Tyler, on the other hand, hadn’t been happy but had accepted the move with a mature stoicism that belied his years. Or maybe he’d only thought his son accepted the move.

“What did he do?” Steven asked wearily, even as he wondered, What have I done?

Samara stood at the corner of East 60th and Dorchester with the Chicago Transit Authority schedule in her hand. People complained about Tokyo being a difficult city to navigate, but she’d grown up there and had no trouble finding her way around. Chicago, on the other hand, was a maze of the unknown crisscrossed with various bus, train and subway routes that were seemingly indecipherable.

She glanced at her watch, then at the convoluted public transportation schedule again, and decided she would indulge—just this once—and take a taxi. She had less than twenty minutes before she was due to meet Jenny on the other side of town and she wasn’t sure the bus or train or any combination of the two would get her there on time.

The cab driver whizzed through the streets, depositing her at the restaurant fifteen minutes later—and twenty-seven dollars poorer. She refused to think about her rapidly dwindling savings account as she paid the fare and added a small tip for the driver, but she couldn’t help but wonder why she’d thought it would be a good idea to start her life over halfway across the world.

She’d had a good job in Tokyo, friends and family there. She missed them sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. Her four sisters and their families, even her father. And she missed Izumi, her great-grandmother, most of all.

It had been Izumi who encouraged her to follow her heart, wounded though it had been at the time, and find her own path rather than continue to walk along the one that had been laid out for her. Since she’d embarked on her journey to do so, she’d returned to Tokyo only once—for Izumi’s funeral seven months earlier.

Jenny and Richard had flown over for it, too, which had meant the world to Samara. And it was then she’d started thinking about returning to the States, though several more months passed before she actually did.

Initially, she’d only planned to come for a visit. But a few days had somehow turned into one week and then two, and Samara found she wasn’t anxious to leave.

Jenny and Richard both insisted she could stay with them as long as she wanted to, but they both had busy lives—even busier now that they were preparing for the arrival of their baby in only a few more weeks. So when Samara heard about a furnished apartment for rent near the Lincoln Park area, she’d jumped at it.

She’d traveled and lived economically over the past couple of years and had managed to save a fair amount of money, which meant she didn’t have any trouble paying the required first and last months’ rent, but she did need to find a job soon if she was going to continue to put food on her rented table. She’d tried waitressing, responding to a sign in the window of a little café just down the street from her apartment, but that experience had been brief and unfortunate.

When Jenny told her about the opening at Classic, Samara had been thrilled and relieved to think that she might actually have the opportunity to stay in Chicago and do something that she was good at. If she convinced Steven Warren she was good at it—and she wasn’t certain she’d managed to do that.

But she pushed the worries and concerns aside as she entered the restaurant.

Jenny was already seated and waiting for Samara, but she stood up and hugged her friend as best she could considering the baby bump in her belly.

“How did it go?” Jenny asked, lowering herself into her chair again.

Samara tucked her backpack under the table. “I think it went well enough.”

Jenny’s eyebrows rose. “You think?”

Samara shrugged, not wanting to give voice to her doubts or her friend any reason to pressure her brother-in-law. “He’s not an easy man to read.”

Easy on the eyes, a little voice in the back of her mind taunted, but not at all the type to give away what he was thinking.

“Well, what did he say at the end of the interview?” Jenny asked.

“He said he’d let me know.”

Her friend frowned at that as the waitress came to take their orders.

“Cheeseburger and fries,” Samara said. Not having looked at the menu, she fell back on what she knew was a staple in most American restaurants.

“What kind of cheese?” the waitress asked. “Cheddar, Swiss, Monterey Jack?”

“Cheddar.”

“Gravy on your fries?”

“Sure.”

Jenny looked at her with undisguised envy. “Chef’s salad with light dressing.”

Then, after the waitress had gone to place their orders, she confessed to Samara, “I have to pick and choose my calories carefully these days, and I want a huge slice of banana cream pie for dessert.”

“I didn’t think you liked bananas,” Samara said.

“I don’t,” her friend admitted. “This baby, on the other hand, seems to love them. Bananas and ice cream. I have six different flavors in my freezer at home right now. Actually, it was seven before I finished the butter pecan last night.”

“Then I would think a banana split would be more satisfying than pie.”

The expectant mother laughed and laid a hand on her belly. “Junior certainly thinks so.”

Samara watched her friend’s hand move over the curve of her expanded tummy as if to soothe the baby. Her eyes were lit with joy and soft with emotion, and Samara felt a tug of something that might have been envy deep within her own heart.

“We were talking about your interview,” Jenny reminded her.

“I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Maybe I should talk to Steven, to get his perspective on it.”

“No,” Samara responded quickly. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but if I get this job, I want it to be because I deserve it—not because the man doing the hiring is my best friend’s brother-in-law.”

“You will get the job because you deserve it,” Jenny assured her.

Samara wished she could share her friend’s certainty. Instead, she said, “You never did tell me why he was looking for a new photographer at the magazine.”

“Did you look at the back issues I gave you?”

“The pictures were good,” she said. “Uninspired, maybe, but technically good.”

“Definitely uninspired,” Jenny said. “But Steven has some great ideas for the magazine, so when he realized he had to replace Erik Hendriksson, he decided to look for a photographer who could implement them.”

“Why did he have to replace Hendriksson?”

“Off the record?”

Samara rolled her eyes. “I’m a photographer not a reporter, and your best friend, so ‘off the record’ is implied.”

“Professional hazard of having been a journalist in a previous life,” Jenny explained. “But to answer your question, the managing editor found out Hendriksson was taking more than pictures of the vehicles. He was pilfering parts and fencing them to support a gambling habit.”

Samara winced sympathetically. She understood betrayal. But even if she wasn’t a scrupulously honest person, there was no fear of her stealing anything on the job. She didn’t know the difference between a spoiler and a spark plug and was counting on her skill with a camera making up for that lack of knowledge.

The waitress brought their plates to the table then disappeared again.

“Speaking of previous lives,” Samara said, picking up the thread of the conversation as she reached for a fry. “Do you really not miss being a reporter?”

Jenny shook her head as she stabbed her fork into a wedge of tomato. “I thought I would, but being the media communications coordinator for the newest division of TAKA-Hanson is such a challenge. Not to mention that I have the pleasure of working with my handsome husband now, as well as continuing to build a relationship with Helen and her extended family.”

Despite her friend’s easy response, Samara knew she’d had some difficult moments when it had been made public that she would be working for the new TAKA-Hanson Hotels, a branch of the corporation that would ultimately and directly compete for business with Anderson Hotels, owned by Jenny’s adoptive parents. But the Andersons had always been—and continued to be—supportive of their adoptive daughter. In fact, they were the ones who had encouraged Jenny to reach out to her biological mother when she’d come into her life only a few years before.

“Okay, enough shop talk,” Samara decided. “How are you doing?”

“Other than being the largest mammal currently walking the face of the earth, you mean?”

“Other than that,” she agreed with a smile.

“I’m getting excited,” her friend admitted. “I can’t believe there’s only five more weeks to go before I’ll finally get to hold my baby in my arms.”

“Unless he’s late. First babies usually are.”

Jenny laid a hand on her rounded belly. “God, I hope not.”

Samara laughed.

“I wanted to thank you again,” Jenny said. “For painting the nursery. Richard’s been working a lot of long hours lately and I can hardly negotiate stairs in this condition never mind climb a ladder with a paint roller in hand, so I’m not sure the room would have been ready before the baby if you hadn’t done it.

“I know we could have hired someone,” she continued. “But I wanted the nursery to have a more personal touch, and I know the baby’s going to love the cars and trucks you painted above the crib.”

“It was the least I could do while I was living there,” Samara said. “And I had fun with it.”

“I’ll remember that if it turns out the doctors are wrong and my daughter refuses to sleep in a blue room.”

“It’s sky-blue, not boy-blue. And I doubt, with today’s technology, that the doctors made a mistake.”

Jenny’s lips curved. “From the beginning, I said the baby’s gender didn’t matter so long as he or she was born healthy, and I meant it. But I think I would like a boy—with blue eyes and a smile just like his dad’s.”

“And Richard’s probably dreaming about a baby girl with green eyes and copper hair like yours.”

Jenny’s lips curved. “Well, maybe we’ll try for one of each.”

“You’re really happy together, aren’t you?”

“I never dreamed I could be so happy,” Jenny admitted. “Especially not when I think back to the day we first met.”

“You mean the day you tried to brush him off?”

Her friend smiled. “Yeah, that day.”

But Richard had pursued Jenny with the single-minded focus and determination of a man who had found what he wanted and wasn’t ever going to let her go.

That was all Samara wanted—for someone to love her the way Richard loved Jenny.

Chapter Two

It was with a tremendous sense of relief—and no small amount of guilt—that Steven realized Tyler’s principal hadn’t tracked him down at work to tell him that his son was in trouble but that he was sick. Apparently he’d tossed his Honey Nut Cheerios all over the floor in his math class, an unfortunate accident which might have mortified anyone else but seemed to be a topic of tremendous interest among nine-year-olds in general and those of the male gender in particular. Even more so because on this particular day the necessity of vacating the classroom had thwarted the teacher’s plans to administer a geometry quiz.

Steven had known about the quiz, of course, and had assumed that his son’s complaints of a sore stomach at breakfast had been nothing more than pre-test jitters. Yet one more reason to question his judgment in parenting matters.

In the almost three years that had passed since his wife’s death, not a day had gone by that he hadn’t thought about her with longing and regret. But it was incidents like this one with Tyler that made him realize how much he’d relied on her for more than comfort and companionship.

It was possible that she might have sent Tyler off to school, too, but then they would have laughed about the incident together and reassured one another that no harm had been done. He missed that most of all—the talking, the sharing, the assurance that no matter what challenges they faced, they would get through them together. Losing his wife so suddenly and unexpectedly was tough. Being a single parent was sometimes even tougher.

As he packed up Tyler’s knapsack, he considered checking in with Caitlin while he was at the school. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that it was almost time for the third period bell to ring, so he could probably catch her between classes. But he was pretty certain his twelve-year-old daughter would be mortified to find her father hanging out by her locker and left a note for her instead so she would know she didn’t have to look for her brother before she got on the bus to come home at the end of the day.

He called Carrie from the road to tell her he wouldn’t be returning to the office that afternoon. After querying whether he had chicken soup and soda crackers at home, she assured him she could handle anything that cropped up in his absence. Steven knew that it was true and could only hope to find a photographer as efficient and reliable as his assistant.

Unbidden, an image of Samara Kenzo came to mind. Efficient and reliable weren’t the most obvious words to describe his sister-in-law’s friend, though she’d certainly made an impression. Her résumé had piqued his interest, her appearance had snagged his full attention. Stunning eyes, sexy mouth, tempting curves. It was entirely possible that she could prove to be efficient and reliable, but Steven was more worried that she could also be a dangerous distraction.

He pushed these discomfiting thoughts from his mind as he pulled into the driveway. His son’s unnatural pallor and clammy skin made him wonder if he should have stopped at the local clinic on the way home instead of relying on the principal’s assurance that there was a nasty—albeit short-lived—flu bug going around. The thought continued to worry his mind as he opened a can of chicken soup and dumped it into a pot to heat on the stove.

Tyler managed only a few spoonfuls and a couple of crackers before racing to the bathroom to throw it all back up again.

Steven hovered in the background, feeling completely helpless, while his son retched. He tried to remember what Liz had done when the kids were sick, but the fact was, she’d handled everything so competently and efficiently, he’d hardly noticed. Digging deeper back into his memory, he vaguely recalled his mother setting a cool washcloth on his forehead and giving him flat ginger ale to drink. There was only 7UP in the fridge, but he thought that might work and poured some into a glass for Tyler after settling him on the couch with a bucket close at hand.

Missing work to care for a sick child was yet another new experience for him. Though both Caitlin and Tyler had endured the usual bouts of colds and flu that plagued all children as well as suffering through nasty cases of chicken pox, it was Liz who had nursed them through every childhood illness, Liz who had kissed away their tears and soothed their spirits. And Steven guessed that, as much as he was missing Liz right now, Tyler was missing her even more.

He slid The Phantom Menace into the DVD player and sank down onto the sofa beside his son.

He was surprised, but pleased, when Tyler shifted closer to cuddle and pillow his head against his father’s chest.

“This is my favorite,” Tyler said, when the movie title flashed on the screen.

Steven lifted an arm and slid it around his son’s slender shoulders. “I know.”

The little boy snuggled closer, but when he spoke again, his voice had dropped. “Mom used to watch Bugs Bunny cartoons with me whenever I was sick.”

Yeah, Tyler was missing her, too. “Did you want me to see if I can find some on TV?”

His son gave a slight shake of his head. “This is okay.”

Steven took ‘okay’ as a positive endorsement and accepted that he would just have to figure things out as he went along.

“Guess I should have listened when you told me you had a tummy ache this morning, huh?”

Tyler nodded solemnly.

“I’m sorry, bud.”

“S’okay, Daddy. Mrs. Harper says we all make mistakes.”

It took him a moment to remember that Mrs. Harper was Tyler’s homeroom teacher. “Do you like Mrs. Harper?”

Another nod, then a yawn.

“And your new school?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You’ve made some friends?”

“James and Aidan and Andrew and Marcus and Nick and Jake and—”

Steven interrupted the list with a chuckle. “I didn’t hear you mention any girls’ names.”

Tyler wrinkled his nose. “The girls are okay, I guess.”

“You’re not still mad that we moved from North Carolina?”

“I was never mad—just sad that we had to leave Grandma Warren and Grandma and Grandpa Bradley.” His voice dropped a little. “And Mommy.”

Liz was buried at Pleasantview Cemetery in Crooked Oak. Steven had been sure to take the kids to visit her grave whenever they wanted to visit their mom, but that trip was obviously a lot more difficult now and an event that would, therefore, occur a lot less frequently.

“Caitlin was mad,” Tyler continued, a reminder that was hardly necessary.

“Do you think she still is?”

His son lifted one bony shoulder in a halfhearted shrug and yawned again.

Despite the movie being Tyler’s admitted favorite, he was conked out before the podrace even began. And while Steven knew there were a hundred things he could be doing while his son slept, at the moment, none of them was as important as cuddling with his child.

Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed sharing this kind of closeness with his children, and he was suddenly, painfully, aware that as his children got older, the opportunities for doing so would be fewer and farther between. Even at nine, Tyler wasn’t much of a cuddler, except when he was sad or tired or feeling ill, so Steven had no qualms about taking advantage of this opportunity.

He brushed a hand over his son’s thick, dark hair—a legacy from the Warren side of the family along with his blue eyes and broad shoulders. But the shape of his face, the curve of his lips and the long, thick lashes came from his mother, and every time he looked at his son, he caught a glimpse of the woman he’d loved. A glimpse that was both painful and reassuring, because though she was gone from his life forever, she would always live on in the children who were the best parts of both of them.

Samara scoured the classified ads, searched the Internet and pounded the pavement, and the best job prospect she could find—aside from the position at Classic, of course—was at a photo studio in one of the big department stores. Not quite what she was looking for, but she filled out an application anyway. She needed a job or she’d end up on Jenny and Richard’s doorstep again, and her friends had already done so much for her.

She wasn’t sure where she would be right now if she hadn’t come to Chicago to see them—then fallen in love with the city and decided to stay. Two years earlier, she’d run away from her life in Tokyo. She wasn’t proud of the fact, but she couldn’t deny it, either. And in those two years, she’d continued to run—from one point on the globe to another, one temporary assignment to another. But no matter how far or how fast she ran, she never managed to outdistance the heartache.

Could a woman who’d been hurt so deeply by someone she’d loved ever learn to love again? She only knew that, after two years, it was time to stop running, to make a stand, to start her life again. A task made decidedly more difficult by her current lack of employment.

She sighed and tossed the useless newspaper into the recycle bin under her desk.

She wanted the job at Classic. It would be interesting, challenging and rewarding. And, as an added bonus, the project manager was quite a hunk.

Yummy, she couldn’t help thinking again, and realized she should have been prepared for the possibility that Steven Warren shared his brother’s good looks. But she’d thought of Richard as Jenny’s husband for so long now, she’d almost forgotten how attractive he was. Coming face-to-face with Steven had been quite the reminder—and a reminder that, though her heart might still be in pieces, her body was starting to show signs of life again.

She didn’t think Steven was quite as tall as Richard—probably just shy of six feet, she would guess, which meant that he still towered over her five-foot-two-inch frame. But he was as broad across the shoulders as his brother, and a little more…built, she thought was the term. Samara had never been attracted to sculpted bodies, but there was something about Steven’s strong muscles, evident even beneath the shirt and tie he wore during her interview, that made her mouth water. Yeah, the hormones were definitely alive and kicking.

She knew he was younger than his brother by half a dozen years, which put his age at thirty-five. She would have guessed he was older. Maybe it was the responsibilities of marriage and children that made him seem so, or perhaps it was the grief of losing his wife that had etched those lines around his deep-blue eyes and put the flecks of gray in his thick, dark hair. The loss of someone close always left scars, visible or not.

Jenny had told her about the death of Steven’s wife—how she’d died unexpectedly of a brain aneurysm, leaving Steven a widower and a single parent to their two children. The man’s life had been completely upended, responsibilities had been dumped on his shoulders beyond anything she’d ever had to manage, and she should focus on that rather than on the fact that he also had a first-class butt, eyes that made her want to melt at his feet, and a sensuously sculpted mouth that tempted her to forget he was a father and remember only that he was a man.

It made her question whether working at Classic would be such a good idea after all. Of course, that was assuming he offered her the job, and while she was keeping her fingers crossed, she wasn’t ready to assume any such thing.

He’d promised to be in touch by the end of the week, so Samara wasn’t surprised when he called Thursday afternoon, though she was surprised by the little quiver in her belly when she recognized his voice.

“Hi, Samara. It’s Steve Warren calling,” he said, as if the pounding of her heart against her ribs hadn’t already given his identify away.

“Hello, Steven,” she said, pleased that she managed to respond in a level tone that belied her nervousness.

“I’m calling to offer you the job as senior photographer of features at Classic.”

Relief flood her system in a wave, followed closely by excitement and anticipation. This was it. All she needed was a chance to prove what she could do, and he was giving it to her.

“Thank you.” Her damp palm clamped tighter around the receiver. “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m counting on you to deliver on that promise,” her new boss told her.

“When do you want me to start?” she asked, anxious to pin down the details before he could change his mind.

He chuckled in response to her eager question. “Monday, if that’s not too soon.”

“Monday is perfect.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

But Samara was too excited to wait until Monday.

She wanted to check out the studio where she would be working, meet the people she’d be working with, and she wanted to see Steven again, to reassure herself that the immediate hormonal reaction she’d experienced at their first meeting was a fluke.

He was dressed more casually today—in jeans and a collared T-shirt, and it looked like he’d forgotten to shave. He looked like a man would look on a comfortable Saturday morning—a little bit rumpled, a lot sexy.

Okay, so the hormone thing was still a problem, but not one that she would let interfere with her job.

He glanced up from a stack of papers, obviously startled by her knock at the door—and by her presence in his office. “What are you doing here, Samara?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” she began, then shook her head. “Actually, I made a point of being in the neighborhood because I wanted to stop in and say a personal thank-you for giving me an opportunity with this job.”

“You can thank me by working your magic with the camera,” he told her.

“I will,” she promised, coming farther into the room. “In the meantime, how about a large double-shot?”

He accepted the proferred cup. “How did you know how I like my coffee?”

“I asked your assistant,” she admitted. “I called from the lobby when I got here, to make sure you were in your office, and Carrie told me your preference.”

“Did she also tell you that I missed a couple of days this week because my son was home sick?”

“No,” Samara said. “I hope it wasn’t anything serious.”

“Just a touch of a flu bug. But I’m a little behind schedule right now and—”

“I’m in your way,” she guessed.

“A little.”

She took a step back toward the door. Though her lips curved, he could tell it was a practiced smile and he was sorry to see that some of the sparkle had dimmed in her eyes, sorrier still to know he was responsible for it.

“I’ll get out of your way then,” she said, and started to turn.

He should let her go. He wasn’t ready to confront the feelings she stirred inside of him just by being in his office. But he also knew it wasn’t fair to blame her for the unexpected and irrational response of his hormones to her presence, and he didn’t want her to go away mad.

He pushed away from his desk and caught her before she reached the door. “I didn’t mean for you to rush off,” he lied.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I shouldn’t have assumed you would have free time to show me around. I’m just so excited about the opportunity you’ve given me that I wanted to get my bearings so I can get right to work on Monday.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be accused of damping your enthusiasm,” he told her.

“You didn’t,” she assured him. “You couldn’t.”

Still, he wanted to see that sparkle back in her eyes. “Are you interested in seeing the studio?”

Sure enough, those few words did the trick. Her eyes shone, her lips curved. “Are you kidding?”

He looked at the paperwork on his desk, the pile of phone messages to be returned, the classified ads to be reviewed, and he waved a dismissive hand over everything. “It’s not like this won’t all be here when I get back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said.

But as he led her out of his office, his thoughts were on Samara rather than the work he’d willingly abandoned for her smile, and he found himself wondering if maybe his fortunes were changing.

Caitlin took her usual seat at the back of the room. After almost a month of classes, she was still the new kid—and she hated it. Almost as much as she hated the fact that the neighborhood where her dad had bought their new house didn’t have middle school, so she was stuck in a kindergarten-to-grade-8 and had to go to school with her little brother. It was beyond humiliating and made her wish even more that she was back in North Carolina where she actually knew people and had friends to hang out with. Where she had a life.

“You’ll make new friends,” her dad had promised, as if him wanting it to be true could make it so.

He didn’t have a clue what it was like to be the new kid, the one everyone stared at and snickered about. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d tossed out most of her favorite clothes when they’d moved, suddenly concerned that her style was inappropriate for a girl her age.

He used to drive her to the mall, give her money and tell her to get what she needed. And if he’d sometimes scowled at her choices, it had been easy enough to convince him it was what all the girls were wearing. But this time, he’d decided that a new school warranted a new wardrobe, and he’d enlisted her Aunt Jenny to take her shopping.

It wasn’t that she had anything against her uncle’s wife, she just didn’t know what to think about all of the changes that had occurred over the past few years. For so long, family had just been her and her brother and their parents with the occasional visit from one or other of the grandparents. Then suddenly, her father’s brother came back from a business trip to Japan with a new bride and an interest in renewing family ties.

Up to that point, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen her Uncle Richard, and it had never been when her grandmother was around. But whatever had caused the family rift—and she knew there was one, even if no one would tell her what it was about—was now forgotten and they were all part of one big happy family.

And then her mom died.

Caitlin dropped her gaze to her book as other students continued to filter into the class. She was enough of a social reject already without being caught with tears in her eyes.

She’d thought she was past this stage. For the first few months after her mother died, she hadn’t been able to think about her without breaking down. But over time, she’d managed to control her response to the over-whelming waves of grief. Mostly. There were still unexpected occasions when the pain would surge up again and the sense of emptiness would make everything inside her feel hollow.

She became aware of the whispers before she spotted the battered sneakers that stopped beside her desk. Glancing up, she saw the owner of those sneakers—a boy.

A stranger.

Her first thought was that she was no longer the new kid in the class.

Her second was that he was kind of cute.

It took her a moment longer to realize he’d spoken to her and was waiting for a response.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I was wondering if it’s okay to sit here.” He gestured to the vacant desk beside hers.

She shrugged as if to say, “Go ahead.”

He slid into the chair. “I’m Owen.”

“Caitlin,” she offered grudgingly.

“Where did you move here from?”

Yeah, she was a reject. Even the newest kid had pegged her as a new kid. “North Carolina.”

“I’m from Minnesota,” he said, though she hadn’t asked. “My dad got transferred.”

“My dad just wanted to ruin my life,” she grumbled.

“Is it that bad?”

“Ask me in a few weeks.”

“I’ll do that,” he said.

Then he smiled.

And Caitlin started to think that maybe moving to Chicago wasn’t a totally bad thing, after all.

Chapter Three

Steven didn’t do dinner parties, so he wasn’t exactly thrilled to give up a quiet night at home with his kids to attend this one, but he just couldn’t say no to Jenny. She’d planned this event—an informal gathering, she’d called it—to introduce Samara to some other friends.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up on the guest list, except that Jenny seemed determined to turn him into a social being when he wanted to do nothing more than bury himself in oblivion. And though he’d given his word that he would be there, it had crossed his mind that he could beg off at the last minute or simply not show up. He figured there would be enough other people in attendance that his absence wouldn’t be noticed. Except that Jenny had preempted that possibility by enlisting him to drive Samara. While he trusted that one empty chair might be forgiven, a missing guest of honor was quite a different story.

Why Samara couldn’t find her own way to the party was beyond him—which brought another distinctly discomfiting thought to mind.

Though he’d just hung up the phone with his sister-in-law, it was his brother whose number he dialed.

“Is this some kind of setup?” he demanded when Richard answered his cell.

“Is what some kind of setup?”

“This dinner-party thing.”

“A setup for whom?” His brother sounded genuinely baffled.

“Me,” he admitted. “And Samara.”

Richard laughed. “You can’t honestly think that.”

Steven scowled. “Why do you think it’s so unlikely?”

“Well, to be blunt, she’s young and beautiful and vibrant—” definitely not words that anyone would use to describe Steven “—and you’re an overworked single father.”

“That is blunt,” he agreed.

“On the other hand,” Richard mused, “maybe it’s not completely unthinkable. If you’re interested, I mean.”

“I’m not,” Steven said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure no one had any expectations other than that I would pick her up and deliver her to your party.”

“Taking her home again at the end of the night, too, would be appreciated.”

“Which is just a way of making sure I don’t skip out early.”

“Jenny would be crushed,” Richard told him.

“I can’t be out all night—I have kids, remember?”

“Who are old enough to be on their own for a few hours.”

A few hours didn’t sound so bad, Steven managed to convince himself, then went to say good-night to the kids.

Samara changed outfits more than half a dozen times before a quick glance at the clock warned her that Steven would be arriving any minute. Unwilling to make him wait, she decided the simple wrap-style dress she was currently wearing was satisfactory and tucked her feet into a pair of matching sling-backs that boosted her height by three inches. A final glance in the mirror had her reaching for a chunky-hammered bronze pendant and matching earrings and adding a touch of color to her lips.

Steven’s reaction, when she opened the door, gave nothing away. She knew it wasn’t a date, and his greeting was pleasant enough, but still, she’d thought he would say something, and the fact that he didn’t made her a little nervous. Was she overdressed? Underdressed?

Jenny always claimed that Samara had a unique style, and the way she said it made it sound like a compliment. Not that Samara had ever really worried about anyone else’s opinion. She’d always been comfortable with the way she looked and who she was. Learning of her fiancé’s infidelity had changed everything. Having Kazuo’s pregnant lover show up at her door—three weeks before their wedding—had made Samara question everything about herself.

After three years, she’d honestly believed they’d had a good relationship, that they wanted the same things—most notably a future together. Two years later, he was married to the mother of his child and she was still trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong.

But she wasn’t going to worry about that tonight. And she wasn’t going to feel insulted that while Steven Warren’s presence made her aware of him in a distinctly sexual way, he didn’t even seem to be aware that she was female.

He looked really good tonight. He was usually dressed casually whenever she saw him in or around the studio, but tonight he was wearing a suit: charcoal jacket and pants, burgundy shirt and—this surprised her—a pink tie. But somehow the color enhanced rather than detracted from his masculinity, and made everything female inside her respond.

She deliberately averted her gaze, focusing on the scenery outside of the window. Focusing on anything but the man who made her feel things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

They rode in silence for the first several minutes. She wasn’t sure if Steven was concentrating on the task of driving or just lost in his own thoughts, as she was lost in hers. But after a while, she found her eyes drifting in his direction again.

He had a strong profile, she noted. And strong hands. One of which was resting lightly on top of the gearshift, while the fingers of the other were curled loosely around the steering wheel. He maneuvered the car through traffic with an easy confidence that was somehow both reassuring and arousing. As he palmed the wheel to negotiate a turn, she found herself wondering how those strong, competent hands would feel moving over her body.

“I really appreciate the ride,” she said, in a desperate hope that conversation would alter the direction of her renegade thoughts. “I hope you didn’t have to come too far out of your way to pick me up.”

“Not at all,” Steven said politely.

And silence fell again.

Samara felt more than a little awkward. This man was her boss, and her best friend’s husband’s brother—they should have something to talk about. But her mind was blank.

Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that they were sitting in such close proximity, and all she could think was that he looked so good—and smelled even better. And, oh my, just breathing in the clean male scent of him made everything inside her quiver.

It was Steven who finally broke the silence. “Jenny said you don’t have a car.”

She noticed that his voice sounded strained, as if making conversation required a concerted effort on his part, too. And she couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he was as aware of her as she was of him, or if he was just bored.

“That must make it difficult to get around,” he concluded.

She shrugged, pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel as she tried to focus on small talk and keep her suddenly riotous hormones in check. “I’m getting familiar with the bus and train routes.”

“Is that how you go back and forth to work every day?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He frowned. “I know it’s expensive to own a car, but there are other options. You could rent or lease.”

“Both of which require a driver’s license,” she pointed out.

He turned his head and stared at her. And the look in his eyes gradually changed from incredulity to something else, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to define but that made the nerves in her belly start to quiver all over again.

He tore his gaze away, tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. “You don’t, uh, have a driver’s license?”

“It’s not a crime—at least not in Japan.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the suddenly husky tone of her voice. But when he looked at her like that, with so much heat in his eyes, it was all she could do not to melt.

“It’s not a crime here, either,” he admitted after another moment. “But I can’t honestly say I’ve ever met anyone between the ages of eighteen and eighty who didn’t have one. Though some of them probably shouldn’t.”

“Public transportation is better for the environment,” she said defensively.

“Funny that you didn’t mention your thoughts on this during your job interview.”

“You hired me to take pictures, not be a spokesperson.”

He looked at her again, and his lips curved, just a little. “You are an intriguing woman, Samara Kenzo.”

And he was a fascinating man—and a man she knew she would enjoy getting to know a lot better.

Jenny’s “little dinner party” turned out to be a five-course meal served to two dozen people, throughout which Steven was seated between Samara and another woman whose name he didn’t even remember. There were friends and neighbors, family members and business associates, and it seemed to Steven that, aside from he and Samara, everyone else was part of a couple.

He felt an unexpected pang of longing as he glanced around the table, noting the affectionate looks and silent communications of partners who knew one another well. As he and Liz had known one another.

Then he glanced at Samara and wondered if she was feeling as out of place as he was. But she turned to the man seated on her other side, laughing at something he said, and he figured he’d probably imagined the sadness he’d glimpsed in her eyes.

He was glad when dessert was finally cleared away and the guests began to wander away from the table. Some moved into the library for after-dinner drinks, others made their way downstairs to play billiards, but Steven was in the mood for neither.

He hovered on the periphery, watching the others mingle, noting the ease with which his brother worked his way through the crowd.

He and Liz had never done much entertaining, and nothing more elaborate than having friends over for a meal or a game of cards. Usually those friends lived in the neighborhood and had children of similar ages to Caitlin and Tyler and who went to school with them. But most of their weekends had been spent quietly, and he’d preferred it that way.

Richard, on the other hand, seemed very much in his element surrounded by people. Of course, Richard had always been the one with the big plans and ambitions, who had achieved everything he’d ever dreamed of. Steven used to envy his older brother his status and success, until he’d finally realized there was no reason to. Because Steven had achieved everything he’d wanted, too, he’d just wanted different things.

He saw Jenny pass her husband, noted the momentary link of their fingers, a quick and silent communication. He saw Richard’s eyes follow his wife’s progress across the room, though his conversation with Jenny’s stepbrother never lagged, and Steven felt the old familiar tug in his heart again. Not a day had gone by in the years since Liz died that he didn’t think about his wife and how much he missed her. But being surrounded by so many happy couples made the empty space by his side loom so much larger.

He hadn’t noticed that his sister-in-law had made her way all around the room again until she was by his side.

“I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you tonight,” Jenny noted.

“You’ve been busy.”

“That’s no excuse for neglecting my favorite brother-in-law.”

“I’m your only brother-in-law.”

She waved a hand. “Technicalities.”

He smiled. “Then I should tell you that you’re my favorite sister-in-law, too,” he said. “And that dinner was spectacular.”

“Thanks. Though the only part of the meal I can take credit for is the planning. Preparing anything on that scale is way beyond my domestic capabilities.” Then her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath.

Steven instinctively reached for her arm. “Are you all right?”

She exhaled slowly, nodded. “Junior just caught me off guard with that one.”

Before he could drop his hand, she took it and laid it on the side of her tummy. He glanced around, inwardly questioning the propriety of having his hand on his brother’s wife’s body. Then the baby kicked again and he forgot everything else.

“That’s your nephew,” Jenny said. “Who seems increasingly unhappy with the limited size of his living space these days.”

Steven looked pointedly at her round belly. “Doesn’t look so small to me.”

She swatted him playfully. “Thanks for that ego boost.”

He grinned. “Isn’t that what brothers are for?”

“Brothers are also for helping their sisters—and their sister’s friends.”

“Haven’t I already done that?” he asked.

“Yes, and I wanted to thank you for giving Samara a chance to work at the magazine.”

“She was the best candidate for the job.”

“As I knew she would be.” Jenny’s smile was just a little smug. “But I need to ask another favor.”

“Anything,” he said automatically.

“I don’t see Samara anywhere,” she said. “Would you mind taking a look around for her and make sure she’s having a good time?”

Steven didn’t need to look far. He’d been conscious of Samara’s presence all night, somehow aware of every step she took, every man she talked to.

Every one except him—or so it seemed. Not that he could blame her after the stilted conversation they’d shared in the car. He felt so unaccustomedly awkward and tongue-tied around her, unable to think about anything but how beautiful she was, and how much he wanted to take her in his arms.

And while his sister-in-law had just given him the perfect excuse to go after Samara, he wasn’t sure he wanted one. He wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge the feelings she stirred inside him, never mind to act upon them.

“I don’t know your friend very well,” he said, “but I get the impression she can take care of herself.”

“Of course she can,” Jenny agreed. “But I’d feel better if I knew she wasn’t alone.”

And Steven would feel better if he wasn’t alone with her, but he nodded to his sister-in-law and went after Samara anyway.

Samara had been talking to Jenny’s husband when Richard excused himself to take a phone call. She took advantage of the opportunity to slip into the hall and out the back door. She just wanted ten minutes of quiet and solitude before she put the smile back on her face and returned to the party.

Muted light spilled out of the windows to illuminate the patio, so she moved farther away from the house to one of the lounge chairs deeper in the shadows.

She appreciated Jenny’s efforts to introduce her to new people, but she was feeling a little overwhelmed trying to remember all of the names and faces. And though she was sure it hadn’t been intentional, every one of the twenty-four people seated around the table were part of a couple. Every one except Samara and Steven.

She wondered if he’d noticed that, too, and if he felt as awkward about it as she did. She certainly wouldn’t guess that he did. Of course, she wouldn’t try to guess anything about what Steven Warren was thinking or feeling. In the nearly two weeks that had passed since their first meeting, she really didn’t know any more about him than she’d known when she’d walked into his office for that initial interview. Their paths rarely crossed at work, and when they did, it was only long enough to exchange a brief greeting.

“Did you really want to be alone or did you just need a break from the crowd?” Steven asked, stepping out of the shadows.

“I wanted some fresh air,” she said, ashamed to have been caught hiding out.

Steven handed her a glass of red wine. “I noticed this was what you were drinking at dinner, and since I know you’re not driving home, I thought I’d bring you another. A peace offering.”

She accepted the glass. “Thank you.”

He lowered himself into the chair beside hers. “I didn’t just come out here to deliver the wine.”

“You wanted a break from the crowd, too,” she guessed.

“I’m a little out of my element in these kinds of social settings. For the past couple of years, a night out for me has meant a G-rated movie and a tub of popcorn with my kids.”

She smiled, pleased with both the image and his admission. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, I guess not,” he agreed.

“I like to think I’m sociable,” she said. “But I felt like a third wheel in there.”

“Fifth wheel,” he told her.

She frowned. “Jenny and Richard and me—that would make three.”

“The expression is fifth wheel,” he explained. “Generally a vehicle has four wheels, making the fifth the unnecessary one.”

“Oh.” She stared at the wine in her glass. “Is that something I would know if I had a driver’s license?”

“Undoubtedly,” he said, but softened the response with a smile that told her he was only teasing.

She leaned back in her chair, noting that he was even more attractive when he smiled. Much more attractive. She tore her gaze away, reminding herself that he wasn’t just her boss, he was her best friend’s brother-in-law and the widowed father of two children. Which meant that he was someone she had absolutely no business thinking about in the way she’d suddenly started thinking about him—as someone she wouldn’t mind getting naked with.

Steven’s thoughts were on a similar path as he reached for his glass and tried not to let his eyes linger on Samara’s legs. They seemed to stretch all the way to her neck—long, slender, shapely—an impression that was emphasized by the short skirt and high heels she wore.

He took a long swallow of his drink and reminded himself that they were coworkers with a family connection, which should have automatically precluded consideration of any other kind of relationship between them. But couldn’t stop his imagination.

“There was a question I forgot to ask during your interview,” he said.

“Too late,” she told him. “You already hired me.”

“And I wouldn’t unhire you now,” he assured her. “I was just curious about something.”

“What?”

“Why you chose to settle in Chicago.”

“Because twenty-two months of living out of a suitcase was long enough.”

“Why did you leave Tokyo?”

She dropped her gaze. “There were a lot of reasons.”

“Personal or professional?”

“Both.” She took a sip of her wine, shrugged. “Mostly personal, I guess.”

And that was all she said. He wanted to question her further, to know what it was that had suddenly put the shadows in her usually sparkling eyes, but he didn’t know her well enough to press for details. Yet.

“What about you?” she asked, turning the tables. “Why did you come to Chicago?”

He decided that if he wanted her to share her secrets—and though he wasn’t sure why, he knew that he did want her to open up to him—he needed to start. “The obvious answer is for my job. But I don’t think I would have even considered the offer at Classic if I wasn’t already thinking that I needed to move my family out of Crooked Oak.”

“Because the memories were too painful?” she asked gently.

He shook his head. “The memories were one of the things that made it so hard to leave. But as hard as it was to lose my wife, I was afraid that if we didn’t make a new start somewhere else, I would lose my daughter, too.”

He took another sip of his soda and wished for a moment that it was something stronger. But he was driving, and he never fooled around with alcohol when he was going to get behind the wheel of a car. “After her mom died, Caitlin’s grades dropped dramatically. She started skipping classes and hanging with a questionable crowd at school.”

His knuckles tightened around his glass as he thought about what they’d been through. The meetings with her teachers and guidance counselors and principal. The phone calls from the manager at the movie theater from which Caitlin and her friends were banned for causing a ruckus, from a friend who’d found Caitlin puking up the alcohol she’d drunk, from the police who’d been called in when she’d tried to swipe a tube of lip gloss from the neighborhood pharmacy.

He’d been at his wit’s end, desperate to stop his daughter’s downward spiral without the slightest clue as to how to do it.

The darkness of the memories had become so all-encompassing he almost forgot Samara was there until she reached over and touched her hand to his arm. It was a casual touch, an offer of support, and somehow more.

Her gaze lifted to his, and he saw both surprise and awareness in the ebony depths of her eyes, as the air around them fairly crackled with the sudden tension between them.

Then she dropped her hand and leaned back in her chair. When she spoke, her voice was soft, her tone even, and he wondered if he’d imagined the sizzle in the air.

“The loss of a parent is a big deal at any age, but the loss of a mother would be even more devastating to a girl making that transition from child to woman.”

Steven winced. “Please don’t talk about transitions and womanhood—she’s only twelve.”

Samara laughed. “Twelve going on twenty, I imagine.”

“You’d be right,” he admitted reluctantly. “I miss the days when I used to complain about tripping over Barbies every time I turned around.”

“Does she like Chicago?”

“I have no idea.”

Samara’s brows rose.

“I have no idea about anything that goes through her mind,” he expanded. “She doesn’t talk about school and she has no interest in extracurricular activities. Though it’s early in the year, I’ve met with all of her teachers, and they’ve assured me she isn’t having any trouble in any of her classes, but I don’t see any excitement in her, either.”

“She’s twelve,” Samara echoed what he’d told her. “And as I recollect, the preteen years are filled with anxiety and intensity and definitely lacking in excitement.”

“Maybe,” he allowed.

“How is your son doing?”

“Tyler loves it here,” he said. “He’s made new friends, joined the science club at school, and has started playing hockey this year.”

“And what about you?” she asked.

“Me?”

She smiled at his obvious surprise. “Are you glad you moved?”

He caught her gaze again, held it as the tension flared once again. “I think I’m going to be.”

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