A second chance with her son’s secret father!

Widow Savannah Caldwell faces the challenge of her life: begging Trent Caldwell—her former fling and late husband’s brother—to save the family’s ailing music business. That she’s still attracted to Trent makes things hard; that Trent is her son’s secret father makes things impossible!

Trent is fiercely proud of making his own fortune, despite his controlling father. And he’s always believed his brother got the girl who should have been Trent’s. Now he’ll have the family business, and his brother’s widow in the bargain. But will their romantic reunion be waylaid by Savannah’s shocking baby secret?

Trent’s arms were around her, his lips descending, before she could guess his intention.

Fire flashed along her nerve endings at the first touch of his hot mouth against her skin. She gasped as his lips trailed down her throat. In the space of one heartbeat, she transitioned from wary to wonderful. His teeth grazed the sensitive joining of neck and shoulder and her toes curled. He knew her weaknesses. Every single one. Obviously he intended to capitalize on her bad judgment.

So what?

It had always been like this between them. Hot. Delicious. Inescapable. She groaned, surrendering to pleasure. Why not? They were both consenting adults. She was no longer married to his brother. She’d discovered the folly in trying to create a traditional family. Failing at that, what more did she have to lose by giving in to this rush of desire? And if she convinced Trent to help her in the process, what was the harm in that?

She wanted him, needed this. Why deny it? Later she could chastise herself for this rash act.

* * *

The Black Sheep’s Secret Child is part of Mills & Boon’s No.1 bestselling series, Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men...wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.

Dear Reader,

I’m delighted to be back in Las Vegas for The Black Sheep’s Secret Child, and it was nice to revisit some characters from my original Las Vegas Nights series to see what they’re up to. I’d like to thank my senior editor, Stacy Boyd, for suggesting a series set in the fascinating world of Vegas nightclubs. The first book in the Club T’s Las Vegas Nights series, which is also a Billionaires and Babies novel, is both a reunion and a secret baby story. I hope you enjoy Savannah and Trent’s second chance at love.

Happy reading,

Cat Schield

The Black Sheep’s Secret Child

Cat Schield

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAT SCHIELD has been reading and writing romance since high school. Although she graduated from college with a BA in business, her idea of a perfect career was writing books for Mills & Boon. And now, after winning the Romance Writers of America 2010 Golden Heart® Award for Best Contemporary Series Romance, that dream has come true. Cat lives in Minnesota with her daughter, Emily, and their Burmese cat. When she’s not writing sexy, romantic stories for Mills & Boon Desire, she can be found sailing with friends on the St. Croix River, or in more exotic locales, like the Caribbean and Europe. She loves to hear from readers. Find her at www.catschield.com. Follow her on Twitter, @catschield.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

Savannah Caldwell bypassed the line of partygoers held in a queue by velvet ropes and headed for the burly linebacker with the crooked nose guarding the nightclub’s front entrance. Club T’s was only open Friday through Monday. Without a table reservation, the average wait for general admission on a Monday night was one to three hours. Savannah had no intention of standing around that long to get in to see her brother-in-law.

A driving beat poured from the club’s mirror-lined doorway. At one o’clock in the morning, Club T’s was in full swing, and Savannah was actively second-guessing her impulse to hunt down Trent to discuss business at this unorthodox hour. But she’d been turned away from his office earlier when she’d tried to make an appointment with his assistant, and so coming here seemed the only way she could get him to acknowledge her.

A wave of melancholy caught her off guard. She’d been fixated on Trent since age eleven when she’d left Tennessee and moved to LA to live with her aunt Stacy, the Caldwell family’s live-in housekeeper. At first Savannah had just wanted him to like her. As she entered high school, she’d developed a full-blown crush on him. But it wasn’t until she’d moved to New York City at eighteen and began modeling that Trent finally noticed her as a woman.

When she’d married Trent’s brother, Rafe, sixteen months ago, Trent had severed all contact with her. The loss had been devastating. To cope she’d buried her sadness. But suppressing her emotions had turned her into a poorly crafted replica of who she used to be. She spoke less. Dressed and acted like a matron twice her age. She’d lost all touch with the optimistic young woman who dreamed of a loving family, and a husband who adored her.

Savannah stepped up to the blond bouncer with the well-defined cheekbones. In four-inch heels, she stood six feet tall, yet the top of her head came no higher than the second button of his snug black polo with Club T’s logo. Where ten minutes ago she’d been truly determined, she was suddenly awash in hesitation. Even if Savannah was comfortable with confrontation, she was no match for this man. He was accustomed to subduing intoxicated, belligerent troublemakers twice her size.

WWCD. What would Courtney do?

She drew in a breath to counteract her rising anxiety and ran through the centering exercises her acting coach had drilled into her. Playing the part of wealthy mean girl Courtney Day on a soap opera for three years had enabled Savannah to summon the demanding character at will, even two years after she’d stopped acting.

In the early days of working on the show, Savannah had struggled in a role as foreign to her as Courtney. While she’d certainly encountered enough rich, entitled and manipulative women during her years of living in the Caldwell household to draw from to create Courtney, Savannah hated the sort of conflict the socialite thrived on. Savannah would rather retreat than stick up for herself and had a hard time acting as if everyone should rush to do her bidding.

She’d landed the role because of how she’d looked in Courtney’s designer clothes, with her hair and makeup done by professionals, not because she could act. Within the first two days, it was obvious she was going to be fired unless she learned to embrace Courtney’s mean-girl persona. A fellow actor recommended her acting coach. Bert Shaw was tough and smart. He convinced her to live the persona 24/7 until she was more familiar with Courtney than Savannah. It had taken two weeks, but once she surrendered to Courtney’s strengths, her flaws were easier to accept.

With a slow blink, Savannah wrapped herself in her alter ego once more. “I need to speak with Trent,” she told the gatekeeper.

To her shock, the man nodded. The smile he gave her was surprisingly gentle for one of his imposing bulk. “Of course, Mrs. Caldwell. He said to let you right in.”

Savannah wasn’t sure whether to be delighted or worried that Trent had at long last made himself available after ignoring her phone calls for the last seven days. What sort of game was he playing? Knowing Trent the way she did, it could be any number of things.

“He’ll be in the VIP section upstairs.” The bouncer unhooked the rope from the stanchion and gestured her toward the entrance.

Courtney treated most people as if they existed only to serve her. Savannah should have sailed through without giving the bouncer another glance, but she sent him a grateful smile as she went by.

Once upon a time she might have enjoyed being here, but not tonight. Club T’s catered to twentysomethings who favored short dresses that bared long tanned legs and impressive amounts of cleavage. As she eased through the press of bodies, she was feeing positively archaic.

She’d had fun taking in the LA and New York City nightlife at Trent’s side. But that was before she’d entered a loveless marriage, given birth to her son and become a widow all in the space of a year and a half. Not what she’d hoped for herself.

When she thought about the girl who’d dreamed of living happily ever after, she missed her a lot. Naive and very foolish she might have been, but she’d also been brimming with optimism. Undaunted by a lonely childhood where she’d been more burden than someone’s pride and joy, she’d craved a traditional family lifestyle, with a husband and children, a cozy house with a dog, and a white picket fence. Instead, she’d fallen for Trent Caldwell and picked the one man who would never make her dreams come true...

Handsome and confident, with an irresistible charm, Trent could also be difficult and moody when things didn’t go his way. His family brought out the worst in him, something Savannah had often witnessed during the years she’d lived with them.

When Trent’s father, Siggy, went after his younger son for his wild nature and reckless behavior, the whole house had resonated with his denigrating monologues. Siggy saw himself as the head of a dynasty and viewed Trent as the bad seed. During the seven years Savannah had lived with her aunt, it became clear that while eldest son, Rafe, could do no wrong, younger son, Trent, did nothing right.

In the aftermath of those arguments, Savannah had always gone to Trent. In him she saw reflected the loneliness and isolation that defined her situation. Believing they were kindred spirits fanned her girlish crush on him. She supposed that Trent acted the way he did because it was expected of him rather than because it was his nature. Just as she was confident that if he’d been raised by a father who’d been supportive and kind, rather than a tyrant, he would have ended up totally different.

She paused at the edge of the dance floor and searched for the stairs that would take her into the VIP section. Since Savannah had never visited Las Vegas before, she had no idea where she was going. The photographs she’d seen of Club T’s didn’t do the enormity of the place justice. The club occupied forty thousand square feet in Cobalt, one of the premier hotels on the Strip. In addition to the enormous dance floor inside, the club boasted a sprawling outdoor patio and pool area.

The club was owned by three men—the T’s that made up the club’s name. Trent Caldwell, Savannah’s brother-in-law, who managed the day-to-day business, had a 50 percent stake. The other half was split between Kyle Tailor, former Cubs pitcher and part owner of the LA Dodgers as well as the boyfriend of Trent’s sister, Melody, and Nate Tucker, Grammy-winning singer/songwriter, Free Fall’s lead singer, producer and owner of Ugly Trout Records.

Before Savannah could start moving again, a medium-size man with brown hair snagged her arm. “Hey, there, beautiful. If you’re looking for someone, here I am. Let me buy you a drink.”

“No, thank you.”

“Come on. One drink.”

“I’m meeting someone.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind.”

She’d had too many encounters with men like this. She didn’t need a basket filled with cookies or a red cape to attract the wolves. Something beyond being blonde and pretty made her prey. And all too often she had a tendency to trust when she should question instead.

“I mind.”

The bodies around them shifted, allowing Savannah to slip away without further confrontation. She angled away from the bar and the dance floor. Sheer luck allowed her to blunder in the right direction. Another mammoth guarded the VIP entrance, but he let her in without challenge. Noting the earpiece he wore, Savannah assumed he’d been warned to expect her.

She wound her way past plush, curved couches loaded with celebrities from the music industry and Hollywood. Her brother-in-law was easy to locate. She just needed to look for the most beautiful women.

Trent was completely in his element. Like an emperor accustomed to being adored, he sat on a curved couch, arms spread wide to allow the brunettes flanking him to snuggle close. Each girl had a drink in one hand and rested the other hand possessively on Trent. If they hoped to pin down this elusive bachelor, Savannah wished them luck. From the look on his face, he wasn’t into either of them. Not that that would stop him from showing them a good time. And from their blatant pawing, it appeared that’s what they were looking for.

Savannah stepped up to Trent’s table and spoke his name. The DJ picked that second to talk over the loud music and drowned out her voice. Nevertheless, whether he heard his name or just noticed her awkwardly standing there, Trent turned his attention to her.

As his eyes met hers, longing slammed into her, as inescapable as it was four years ago when he’d kissed her for the first time. Strong emotions bumped up her heart rate and released butterflies in her stomach. Squaring her shoulders, she ignored her body’s disloyalty. She couldn’t let Trent get to her. She’d come to Las Vegas with a business proposition and that’s what she needed to focus on.

“Savannah, what a surprise.” A welcoming smile curved his lips, but to someone who’d seen Trent unguarded and truly happy, it looked fake. “Come join us.”

She shook her head. “I’m not here to party.”

He mimed that he couldn’t hear her and waved her closer. Savannah held her ground, not relishing the idea of becoming one of his groupies. If she’d felt out of place downstairs, that was nothing compared to the humiliation of standing on display for Trent’s fashion-forward friends. Pity, boredom and mockery made up their expressions as they judged her.

In the year and a half since she and Rafe had become a couple, she’d adapted to his preferred style. Her husband had dictated that she wear her hair sleek and fill her closet with elegant clothes worthy of a CEO’s wife. Tonight, she’d been thinking along the lines of business rather than clubbing when she’d left the suite wearing a sheath of red satin and sheer checkerboard squares over a nude lining. It covered her from collarbone to knee and made her stand out from the crowd in the worst way possible.

“I need to speak to you.” As much as she hated raising her voice, the loud dance music required her to shout to be heard.

“Just one drink.” He signaled the waitress. “One drink and we can talk right here.”

She was not going to go sit beside Trent and pretend that the way he’d treated her this last year and a half hadn’t bothered her. Because it had. She’d been angry with Trent for refusing to even consider making a commitment to her and tormented by guilt for marrying his brother for all the wrong reasons.

Savannah crossed her arms over her chest. She might have to beg for Trent’s help, but she wouldn’t let him see her humiliation at needing to do so.

“I’d prefer our conversation to be a private one.”

She’d never negotiated with Trent and won. The man never seemed to care whether or not he got what he wanted. He was always ready to walk away from the bargaining table, which gave him an advantage.

They stared at each other—each determined to have their way—until the music and the lights faded to insignificance in the background. Trent’s gaze toured her body with lazy intensity as he waited for her to surrender to his will. It bothered Savannah how much she wanted to give in to him.

His power over her hadn’t faded one bit. Her thoughts were jumbled as she was overwhelmed by the urge to taste his sexy mouth and feel his hands roaming all over her. Their lovemaking had always been hot and satisfying. He’d spent an exceptional amount of time getting to know her body’s every sensitive spot. An ache blossomed inside her. It had been nineteen long months since she’d last been with him, and her every nerve was on fire with anticipation.

Coming here tonight had been a bad idea. She should have held out for a civilized meeting in his office. Instead, she was filled with a recklessness inspired by the dance music’s heavy beat and her own dangerous desire.

She had to go.

As a child Savannah had coped with her father’s temper and her grandmother’s frequent illnesses by hiding somewhere she felt safe. By the time she’d become a teenager, the habit of fleeing difficult situations was fully ingrained in her psyche. Retreat and regroup. Now that she was a mother, she’d grown better at standing her ground, but when overly stressed she fell back on what was familiar. Which explained why she turned away from Trent and headed for the exit.

The club seemed busier than it had five minutes earlier. Savannah wormed through the press of undulating bodies, familiar tightness building in her chest. The ever-changing lights and the hammering beat of the music combined to batter her senses. Her legs shook as she wound her way past the dance floor, and she wrenched her ankle during an awkward sidestep. Her head began to spin. Pressure built until she wanted to scream. She had to get out of the club. But which direction was the exit?

“There you are.” The man she’d escaped earlier sneaked his arm around her waist and breathed alcohol at her. Her brief encounter with Trent had stripped away her Courtney armor. Locked in her panic attack, she was vulnerable to the man’s boldness. “Thought you could get away from me, didn’t you?” His lips met her cheek in an untidy kiss.

“Let me go,” she said, but her voice lacked energy and the man was too drunk to hear her even if she’d shouted.

“Let’s dance.”

“No.” She tried to squirm away but found nowhere to escape as the crowd pressed in on them.

All at once a large hand landed on the man’s shoulder and tightened. With a yelp, the guy set her free.

“Hey, man. What are you doing?”

The drunk might have been a wolf, but Trent was a ferocious lion. “Leave this club before I have you thrown out.”

If she hadn’t been so rattled, Savannah might have enjoyed the way her assailant scrambled away from Trent.

Despite the heat being generated by a thousand dancers, Savannah’s skin prickled with goose bumps. The urge to turn tail and run seized her, but before the impulse worked its way into her muscles, Trent slipped his arm around her waist.

Through modeling Savannah had gained an understanding of her physical appeal. Training to become Courtney Day had shown her how to act more confident. By the time Trent had come to New York to visit his sister, Melody, at Juilliard, Savannah was no longer an insecure girl, but a confident, sensual woman he desired. And more importantly, one he could have.

Falling back into old patterns with Trent was easy and comfortable, and she didn’t resist as he drew her away from the crowd. He led her to a nondescript door, used a key card to activate the electronic lock and maneuver her through.

As the door clicked shut behind them, leaving them alone in a brightly lit hallway, Trent brushed her ear with his lips. “I see you still need someone to watch over you.”

Being in his debt before she’d asked for his help wasn’t a successful approach. “You didn’t give me the chance to handle him.”

“Would you like me to fetch him back?”

Savannah fought to control a shiver, knowing that to give in was to let him know how much she appreciated being rescued. “No.”

Trent smirked at her. “You said you wanted a private conversation. How private do you need it to be?”

“Somewhere we can talk uninterrupted.” She glanced up and down the twenty-foot hallway, seeing no one but hearing voices and laughter from around a corner.

“My office is quiet,” he said, fingers sliding along her spine in a tantalizing caress. “Unless you’re afraid to be alone with me?”

She twitched as his touch sent a lance of pleasure through her. “Why would I be?”

“You’re quivering.” He nuzzled her hair, voice deep and intimate. “Makes me think of the last time we were alone together.”

“That was almost two years ago.” But already the increased agitation in her hormones signaled that the chemistry between them remained as combustible as ever. Damn. She hadn’t counted on lust being a factor in her negotiations with Trent.

“In the past, we’ve had a hard time keeping our hands off each other.”

“That explains why you stayed away from me. Why did you stop taking Rafe’s phone calls? It really hurt him.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “Ask me if I’m worried how Rafe felt. He was my older brother, yet he never once stood up for me against Siggy. Not when we were kids or when Siggy refused to bring me into the family business. Rafe was the golden child and he liked it that way. So, what? I’m supposed to forgive and forget because he has a change of heart on his deathbed?”

There it was. That chip on his shoulder. The one he’d developed in response to every slight his father had delivered. Trent had been the second son. The spare heir. The boy with eclectic musical interests and strong opinions.

She couldn’t disagree with his perception of his relationship with his brother and father. She’d heard the arguments. They didn’t appreciate just how brilliant he was. The only opinions Siggy Caldwell entertained were his own. Rafe had learned about the business at his father’s knee, never challenging Siggy’s decisions.

“Still want to talk?” Trent asked. Had he noticed something in her manner that led him to believe she regretted coming here tonight?

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m dying to hear what brought you to Las Vegas.”

“I need your help.”

“You must be pretty desperate if you came to me.” Trent scrutinized her expression for a beat before taking her by the arm and leading her down the hall. “Let’s go to my office. You can tell me all about it.”

* * *

As soon as Trent escorted Savannah into his office and closed the door behind them, he knew this was a bad idea. He blamed curiosity. She’d been trying to get a hold of him for a week.

Yet, he could’ve picked up the phone at any time and discovered what was on her mind. But he’d resisted. What had changed?

Long-buried emotions, aroused by the familiar scent of her perfume, provided the answer. His fingers itched to slide over her smooth skin. From his first sight of her in the club tonight, he’d been fighting the longing to back her against a wall and ease his mouth over her quaking body.

He released her arm and turned his back to her. Picturing her naked and moaning his brother’s name reminded him why he’d been keeping his distance.

He slipped behind a wet bar that ran perpendicular to the wall of floor-to-ceiling monitors tuned to various key areas in the club. Fixing her a drink gave him something useful to do until the urge to crush her mouth beneath his abated. Trent gave himself a hard mental shake. Obviously he hadn’t thought through this scenario when he’d suggested they use his office for their private conversation. Being alone with Savannah shouldn’t trigger his libido. He thought he’d gotten over her the instant she’d said “I do” to his brother. Damn if he’d been wrong.

Disgusted, Trent pulled a bottle from the fridge and surveyed the label. “Champagne?” When she shook her head, he arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t we celebrating?”

Her frown asked, Celebrating what? “You know I don’t drink.”

“Oh,” he drawled. “I thought perhaps after being married to my brother, you might have started.”

Savannah made a face at him but didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ll take some sparkling water if you have it.”

Amused, Trent dropped ice into a glass and poured her a drink. Fixing a lime to the rim, he pushed the glass across the bar toward her. As much as he could use a scotch to settle his nerves, he refrained. Dealing with Savannah was complicated enough without a fuzzy head.

A familiar mixture of fondness and rage filled him as he watched her sip the drink.

From the moment the naive eleven-year-old with the big blue eyes had moved into the servants’ quarters of his family’s Beverly Hills home, he’d been drawn to her. Unlike his twelve-year-old sister, she’d exhibited none of the gawkiness of preteen girls. And her lack of street smarts had driven Trent crazy.

As a kid he’d slipped into rebellious and resentful mode pretty early. Being a troublemaker came easy. He wasn’t anyone’s hero. But he’d come to Savannah’s rescue more times than he could count. She’d been a magnet for anyone eager to take advantage of a young girl from some backwoods town in Tennessee. To look at her you’d think she would turn to smoke if you touched her, but in fact there was supple muscle beneath her soft skin, something he’d discovered firsthand when he’d taught her a couple self-defense moves.

In some ways, she was still the same ragamuffin who’d needed protection from the mean girls in school and the boys who thought to take advantage of her naïveté. But being on her own in New York had given her a new set of skills. For one, she’d learned how to go after something she wanted. And for a while it was pretty apparent that what she’d wanted was him.

Which was why it had come as such a surprise that she’d chosen to marry his brother. Despite the years she’d spent in LA and New York, she remained a small-town girl at heart. She had no lofty dreams of fame and fortune. She’d never known stability growing up, so as an adult, Savannah craved marriage and children, a secure, safe life.

Her vision of a traditional family situation was completely foreign to Trent. His father was an ambitious tyrant who’d married late. His misogynistic behavior had driven his wife away not long after Melody was born. The prenup their mother had signed granted her nothing if she fought for custody of her children. Trent had never been surprised that she’d chosen the money.

Was it any wonder he had so little interest in marriage and family? But knowing how important it was to Savannah should’ve warned him to keep his distance. He might have, but she was irresistible to him.

No matter how many times he’d cautioned himself to stay away, he couldn’t stop coming to her rescue. Only once had he abandoned her to trouble—the day she’d declared her intention to marry Rafe.

“Widowhood becomes you,” he said. If he’d hoped to shock her, he failed.

Reproachful blue eyes fixed on him. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“Perhaps, but it doesn’t stop it from being true.”

Young Savannah had possessed a guilelessness that left her open for the world to read. And take advantage of. He’d expected her to be eaten alive in the cutthroat world of modeling and acting in New York City, but she’d figured out a way to survive. When he’d visited Melody during her junior year at Juilliard, he’d been checking in on Savannah, as well. At first he’d been surprised. The naive girl wasn’t gone, but she’d become a little wiser. She’d also gained an air of mystery. He’d been intrigued.

He still was.

“Perhaps you should tell me why you’re here, dear sister-in-law.”

Her lips formed a moue of distaste at the specific emphasis he put on the last three words. Trent took no pleasure in highlighting the chasm between them, but it needed to be done.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Trent had been dodging her for a week, assuming something of this sort. For sixteen months he’d been waiting for her to admit that marrying his brother had been a mistake. It irritated him that she hadn’t. And now she wanted something from him.

“I’m not interested.”

“You haven’t even heard me out.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

Her facial muscles tightened, lending her expression a determined look he’d never seen before. She’d always seemed untouched by demons that drove most people, unfazed by success or obstacles. What had changed? Marriage to his brother? Motherhood?

These were questions best left alone. Trent didn’t need to venture down the rabbit hole of turbulent emotions conjured whenever he spent time with Savannah. Better to speed her on her way back to LA and be done with temptation.

“Maybe we don’t have anything to talk about, but I have a great deal to say.”

“Why don’t you make an appointment with my office for some time next week.” He knew he was taunting her but couldn’t help himself. She’d become another in a long list of people who brought out his bad side.

“I’ve already been here five days and you’ve been avoiding me. I’m closing on the sale of my house tomorrow afternoon, so Dylan and I are leaving in the morning. I had hoped to have everything settled before we returned to LA.”

Against his better judgment—because he was playing directly into her hands—Trent asked, “What exactly did you intend to have settled?”

“When Rafe died, he left his shares of West Coast Records to Dylan. That means until Dylan’s eighteenth birthday, I’m in charge of the business.” She shook her head. “I need help.”

Now Trent was starting to see where she was going. “You’ve got Gerry.” Gerry Brueger had been Siggy’s second in command for twenty years. Passed over for president when Siggy stepped down and installed Rafe as the head of the company, Gerry would jump at the chance to take over.

“It’s not that simple. I need a CEO I can trust. Someone who gets the business and can turn things around.”

“So hire someone.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” She cocked her head and scowled at him.

“Me?” This was not at all what he’d expected. Trent shook his head. “Not interested.”

“It’s your family’s company.”

“It’s my father’s company.” And his brother’s. They’d never wanted him to be a part of it. “Besides, my father isn’t going to welcome my interference.” He noticed that her gaze shifted away. “Have you talked to Siggy about this?”

“It’s my decision.” But she sounded less confident than she’d been moments earlier.

“So you haven’t mentioned any of this to Siggy?”

“He sold a majority of his shares in the business to Rafe. Dylan inherited them. Siggy isn’t in control of the company anymore.”

Her naïveté was showing. She might think she was in charge, but she was in for a huge battle if she thought she could bring Trent into the record company. He almost felt sorry for her.

“Sell the company back to Siggy and wash your hands of it.”

“It’s not that cut-and-dried.” She set her untouched glass of water on a nearby table and squared her shoulders. “He won’t buy back Rafe’s shares, but I know he’s planning to control things behind the scenes. Siggy intends for Dylan to run the company someday.” Savannah paused and compressed her lips into a thin line. With a sigh, she continued, “In the meantime, I can’t run it and I don’t trust your father to be able to turn things around.”

“Turn things around?” Trent had heard rumblings that West Coast Records was having financial problems. No surprise there—Siggy Caldwell’s approach to the music industry was uninspired and his eldest son had been a chip off the old block. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not exactly sure, because I’ve been getting the runaround from Gerry, but I think they’re behind on paying royalties to their artists.”

“When did this start?”

“I don’t know. Shortly after we were married, Rafe confided to me that the company was struggling financially before your father retired.” That had occurred three years earlier. “And after the cancer started eating away at Rafe, he wasn’t making the best decisions. I’m sure things got much worse then.”

Trent ignored the compulsion that demanded he step in and fix everything. “While this is all fascinating, what does any of it have to do with me?”

“The company needs you.” Her big blue eyes went soft and concerned in the way that always kicked him hard in the solar plexus.

Trent’s first impulse was to laugh. He never got the chance. Questions crowded in. He didn’t give a damn about the company. But did she need him? Trent crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her through half-closed eyes. She was beautiful. Poised. But not happy. He should’ve felt triumphant. Instead there was a dull ache in his gut.

“You know, better than most, that isn’t going to sway me. Try again.”

She gazed at the blank walls that made up his office. If she was looking for some clue about how to appeal to him, she wouldn’t find it there. He was a man who didn’t give a damn about anything. Or that’s the face he showed the world. It made it much harder for someone to hurt him if he showed no vulnerability.

“Prove to your father you’re a better businessman than he is.”

He should be gloating. Trent—not his father or brother—would be the one to save the struggling West Coast Records, but his only emotion was bitterness.

“He would never believe that.” The great Siggy Caldwell never owned up to his mistakes. He sure as hell wouldn’t admit that his pitiful excuse for a second son was a better anything. “If that’s the best you have, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

She let the silence fill the space between them for a beat before speaking. “I need your help.”

He resisted the urge to sweep her into his arms and pledge his support. She was staring at him in desperate hope, as if he was her knight in shining armor. That was the farthest thing from reality. Sure, maybe he’d helped her out a time or two in the past, but she wasn’t his responsibility anymore. The time for rescuing her had ended sixteen months earlier when she’d promised to love, honor and cherish his brother.

“And just like that, you expect me to drop everything and rush to your aid?” It cost him, but he gave his words a sardonic twist and hardened his heart. “It’s not going to happen.”

Two

Despite all the times he’d rescued her in the past, Savannah knew she shouldn’t have counted on Trent helping her. She’d committed the ultimate sin. She’d married his brother.

And now she was stuck in an untenable position. Her one-year-old son had inherited stock she couldn’t sell to a third party without her father-in-law’s permission. This meant as an asset it held no value for her. And because of the way the record label was hemorrhaging money, the stock would be worthless in no time.

Begging to be rescued was too humiliating and probably wouldn’t work anyway. Negotiating was a much more palatable option. Once again, she channeled Courtney Day. Relaxing her shoulders, she spoke in her alter ego’s confident tone.

“What can I say or do to change your mind?”

“I don’t know.” Something flickered in Trent’s eyes. “What are you offering?”

“I have nothing to bargain with.”

Cards on the table, she maintained her poker face while his gaze raked over her. Heat rose to her skin. It wasn’t humiliation she felt, but desire. If confronted, he would deny that he wanted her, but the flare of his nostrils and the way his pupils dilated hinted that the chemistry between them hadn’t faded.

“You have something.”

Savannah shook her head, unsure if what she was picking up off him was real or wishful thinking. “Rafe burned through all our cash chasing alternative medical treatments that didn’t work,” she said. “After he died, I had to sell the house to pay off his debts.”

And she’d come up short by a million. She’d counted on selling Rafe’s shares back to Siggy for enough money to clear the debt and maybe have a little bit to start over somewhere new.

But Siggy didn’t want his shares back. He wanted Rafe’s son.

“The only thing of value left is Dylan’s shares in the company,” she continued. “But I can’t touch that.”

“I don’t want money,” Trent said.

No, of course not. He could buy West Coast Records three times over. “What do you want?”

That she was putting herself in his hands occurred to her the instant the words were past her lips. But what else could she do? Siggy was willing to clear her debt but insisted she and Dylan move in with him. Her father-in-law’s opinion of her was low. He hadn’t approved of his son marrying her and he’d let her know that on several occasions. The thought of living in that toxic environment made her panic.

“Why did you marry my brother?”

The question came out of nowhere, and for several seconds Savannah didn’t know what to say. Discussing her marriage with Trent was fraught with too many complications. Trent would never understand or approve of what she’d done, because he couldn’t understand how her circumstances had left her feeling vulnerable and alone.

“You knew what I wanted. What was the most important thing to me.”

Something Trent was never going to give her—a family. They stared at each other while her unspoken answer hung between them. Speaking of her longing would open up old wounds and she couldn’t bear that.

I can’t give you what you want.

Her heart had shattered when he’d uttered those words two years earlier.

At last she sighed. “I wanted to be married. To have children.”

“I don’t understand why you chose Rafe. Was it because you were pregnant?”

Savannah noticed he didn’t ask her if she’d loved his brother. Why bother when the math was obvious? Dylan had been born six months after Savannah and Rafe had promised to love, honor and cherish each other until death.

“That played into it.” She’d been devastated that the man she loved couldn’t give her what she wanted and terrified of raising a child on her own.

Why had she chosen Rafe? Because he’d wanted her.

“Rafe was excited about being a father. Family was important to him.”

More important than she’d initially understood. And he’d been very persuasive. At the time she’d believed she could trust him. She wouldn’t have married him if he’d been like Trent. But he’d never once made her doubt his desire to be a father, and he’d been over-the-moon excited that she was carrying a boy.

“Rafe and Siggy were exactly alike,” Trent scoffed. “People mean no more to them than as a means to an end.”

It was humiliating to know just how right Trent was about that. She’d thought Rafe was her friend. Growing up he’d been the nice one, always upbeat and well mannered. He’d never hurt Savannah’s feelings when she’d tried to cheer him out of a bad mood. He’d been the one to lift her spirits.

From when they were kids, he’d known how she felt about his brother. A couple times he’d come upon her crying in the midst of teenage angst over Trent. And he’d made her feel less unwanted.

Rafe had been the one who’d encouraged her to take the modeling job in New York. And after she quit the soap opera and returned to LA, he’d been the one who’d helped her find a rental.

She’d never questioned why Rafe was so accepting about the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy. Nor had her suspicions been aroused by the fact that he’d been the one who’d handed her a box of condoms and sent her to Las Vegas to visit Trent and get him out of her system once and for all.

It wasn’t until after Dylan was born, when Rafe collapsed and she discovered the illness he’d been hiding, that she’d learned how he’d tricked her. That he’d sabotaged the box of condoms. Gambled that she would get pregnant.

He’d bought into his father’s notions of a dynasty. Wanted a son, but his cancer treatments had left him impotent and sterile. So he’d taken a chance and tricked her into getting pregnant by his brother.

At first she’d been shocked and appalled at being manipulated by someone she trusted. But in the end she couldn’t hate a man who’d made such poor decisions with a death sentence hanging over his head.

“That last time we were together,” Trent began, his voice pitched low. “Were you and Rafe already involved?”

Savannah came out of her musing to find Trent standing within arm’s reach. Closer than she’d expected. He stood with his head cocked, his manner watchful, as if waiting for a sign from her. Suddenly she was having trouble catching her breath.

He hadn’t touched her. He showed no inclination that he wanted to. So why was she suddenly craving his kiss?

“Does it matter?” She should back away. Put the width of the room between them. A table. A chair. Better yet, a door. Several corridors. A couple dozen floors.

“Not to me.” His tone was light but his gaze was intense. “But my brother might have appreciated knowing you were cheating on him with me.”

“I wasn’t cheating on him. With you or anyone else.”

In her rush to vindicate herself in his eyes, she neglected to remember that little matter of math. Would Trent realize that nine months after they had been together in Las Vegas, she’d given birth to Dylan? The thought terrified her. What if he wouldn’t help her after discovering she’d kept the truth about his son from him? It was a practical concern, but not her bigger fear.

It hadn’t taken a lot for Rafe to convince her that once Trent learned the truth that he would still reject her and his son.

Which is why she hadn’t told him about Dylan when she’d discovered she was pregnant. Was it cowardly of her to hide the truth because she was assuming the worst outcome? Of course, but nothing Trent had ever said to her gave her reason to hope that he’d miraculously alter his way of thinking because he was going to be a father.

“I don’t want to talk about my marriage.”

“Then we’ve run out of things to say to each other.” Trent gestured toward his office door.

“That isn’t necessarily true,” she countered, snatching at something to keep the conversation rolling. If she kept him talking, he wouldn’t be able to throw her out of his office and maybe she could get the topic back around to the record label.

“What else did you have in mind?”

“You could ask me about Murphy.”

He’d gotten her the French bulldog as a Christmas present three years ago. At the time she’d thought he’d bought the cream-colored snore monster because he was starting to get ideas of taking their relationship to the next level. She’d been in heaven.

Having Trent all to herself for those two weeks had been magical. They’d snuggled on the couch and opened presents at midnight on Christmas Eve. The week leading up to New Year’s, they’d walked the puppy, browsed through Chinatown and the East Village, taken in a couple Broadway shows. They’d rung in the New Year with a bottle of champagne and the most perfect lovemaking of Savannah’s life.

Then, six weeks later, he’d canceled on her last minute, and she’d spent Valentine’s Day crying into Murphy’s soft puppy coat. She’d realized that the long-distance thing wasn’t working for her and she’d decided to quit the soap opera and move back to LA.

“How is he?”

“Wonderful. He’s devoted to Dylan. Follows him everywhere. Curls up with him at nap time.”

“How did Rafe enjoy sharing his bed with the dog?”

Questions like these were a minefield. How did she answer? She couldn’t reveal that she’d entered into a loveless marriage and had never shared a bed with her husband.

“He didn’t.” Which was at least true.

“I’m not surprised. Rafe was never an animal person.”

Unlike Trent, who’d fostered several rescues over the years. He liked helping out—something he’d deny—but the temporary nature of providing a home for dogs who after a couple months moved on to permanent situations demonstrated his unwillingness to commit and his distaste for being tied down.

She’d been so hurt by his refusal to move their relationship forward, even though she’d known that’s how he was when she’d gotten involved with him. She kept hoping that he’d change. That she’d be the one he’d fall in love with and would be unable to live without.

Instead, in her sorrow and loss, she’d let his brother manipulate her. In her heart she’d known Trent was a better man than his brother, and a small part of her had expected him to save her one more time.

Only he hadn’t. And she couldn’t blame him for leaving her to rot.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“It was wrong of me to get involved with Rafe.”

“I’ve been waiting a year and a half for you to admit that.”

Trent’s arms were around her, his lips descending, before she could guess his intention. Fire flashed along her nerve endings at the first touch of his hot mouth against her skin. She gasped as his lips trailed down her throat. In the space of one heartbeat, she transitioned from wary to wondrous. His teeth grazed the sensitive joining of neck and shoulder and her toes curled. He knew her weaknesses. Every single one. Obviously he intended to capitalize on her bad judgment.

So what?

It had always been like this between them. Hot. Delicious. Inescapable. She groaned, surrendering to pleasure. Why not? They were both consenting adults. She was no longer married to his brother. This had nowhere to go. She’d discovered the folly in trying to create a traditional family. Failing at that, what more did she have to lose by giving in to this rush of desire? And if she convinced Trent to help her in the process, what was the harm in that?

All these thoughts flashed through her head in the instant before Trent’s hand slid over her butt and pulled her pelvis into snug contact with his arousal. She fisted her hands in his hair and tugged to bring his mouth to hers. She wanted him, needed this—why deny it? Later she could chastise herself for this rash act.

Trent captured her mouth in a hot, sizzling kiss. The ache between her thighs pulsed with more urgency as his tongue plunged past her teeth. She met the thrust with ardent fervor. A growl vibrated in her throat. That they could be discovered at any second should have bothered her. On the other hand, maybe Trent had entertained enough women in here to make his staff wary of interrupting their boss.

That thought too should have disturbed her. But Savannah was beyond logic and reason.

She drew him toward the couch and pushed him onto it. He bounced a little as the cushions gave beneath him. With a sassy grin, she hiked up her skirt and climbed onto his lap. Settling her hot center against his erection caused them both to shudder. She wasn’t sure when the Courtney Day persona had fallen away. What she was doing now was pure Savannah.

Breath ragged, palms gliding up her thigh, he regarded her. His guards were up. He’d tightened his lips into an unyielding line and a sharp line appeared between his strong, dark brows. Questions gathered in his eyes. Savannah rocked her hips in a sultry move that caused him to exhale sharply in a low curse.

He started to speak. She shushed him and captured his face between her hands to keep him still while she flicked her tongue against his lower lip and then pulled it between her teeth and sucked gently. Strong fingers dug into her thighs hard enough to leave bruises. She smiled as she kept up the tantalizing seduction of his mouth.

Earlier when he’d pulled her against him, she’d felt the familiar square of tin that held breath mints and a little something extra in his suit coat pocket. Now she reached for the box and slipped it free. Trent heard the familiar rattle and leaned away from her kiss.

Savannah sat up straight and held the tin between them. “I see you haven’t changed your habits.”

“I like being prepared.”

She popped the lid and slipped a mint into her mouth. Sharp and cool, the peppermint flavor exploded on her tongue, making it tingle. “Want one?”

Eyes locked on hers, he opened his mouth and let her feed him one. While the mint dissolved, they regarded each other in silence. His gaze held challenge, but curiosity, as well. He wanted to know if she intended to get to what else the tin held. Savannah savored his anticipation. He liked being in charge. It’s why he hadn’t stuck around to be a part of his family’s business, but had struck out on his own.

No one was going to boss around Trent Caldwell.

But Savannah had found him to be a wonderful partner in bed. For as often as he’d swept her into his passion and demanded her surrender, there had always been opportunities when he let her take the lead. Because of this, her confidence had flourished, not only with regard to her sexuality, but also in her worth as an individual.

The heavy pulse of desire between her thighs hadn’t diminished one bit during this exchange. In fact, as she grew more committed to this next step, her hunger for him had only increased.

Savannah plucked out the square foil package and held it up. “Only one? You used to carry at least two.” She might have sounded confident, but she wasn’t. Courtney Day might not have thought twice about a quickie with her sexy ex, but Savannah was rapidly losing her nerve.

“What makes you think I haven’t used one already today?”

Trent had a healthy sexual appetite, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already had sex with three other women. She shouldn’t care. But it hurt all the same. Several deep breaths later she’d pushed down panic and dismay. This couldn’t become about what she’d had and lost. She needed a brief interlude to escape her troubles and there was no better man to rock her world than Trent.

But why was he baiting her? She could see from his flat stare that he expected her to back off.

“For a second I forgot who I was dealing with.” She closed the tin with a metallic snap and tossed it aside.

Aware that he was scrutinizing her every move, she placed the wrapped condom between her teeth and set her hands to loosening his belt. Up until now she’d been doing a good job of appearing confident. But beneath Trent’s unreadable gaze, she felt a tiny fizz of nervous energy dance along her spine, making her fingers clumsy. Trent made no attempt to help her. In fact he didn’t move at all, except for the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

At long last Savannah slid down his zipper and freed him. His erection sprang into her hands, eager for her attention. Overwhelmed by joy at what they were about to do, she paused for a moment, fingers coasting along his hot silken length. With a half smile she tore open the wrapper and unrolled the condom, sheathing him. His head had fallen back against the couch while his breath hissed out between clenched teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut and held perfectly still, every muscle in his body tense beneath her.

In her stylish but conservatively cut dress, Savannah might not have appeared as if she’d planned for a hot night at the club, but she’d chosen a red lace bra and thong set to wear underneath. Had she thought in her wildest dreams she would be in this position? Perhaps her subconscious had wanted this all along.

Before she could change her mind about what she was about to do, Savannah cupped Trent’s erection in her palm, slid aside her thong and brought his tip into contact with her wet heat.

For the first time in several seconds Trent shifted. He cupped her butt in both hands and moved her forward and down until he was sheathed inside her. They groaned simultaneously as she came to rest, fully seated on his lap once again. Savannah put her hands on his shoulders, needing him for balance as her head began to spin.

This wasn’t just sex. It had never been just sex between them. But there were no words of love or affectionate looks exchanged. This was a crazy, impulsive interlude that she desperately needed. Her goal was oblivion, and being with Trent always enabled her to forget her problems. Even when what was troubling her was Trent himself.

They rocked together in a familiar rhythm, maintaining a steady, relaxed pace.

“Take your hair down,” Trent demanded, his voice an unsteady rasp.

Happy to oblige, she reached up and pulled out half a dozen pins and demolished the smooth, controlled hairstyle with a languid shake of her head. Long blond waves tumbled around her shoulders and tickled her cheeks. Trent had always loved her hair. He sank his fingers into the thick silky mass and brought her lips back to his.

* * *

Trent wasn’t sure how he’d come to be on his couch buried deep inside Savannah, her tongue dancing with his in a passionate kiss, her manner every bit as wild as he remembered. Another woman might have pleaded with him for help or screamed abuse when he refused to fall in with her plans. He’d had only the briefest suspicion that Savannah intended to seduce him into helping her before he rejected the idea. Her hunger for him was as all-consuming as his for her.

That didn’t make this a reunion between lovers. Not in the traditional sense. Sixteen months of bitter silence lay between them. Part of him didn’t want to open the door to her. The part of him that did was in charge at the moment. Maybe what they were doing was saying goodbye. But as her teeth nipped at his lower lip, driving him closer to orgasm, he knew this brief taste of her had only revived his unquenchable desire.

Trent fought to make the moment last. But he was only able to hold on until he could determine that she hovered on the brink of a climax.

Her soft keening and the accelerated rhythm of her hips pushed him over the edge and they came together. Heart thundering, Trent sat perfectly still, his body drained, his heart twisted wreckage. Damn her. She’d made him do what he promised he wouldn’t. He’d let her back in. His first instinct as he labored to breathe was to kiss her long and deep and never let her go. His second instinct was to remove her from his lap and kick her out of his office.

He did neither.

Instead, he sank his fingers into his hair, let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. It was the pose of a man wondering what the hell he’d done.

Displaying no regret, Savannah pushed off the couch and got to her feet. Hips swaying in unconscious allure, she crossed to the bar and found a towel, bringing it back to him. By the time Trent had cleaned up and disposed of the condom, she was putting the last hairpin into her impromptu updo. The only signs of how she’d spent the last ten minutes were her flushed cheeks and smeared lipstick.

He glanced up and down the length of her as she stepped back into her tall heels, and all he saw was a tranquil, confident woman. Gone was the femme fatale. Trent couldn’t decide if he was glad or sorry.

“This doesn’t change anything.” His tone was brusque, his words more clipped than he’d intended. “I’m not going back to LA to bail out West Coast Records.”

She looked at him askance, her eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “That’s not what this was about.”

“No?” But he knew she wasn’t lying. Savannah frequently ended up in trouble because she wasn’t calculating. The fact that he’d just accused her of unscrupulous behavior demonstrated that their unexpected sexual encounter had thrown him off his game. He hated that. It was time to take the situation back in his hands. “Where are you staying?”

His question surprised her. Something flickered in her eyes. “I’m not taking you to my hotel suite, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

It wasn’t what he’d been thinking, but now that she’d mentioned it, that sounded like a great idea. He’d like to strip that conservative dress off her and make love to her properly. But it was too late for that. Two years, one marriage and his brother’s son too late.

“Where are you staying?” he repeated, letting her see that his patience was waning.

“Upstairs.”

Cobalt had been Trent’s first choice of location when he and his business partners decided to open Club T’s. The hotel’s owner, JT Stone, was a brilliant businessman with a great reputation and solid ethics. The rent was high for this exclusive real estate, but the hotel drew a chic crowd with deep pockets who liked to party and could easily afford Club T’s high-end table service.

“I’ll walk you back to your suite.”

“There’s no need.”

Savannah wouldn’t meet his eyes, and it was the first indication Trent had that the encounter had ruffled her composure.

“It’s two in the morning.” And Trent had no intention of returning to the club tonight. He’d lost his taste for partying the instant Savannah had appeared at his table. All he wanted was to head home, pour himself a liberal amount of scotch and brood. “And you’ve already had one run-in with a man you couldn’t handle.”

She gave an offhand shrug. “I think I handled you just fine.”

He fought back an admiring smile. “I meant the guy in the bar.”

“Oh, him.” She shook her head. “I was on the verge of crushing his toe with my heel.”

Unsure if she was kidding, Trent caught her by the elbow and turned her in the direction of the office door. He led the way through the back halls of the club and hotel to a service elevator. Once inside he turned an expectant expression on her. Rather than tell him her floor, she reached to push the button herself.

“It’s no good, you know,” Trent said as the car began to move upward. “If you try to bring me in at West Coast Records, Siggy will fight you with everything he has.”

“But you’re exactly what the company needs. You’re brilliant. Your father and Rafe never understood that.”

Trent stared at her in bemusement. She’d always been on his side. How had two people who only had each other’s best interest at heart failed so miserably at being together?

Because he didn’t want what she did. Family for him meant nothing but heartache.

“You’re wasting your time and mine. Let the company fold. You and Dylan will be fine without it. I’ll make sure of that.”

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