Skylar Dupree wasn’t the risk-taking type, but neither was she the type of woman to falter once she’d made up her mind. The only other time in her twenty-six years she dared do anything remotely defying tradition was leaving law school. Yet that had been more for self-preservation. Her parents were pragmatic; she tended to be more easygoing and laid-back.

Skylar paused on the curved stone staircase of the thirty-fIve-room castle. Easygoing wasn’t going to cut it this time, not if she wanted to grab Rio’s attention.

Just the thought sent her heart rate skittering out of control. Rio could look straight through you with hard, unblinking black eyes. He exuded danger. Nothing seemed to bother him. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him smile, and those times had been when he was with his closest friends, Blade and Shane. As far as Skylar knew, he’d never bestowed upon anyone else a smile, let alone his laughter.

The task she’d chosen for herself was scary. Since Shane’s marriage, Rio was head of security for Blade’s business as well as Blade’s personal bodyguard. Even Rio’s security team had a healthy fear of the man reported to be deadlier than a viper, and just as stealthy. She’d heard one of his men refer to him as “smoke” because of his elusiveness.

Skylar had flown in that Sunday afternoon from Navarone Resorts and Spas’s headquarters to go over the final preparations for a charity auction and ball to benefit the Music Department of St. John’s College, where Mrs. Grayson was chair. The auction was two weeks away. The big draw to get the right people to come was that the auction would be held in Navarone Castle, near Santa Fe, a place heretofore off limits to anyone but close family and friends.

Much had been speculated about the home of the billionaire, which had a real moat, a working drawbridge, a helipad, and a lake. Sierra, Blade’s wife, might have owned the castle before her marriage, but Blade ensured their privacy by buying up all the surrounding property within fifty miles. You might get on the property, but with its constant patrols, you were quickly escorted off, which gave Navarone Castle even more of an air of mystique.

Continuing down the stairs with her iPad clutched to her chest, Skylar stepped into the comfortable great room. Sitting in sky-blue leather chairs and love seats were Blade, Sierra, and her mother on one side. On the other were Shane and his wife, Paige. Rio, arms folded, standing by the immense stone fireplace, glanced up. Her heart did a fast jitterbug.

Rio looked incredibly handsome in a long-sleeved white shirt with the cuffs rolled back to show strong wrists. He had a silver watch on one arm and a wide silver band on the other. His jeans delineated the long, sleek muscles of his thighs and made Skylar’s mouth dry. In Tucson he’d always worn tailored clothes, the same as Blade. Here, Rio was more casual. The curly black hair she’d dreamed of running her fingers through was held at the base of his neck with a silver clip. His bronzed, hard body was honed to perfection.

There was nothing in his midnight-black eyes that indicated he desired or felt anything at all for her. Skylar stared back at the flat eyes that seemed to see right through her and stiffened her spine.

One day he’d look at her with desire.

“Hi, Skylar.” Sierra rose from her seat and went to greet Skylar. “I’m sorry we weren’t here to meet you.”

“That’s all right.” Skylar smiled. She and Sierra had hit it off immediately. “I enjoyed looking around the castle again. You have a beautiful home.”

“Thanks.” Sierra glanced back at Blade. “We like it.”

Skylar’s smile increased. One place she’d bet was off limits was the grotto downstairs that was Sierra and Blade’s secret place.

“Please have a seat.” Sierra took the other woman’s arm. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.” Skylar greeted everyone as she took a leather chair. Everyone spoke. Rio nodded.

“Is everything going as planned?” Ruth asked.

Skylar knew Ruth could have asked that question earlier, but hadn’t. Mrs. Grayson also didn’t let on she’d seen or talked with Skylar before. She smiled her thanks.

“Yes, Mrs. Grayson. In fact, we’re ahead of schedule. As planned, the auction will be by invitation only. Thanks to Lance’s help, a printed color catalog with the starting bid for each item has already been sent out.”

“Good thing,” Sierra interjected. “Because he and Fallon are off on their honeymoon.”

“Still discussing if she’ll be able to go scuba diving due to her pregnancy.” Blade glanced at Sierra. “She’s almost as strong-willed as another woman I know.”

“Aren’t you and Lance the lucky ones?” Sierra grinned and kissed Blade on the cheek.

Skylar cut a sideways glance at Rio. His arms remained crossed, his gaze somewhere over her head. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Back to the business at hand.

“I personally called everyone to ensure they received the catalog and still plan to attend.” Skylar pulled out the guest list and stood to give it to Rio. “This week, four of the invitees asked if they could bring a guest. It was to be expected that some would ignore the one-month time limit to invite a guest. I know you’d want to check the people out before I committed.”

He crossed to her in his effortless stride that reminded her of a stalking cat. Long, lean fingers took the list without looking at it. “Thank you.” His voice held no inflection.

Trying not to sigh, Skylar retook her seat. She needn’t have bothered wearing a tangerine-colored dress that complemented her complexion and hazel eyes. However, she wasn’t giving up.

“The items will be arriving by special courier or delivery service starting Tuesday. I’ll be here to check and sign them in. I’ll return each day until we have all the items in place,” Skylar told them. “We’ve already selected the room where they’ll be displayed.”

“That’s too much trouble,” Sierra said. “It would be easier and make more sense if you stay here.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Blade said.

“I couldn’t,” Skylar said, surprised by the invitation. While they were planning the auction, she’d always flown in and out of Santa Fe.

“We have plenty of guest rooms.” Sierra leaned against Blade. His arm immediately circled her slim shoulders. “We’re leaving for a new Navarone property in the morning; you’re welcome to stay here.”

Skylar didn’t know what to say. She was very aware that a lot of trust had gone into the invitation. If Rio stayed, she might run into him more. The thought had no more than materialized when she discarded it. She was not going to impose on Blade and Sierra’s kindness to go after Rio.

“It won’t be any trouble,” Skylar finally said. “I don’t mind the trip.”

“We won’t take no for an answer,” Blade told her.

“You’re staying and that’s final,” Sierra said firmly as if the matter was settled.

“Please.” Ruth leaned forward in her seat. “What you’re doing is to help my Music Department. We’ll benefit from your hard work. I’ll always be thankful. You could have passed when I asked if you had any ideas on how to raise funds. You didn’t. You even offered to take vacation time to help.”

“I appreciated the professionalism, but as I said then when you mentioned what you would be doing, using your vacation time won’t be necessary,” Blade said, his gaze direct.

Sierra patted his knee. “He’s even gotten over being a little miffed that you thought you had to ask. He forgot all men are not as wonderful as he is.”

Blade smiled at his wife, then Skylar, and she breathed a bit easier. She well remembered the harsh look on his face that day in his office. She hoped never again to see it directed at her and remained silent.

“Stay,” Blade said. “It would make up for my poor behavior.”

Blade wasn’t above apologizing. He just seldom had to. Shane had a grin on his face as he held Paige’s hand. No one had to tell Skylar that Blade’s love for Sierra and hers for her mother were the reasons behind the apology.

Skylar recalled Ruth’s words, No man should walk alone. Her gaze went to Ruth again as she wondered if she was trying to give Skylar a gentle push in Rio’s direction.

But as Blade’s bodyguard, he went with him everywhere or was at least nearby. Was he staying this time? She had her answer seconds later.

“To ensure the auction pieces remain safe, Rio is staying,” Blade told her.

“I should be going with you.” Rio unfolded his arms, his attention on Blade and Sierra.

Sierra lifted both hands in a fighter’s stance. “Don’t worry, Rio. I promise to take down anyone who looks suspicious.”

Shane was the only one who laughed. He ignored his wife’s nudge.

“You checked out the island; the men there were trained by you or Shane. You and Shane made sure my name is buried so no one outside the company knows we own the property,” Blade reminded him. “From the vantage point on the island you can see a boat miles away. We’ll be safe.”

“That’s why I should be there-to make sure.”

“I want you here.” Blade rose to his feet and went to Rio. “This is important to Mrs. Grayson. There’s some valuable merchandise coming. I trust you to ensure it’s kept safe.”

Rio remained silent. Skylar’s eyes and everyone else’s were on Rio and Blade. No one, absolutely no oneoutside of Sierra-went against Blade’s orders. She sensed Rio might be the second. Protecting Blade and Sierra was more than a job to him.

Shane went to the two men. “I’ll fly down with them and check it out.”

Rio’s gaze slowly tracked to Shane’s and stayed there for a long moment before returning to Blade. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll begin checking on the list.”

Skylar blew out a breath as Rio’s long strides took him from the room and up the stairs to the command center on the second floor of the castle’s front wing.

“You shouldn’t tease him,” Ruth said to Sierra.

“Who said I was teasing?” Sierra lifted innocent eyes to her mother.

Ruth shook her head once, then stood and pulled a set of keys from the pocket of her denim skirt. “Come on, Skylar. I’ll drive you to your hotel to get your things.”

Sierra stood, her arm going around her mother’s waist. “Since I’ve seen how Skylar packs, I’ll send a driver with the SUV.”

Ruth smiled at Sierra, then Skylar. “She likes clothes as much as you do.”

“You never know what you might need.” Sierra spoke to Skylar. “We’ll wait dinner for you.”

Skylar smiled. Sierra and her mother weren’t taking no for an answer. “I graciously accept. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

In less than fifteen minutes Skylar had checked out of the Casa de Serenidad Hotel. Thank goodness she had been so anxious to get to the castle that she hadn’t begun to unpack. Outside, she climbed into the SUV, and they headed back to Navarone Castle.

Skylar wasn’t the impatient type, but she was anxious to get back. She wondered if Rio ate with his men or Blade and Sierra. Everyone had someone, except him. But he didn’t seem to need anyone. He certainly wasn’t afraid to speak his mind-to anyone.

“Back again,” the driver said, startling Skylar out of her deep thoughts.

“Thank you.” She got out of the vehicle and walked to the back. She almost winced at the amount of luggage being unloaded. Besides the large trunk, she’d brought five large suitcases. It had taken her weeks to decide what to wear in the hope that Rio would stop looking through her and be just a little bit interested. With him staying and checking in the merchandise with her daily, it might just happen.

“Mrs. Navarone instructed me where to place your luggage. Please, go on in.”

“Thank you again, Jefferson.” Skylar picked up her overnight kit.

“I can take that as well.” The driver closed the back.

“Don’t worry, Eli is sending someone to help. Besides, we’re both used to helping Mrs. Navarone load and unload for trips.”

Skylar placed the case on the stone driveway and laughed. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

The driver tipped his hat. “No problem.”

Skylar went up the steps and rang the doorbell. There was a key pad for a code, but she didn’t know it.

The door opened. Eli Patterson, the house manager, stood there in his black suit, freshly starched white shirt, and shiny leather shoes. Of medium height, he had a lined, fatherly face and a balding head.

“Hello, Mr. Patterson,” Skylar greeted.

“Hello, Ms. Dupree. I’ll assist with your luggage,” he told her. “Mr. Navarone asked that you see him in his office as soon as you returned. This way.”

Unsure of what was going on, she followed the house manager past the wide foyer, then left to an arched door at least fifteen feet tall. Opening the door, he stepped aside.

Thanking him, she entered the office, an immense room lined with bookshelves, a fireplace, and tall windows with silk burgundy draperies. On the slate floor were handwoven area rugs. Blade sat behind an antique mahogany desk with ball-and-claw feet. Her eyes narrowed on seeing Shane and Rio standing on either side of him.

“Thank you for coming, Skylar. Please have a seat.” Blade indicated the chair in front of his desk.

Skylar sat down in the straight-back chair, upholstered in a deeper shade of burgundy than the curtains, demurely crossed her legs, and placed her clutch in her lap. She’d learned not to jump to conclusions just because she was summoned by Blade, and not to ask questions.

“One of the men on the list you gave Rio is Sherman Tennyson, a venture capitalist. Several months ago, Tennyson used my name to entice backers into buying property. The deal folded.” Blade’s black eyes hardened. “A lot of good men lost money. Tennyson put the word out that it was my fault.”

“No.” Skylar’s voice was barely above a whisper as she placed her hand on her galloping heart. People who made huge mistakes at Navarone were out the door.

Shane picked up the story. “Blade has been able to overcome the lies, but Tennyson lost a lot of his credibility, along with money he could ill afford to let go.” Blade’s fist clenched on top of his desk. “Tennyson hates my guts, and the feeling is mutual.”

Skylar came to her feet. “Mr. Navarone, I just checked to ensure he had the funds to purchase if he chose. I apologize.”

Blade waved her apology aside. “There’s no need. You foiled Tennyson’s plan.” He leaned back in his chair, the sides of his mouth kicking up. “You didn’t just okay the names as he probably expected because the auction is in two weeks and he has money. Instead you had the foresight to give Rio the list of names before committing. You did well.”

“I agree,” Shane said. “Good thinking.”

From Rio there was nothing. Trying to keep from looking at him, she retook her seat. “Should I call Mr. Hampton, the man who had asked if Tennyson could attend?”

Blade’s smile was like the sharp edge of a knife. “I’ll take care of it. That’s all.”

Eternally thankful she wasn’t the unfortunate man, Skylar came to her feet. “I’ll go change for dinner. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” Blade and Shane said.

She told herself not to turn, but a force stronger than her will had her glancing over her shoulder at Rio to see if there might be a spark of admiration. She saw nothing but eyes devoid of warmth. Unconsciously she narrowed hers before turning to leave the room.

Stubborn man! He might not know it, but he’d only made her more determined!

The post ALL THAT I DESIRE appeared first on NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Francis Ray.

Or so she’d mistakenly thought.

Slowing down on the highway, Fallon put on her signal and turned her rental onto the paved road three miles out of Santa Fe. Her slim fingers flexed on the steering wheel of the late model Taurus. She was only marginally pleased that they weren’t damp with perspiration. She might be a bit nervous about obtaining information for her next story, but at least she wasn’t showing her frayed nerves on meeting Lance Saxton again.

It was perfectly understandable that she felt apprehensive – after all, she had been, well, rather abrupt to Lance Saxton two weeks ago when they’d first met. She’d practically accused him of being a thief and walked away from him in self-righteous indignation. Although he had to share some of the blame for that crack about “not handling their financial responsibilities correctly,” she had to take her share as well.

She freely admitted that since her mother was swindled by the unscrupulous owner of an auction house, and Lance owned an auction house, she had judged quickly and harshly.

And she’d been wrong.

She hadn’t discovered her mistake until recently. Naomi Reese, her friend and neighbor, had insisted Fallon read an article about Lance in Fortune magazine. Fallon had turned up her nose and ignored the sudden thump of her heart on seeing a picture of Lance in an expensive navy pin-striped suit standing in front of Saxton Auction House but she’d read the article.

In less than a minute she’d known she’d been wrong. She’d handed the magazine back to Naomi, thanked her and gone home, telling herself if the opportunity ever presented itself, she’d apologize, and fully aware that she wasn’t going to initiate the contact. That changed a few days ago.

Now she needed Lance Saxton to gain access to the Yates’ home for the article she planned to write. He might toss her out; then again, he might not. There was only one way to find out.

Moments later the red barrel roof of a house came into view, then as she rounded a curve she saw the sprawling Yates house. She slowed and came to a complete stop. It was simply beautiful with the afternoon sun shining on the roof and the adobe exterior. She could easily imagine coming home from work or a trip and catching the first glimpse of the house. She didn’t even live there and yet she felt a sort of calming peace. One day she’d have a house, family, but for now she enjoyed her job. She loved to travel and was paid well to visit and write about some of the most exciting places in the world.

The last thought had her squaring her shoulders. She was good at what she did. Nothing had ever stopped her in the past, and she wouldn’t allow Lance Saxton to be the first.

Putting the car into motion she continued down the mile-long road and parked on the circular driveway in front of the massive red double doors, reasoning if Lance threw her out, she wouldn’t have far to go to her car. Getting out, she again studied the sprawling two-story house.

The home was originally built in the 1920s by oil mogul Thaddeus Yates. He liked the Southwest and chose Santa Fe as his base when he wanted to relax and get away from Lubbock, Texas. After his death, his only child and daughter, Colleen, expanded the six thousand square foot home another five thousand square feet to include a loggia and pool house. Her son did more renovation on the house plus extensive landscaping, turning the usually parched grounds of the area into a verdant paradise with lush green grass and a rainbow hue of flowers.

Fallon hadn’t seen grass so lush since she’d left her hometown of Austin four months ago. She was tempted to slip off her sandals and let the grass tickle her toes. She refrained. All she needed was for Lance to see her and think she was a nut case. Still, with less than twelve inches of rain yearly in Santa Fe, it would cost a small fortune to maintain the grounds.

Through research she’d learned that the single male heir and last owner had died six months ago from injuries sustained in a skiing accident. Banks sometimes paid for minor upkeep, but nothing more.

Fallon realized she was stalling, and with good reason. She wasn’t looking forward to ringing the doorbell and meeting Lance Saxton again. She didn’t mind admitting she was wrong so much as she didn’t like the idea of making that admission to a man she had a mild attraction to. She’d like to think he’d caught her at a weak moment, but that would be a lie. She traveled so much she didn’t have time for a relationship, and she valued herself too much to have meaningless affairs.

Yet, her girlie antenna had zinged the instant she looked into Lance’s midnight black eyes. He had the “Y” yummy factor in spades. At least six-feet-four in sinful jeans and a white polo that delineated hard muscles, she was almost fantasizing about the naughty things he could whisper in her ear – until she learned what he did for a living. And went as cold as an iceberg on the man.

Sighing, Fallon removed her camera from the case, looped the strap around her neck and grabbed her notebook. Standing there wouldn’t get the job done. Closing the car door, she followed the paved path to the wide double doors, all the time telling herself that this was a story like all the hundreds, probably thousands, she’d written in the past.

As a travel writer it was her job to point out the new and unusual, the best places to make that vacation or staycation exciting, fun and memorable. Reading about the auction in the newspaper had given her an idea for a story – that of leaving time on the schedule for something unexpected, like an auction.

The Yates home was a piece of history that would soon be gone….just as her family’s heirlooms and antiques were gone. She’d never forgive the owner of the auction house who cheated her mother and made their lives miserable when she was seventeen, but she’d been wrong to lump Lance with the crook.

The Yates possessions weren’t going to be low-balled as theirs had been. Lance Saxton, although new to the auction scene, had a sterling reputation as a savvy businessman with a Midas touch. Whatever he touched succeeded in spades. The Yates auction would only be his second in the three months since he’d opened Saxton Auction House. The other had been in Tucson where his office was located, and hugely successful. The retired movie star’s possessions had sold out after the second day of the four-day sale.

Fallon realized she was stalling. Again. She hadn’t called for an appointment. She honestly hadn’t known what to say. Hey, I’m sorry I accused you of being a thief, but I have this great idea for a story and two editors are interested so let’s forget about our first meeting. If the positions were reversed, she would have thrown him out. She had a bit of a temper – which had gotten her into this mess.

So, she’d taken the coward’s way and asked his cousin, Richard Youngblood, if he thought Lance would be at the Yates house working. Richard had been at his fiancé Naomi’s apartment that morning eating breakfast and discussing wedding plans. They were as giddy as teenagers and so much in love. Fallon was happy for both of them, especially after what Naomi had gone through.

Declining the offer of breakfast, Fallon had gone back to her place next door to leave them alone. Or as much as possible with Naomi’s five-year-old daughter Kayla with them. Neither Richard nor Naomi seemed to mind. That had been hours ago. It was almost two. It had taken Fallon this long to work up the courage to drive out.

Blowing out a breath, Fallon rang the doorbell.

In the small library of the Yates house that Lance Saxton had taken for his office, he slowly lifted his head when he heard the doorbell. He’d been waiting for the sound since Richard called that morning to tell him that Fallon had asked if he would be there. To Richard’s “Don’t blow your second chance” Lance had said nothing.

Since Lance didn’t have any other appointments and he wasn’t expecting any deliveries, he reasoned it was Fallon Marshall. His hand flexed on the pen in his hand. It didn’t take much to visualize the stunning woman with long curly hair, bedroom brown eyes, model cheekbones and lips to drive a man crazy. For some reason – perhaps because Richard was in such a great mood and Lance could tell his cousin was finally interested in a woman – the moment they’d met, Lance had found himself attracted to Fallon.

It was the first time in months he’d had more than a passing interest in a woman. He’d honestly thought he had written women off except for the occasional ones he took to bed. It was purely physical for both of them; easily had and easier forgotten.

The chime came again. This was the housekeeper’s half-day off. The people he’d hired to help catalog the house contents for the auction had driven into town for a late lunch. There was no one there but him. If he didn’t answer, she’d leave and he wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting his long ago promise of steering clear of women he couldn’t easily walk away from. Yet, he found himself coming to his feet and leaving the study. Fallon was just a woman.

Opening the front door, he had to revise his earlier thought about Fallon. She was stunning in a raspberry knit top and white walking shorts. Her eyes were just as captivating as before, her mouth just as tempting. His hand clamped on the door knob as they continued to stare at each other. He wouldn’t be the first to speak. She had called him a thief.

“Hello, Lance. I guess you’re surprised to see me.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Fallon ran her tongue over lips he’d dreamed about before saying, “I’m not sure if you remember or not, but I’m a travel writer.”

Since his mouth was dry, he simply nodded. Fallon was too much of a temptation. As soon as possible he was sending her on her way.

“I read about this place and the auction you’re having. I came up with the idea for an article.” She glanced around the yard. “This house might not be on the historical society’s register, but it’s has a lot of history that will be lost once the auction is over. I’d like to preserve that.”

“By doing a story,” he said, unable to keep the derision out of his voice. Another person who wanted to profit from the misfortune of others. And she’d thought him heartless.

Her eyes narrowed briefly, then she shifted back to him, inadvertently making her breasts in the knit top jut forward. Lance gritted his teeth and opened his mouth to tell her goodbye, but she finally spoke.

“Not just a story. I want to bring the history of the house and the people who lived here to life. I also want to let readers know that it’s all right not to plan every second of a vacation. Wonderful opportunities like this auction might present itself. I’ve done a bit of research on the house already.”

“Don’t you think that was a bit premature?” he asked, glad his voice was normal even if his heart rate wasn’t.

“Yes, but knowledge is never wasted.” She stepped back and looked up at the window overhead. “Do you know that some of the timber in this house came from Yates’ grandparents’ property in Louisiana? He was a bit of a sentimentalist.” She sent Lance a quick grin. “The stained glass in the window overhead is from Paris and the chandelier in the living room is Waterford. They’re his wife’s selections.”

“Women like the finer things.” He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Her brow arched. “So do men. Thaddeus spared no expense to build this house. It took three years. His daughter expanded it even more. From the little I was able to find, she doted on her son and wanted the house to last for generations. It’s a shame that her dreams died with him.” Fallon gave him her full attention, her expression so heartrending he had to lock his knees to keep from reaching out to comfort her. “It would be wonderful if that didn’t happen, if the family history could be preserved, and be the impetus for other family dreams and legacies.”

His gaze narrowed on her. So, she wasn’t just beautiful and brassy. It was rare to meet someone not in the business who really understood the value and importance of beloved furniture and accessories being a legacy.

Even at thirty-six, there were times when he thought of his own immortality. He never planned to marry. What would he leave behind? Who would mourn him? The answers weren’t comforting, so he continued to study Fallon. Unlike most people, his direct stare didn’t make her fidget.

He’d been devastatingly wrong about women before, but something told him that Fallon was telling the truth. This was more than a story to her. Watching her hair dance in the breeze, her steady gaze, he came to a decision.

Instead of being annoyed with Fallon, he really should be thanking her. If she hadn’t put a stop to things that afternoon they met, they would have probably ended up in bed and his life would have been in turmoil again. Besides, he’d like the Yates’ history and legacy to be preserved as well.

Stepping back inside, he watched her eyes widen, her mouth open. He realized she thought he was going to shut the door in her face. It annoyed the hell out of him that she believed he was that rude. “Come in.”

Her mouth hung open for a second longer, before she snapped it shut. She quickly stepped inside. “Thank you.”

He noted that perspiration dampened the flawless skin on her forehead. Perhaps he was rude to keep her out in the heat. “Would you care for something to drink?”

“No, thank—” Her eyes widened and she was across the room. Reverently her hand grazed the top of an oak finished chest of drawers. “This is one of Thaddeus’s pieces, isn’t it? His daughter used this for her hope chest.”

Lance joined her. “You did your research well, I see.”

“I wanted to be prepared.” She smiled over her shoulder at him, then turned back to the piece that was as tall as she. “He was a furniture maker before they struck oil on his property. A picture of this chest was the only one I could find of the contents in the house.”

“There are other pieces he made mixed throughout with the more famous makers like Chippendale,” he said. “The house is a treasure trove of furniture, art work and crystal.”

Her eyes glittered with hope, one hand clamped on the camera, the other on the notebook. “Then you’ll let me do the story?”

He was probably crazy considering he barely could keep his eyes off her lips. “You can do the story.” He motioned toward her camera. “Feel free to take as many photos as you like. You seem to understand and appreciate the furnishings – that they meant something to the Yates – they aren’t just things or possessions,” he said.

For a second, her eyes darkened with pain. “Yes”

He wondered if she was thinking about the incident that caused her to brand him a thief. “Feel free to look around. I’ll be in my office.” He pointed to an open door to the left. “Just let me know when you’re leaving.”

“Thank you.”

With a brief nod, he returned to his study, hoping he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

The post ALL THAT I NEED appeared first on NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Francis Ray.

In Abe Collins’s eighty-one years of living, he’d made his share of mistakes. Believing he had time to correct them, he’d pushed matters to the back of his mind. Six days ago he’d been given a fast reality check, and it wasn’t pretty.

Propped up on pillows, wearing an oxygen mask, and hooked to two annoying machines, he was as weak as a baby.

He’d always taken his health for granted. After all, he’d never been sick with more than a cold. His cholesterol might be a little high, but whose wasn’t over the age of fifty? So he forgot to take his high blood pressure medicine. He was president of Collins Industry.

His company manufactured and shipped close to two hundred turbochargers a day. He arrived at work an hour before the shift started and was usually the last one to leave the factory. He believed in letting his people do their jobs, but they also knew he kept an eagle eye on productivity.

Odds weren’t in his favor that he’d be able to continue. He’d built Collins Industry from the ground up. It was as much a part of him as his hands. The thought that his company wouldn’t continue was unthinkable. To make sure that didn’t happen, he had to own up to his mistakes. He just hoped and prayed he had a chance to correct the biggest one before it was too late.

He’d passed out talking to the manager of his plant and awakened in the hospital fighting to breathe with an elephant sitting on his chest. He’d had a heart attack.

Abe was alive by the grace of God, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. The doctors wanted to do a quadruple bypass. They’d given him the odds at his age of getting off the table. They weren’t good enough for Abe . . . at least not until he had all of his ducks in a row.

Slowly, Abe twisted his head toward his nightstand. He saw the first things every morning, the last things he saw each night— the grouping of family pictures. Family had always been the most important thing in the world to him. To his everlasting shame, he hadn’t always shown it.

There was his wife, Edith, beautiful and vibrant at her sixtieth birthday party before cancer took her from them nine short months later. Next were their sons, Evan and William, in their varsity football uniforms in high school. Abe’s eyes misted.

William, their youngest, had also been taken. When Abe heard the news that his son’s plane had gone down in a thunderstorm, killing him and his wife, Abe hadn’t thought he could go on. His heart had actually ached; it still ached.

Despite knowing you should love your children equally, Abe had always favored William, the child of his heart. Smart, funny, and as stubborn as his father, William rarely backed down, and they’d butted heads a time or two. One of those regrets was that they’d had an argument before William had flown off to Austin for a meeting with one of their suppliers.

He and his young wife, Gayle, never made it. Abe swallowed the sorrow, the regret. His gaze moved to the smiling picture of William and Gayle’s only child, Samantha, when she was sixteen. Abe added her to the growing list of regrets.

Samantha had wanted her parents to stay and see her in the lead part of the high school senior play. Abe had told her and his son there’d be other plays— the trip was important to the company.

Abe’s punishment was having to tell her that her parents weren’t coming home. She’d thought he meant they were spending the night in Austin and had said she guessed the company still came first. Explaining that their plane had gone down was the hardest thing he’d ever done. She’d fought him when he’d tried to hold her, her anger and misery making her uncontrollable. He’d accepted the pelting of her small fists against his chest, held her when she’d finally begun to sob.

That was the last time he remembered holding her.

Four months later, she was in Stanford University in California. She always had excuses for not coming home. His other two grandchildren from his oldest son, Evan, didn’t even pretend he was important in their lives. Shelby, the oldest at thirty-two, had been married twice. Her brother, Ronald, was thirty, working on his second marriage, and as lazy as they came. As far as Abe knew, they’d called once since his heart attack and then had gone on with their lives.

What gave him hope that it wasn’t too late for him and Samantha to find common ground was that she had come from Houston the same day he was admitted to the hospital. She was still here, sitting with him, ready to fluff his pillow, give him a sip of water, reassure him, hold his hand.

The smile forming on his lips faded. He’d missed so much in his life because of his stubbornness, and he was paying for his know-all attitude. His hand swept across his chest. William had wanted to modernize the factory, but Abe had stubbornly refused.

He’d started the company in 1972 with an idea that he could invent a turbocharger with more power and half the size. He’d had a thousand dollars and the unfaltering faith of Edith. They’d both scraped and saved to get the money— which wasn’t easy with two boys in college. But it had paid off .

Collins Industry made the best turbochargers in the Southwest. He saw no reason to change. What was good thirty years ago was still good.

Yet he was alive because of the remarkable changes in the medical profession. He had a chance for even more years. He wanted to ensure that Collins Industry had the same chance— and it would take new thinking and modern technology to do it. That required the right people in charge.

What he was thinking would cause problems and hurt, but Abe didn’t see any other way. His callused hand felt the wires and leads connected to his still muscled chest, and he grudgingly accepted he was on the downside of his life. He dared not put off the conversation that would tear his family even further apart. His eyes closed, then opened.

Stretching out his left hand, he picked up the picture of his oldest son, fifty nine-year-old Evan, and his wife, Janice. They were in evening attire; Evan wore a black tuxedo, and Janice had on a shiny silver gown that probably cost half as much as one of his workers’ yearly salary. They’d been at the Cattleman’s Ball in Dallas. Tickets were six figures, but Evan said it was good for business. He said the same thing whenever he spent lavishly. And he spent a lot.

Sadness had Abe’s hand gripping the silver frame. It was hard to admit that his remaining son might not be the man to run the factory. Evan didn’t put the time or the effort into the company. William never paid any attention to the time clock—unless his family needed him. Evan left most days promptly at five. He was vice president, liked the title, but did little to help the company’s bottom line if it didn’t mean socializing or traveling.

Abe acknowledged that it might have been his fault. He’d always run the company his way, seldom asking for guidance or a second opinion— one of the things William didn’t like. While William kept trying to get his father to change, Evan cashed his paycheck and went about his business. But therein lay the problem: Profits were way down. Collins Industry was in a fight to survive.

Abe had to accept that a man he’d ordered off his property years ago might be the one to save his company. It was hard for a man who’d once thought he and the Man Upstairs controlled his destiny, thought that he didn’t have to ask any man for anything, to admit just how wrong he had been.

Abe wouldn’t blame the man if he laughed in his face. He certainly didn’t need the headache or the money, but Samantha would need help to pull the company out of its tailspin and, sadly, that help wouldn’t come from Evan— especially once the contents of Abe’s new will were known.

How had it come to this? He loved his family, did his best to see that they had more than just the necessities, that they would be people you could count on, proud to know, and capable of carrying on the family company. He’d failed.

Emotions clogged his throat. He thought of his wife, the only woman he’d ever loved. Perhaps if she had lived, he would have learned to bend a little. Perhaps not. She’d called him bullheaded on more than one occasion, but she’d loved him just as he’d loved her. He still did.

A soft knock sounded at the door. “Granddad?”

Even with the difficult task before him, the mistakes and regrets, he thanked God he heard the love and concern in Samantha’s soft voice. Despite his overwhelming blunders, he hadn’t killed her love for him.

“Baby girl, come in,” he said, then cursed his body because his once booming voice now trembled in weakness.

“I’ll let her in, Mr. Collins.” Bertha Scott, the private duty nurse the doctor insisted come home with him, rose from the nearby chair and went to the door and opened it.

“Hello, Ms. Scott.”

“Come on in, Ms. Collins,” the nurse greeted her.

Samantha took a hesitant step into the room. He understood why. The trip from the hospital yesterday put more strain on his already weak heart. His doctor, who had ridden in the ambulance with him, had wanted to take him back and schedule surgery immediately. Abe had refused but had to agree to no visitors until late the next day.

He motioned her closer, annoyed that just that bit of movement made his heart act up, the monitor to increase its annoying noise. His nurse was back by his side, checking his vitals, studying him as much as the machines. It was useless to tell her that he was all right. They both knew he wasn’t.

“Can—I have a— word alone with my granddaughter?” he asked. The nurse hesitated. “Please.”

“I’ll be outside.” She closed the door softly after her.

Samantha slowly approached the bed, her light brown eyes, so much like her father’s, watching him as closely as the private duty nurse had. “It’s good to have you home, but—”

Abe held up his hand. Samantha had been the most verbal against him putting off the surgery. “My heart attack made me realize that I’m not indestructible. I needed to get things in order.”

He watched her swallow, blink her eyes rapidly, and catch his hand. “Granddad, you’re going to be fine.”

He nodded, breathed in the oxygen flowing from the nearby tank. He wished he could take the mask off . He didn’t want her seeing him like this.

“Why don’t you rest and we’ll talk tomorrow?”

As much as he could, he tried to tighten his hand on hers. Tomorrow wasn’t promised. “I— I want you to run Collins Industry.”

He watched shock widen her eyes, lines form in her otherwise smooth forehead. She was as beautiful as her mother and probably just as sweet. She’d be lost and overwhelmed if the man he’d selected didn’t help her. “Collins Industry needs . . . needs you to keep it going, keep it the company your father believed in.”

Her hand holding his clenched, then relaxed. She glanced away, then back. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “He loved the company.”

Abe tried to sit up and only managed to cause his breath to shorten, his heart to pound wildly in his chest. Samantha curved her arm around his shoulders and eased him back against the bed. “Breathe. Just breathe and relax.”

When Abe felt as if he had enough strength and breath, he said, “He loved his family. Don’t ever forget that.”

Samantha nodded. “I won’t. Now breathe and relax. We all need you to get well.”

“I loved him best.” Tears formed in the corners of Abe’s eyes that he was unashamed of. “Losing him and your mother—”

Samantha gently dried his tears. “He loved you too. He was proud of you. He called you stubborn, but I heard him say more than once that if he was half the man you were, he’d—he’d die a happy man.”

Abe’s eyes shut. Tears seeped anyway. He let Samantha dry them, watched her dry her own. Nothing she could have said would have eased his heart more. And she had to have known it.

She’d forgiven him. He’d made the right choice. “Any special man in your life?”

Something flickered in her eyes, and she glanced away. “No.”

She’d been here since his heart attack, and as far as Abe knew, no man had visited her. Houston, where she lived, was less than three hours by car, an hour by plane. She didn’t have the look of a woman missing a man. Good. One less obstacle. “Five years, with triple your salary. You’ll have help.”

Samantha wrinkled her nose, the action reminding him of his late wife, who’d stand toe-to-toe with you and didn’t take crap from anyone. “Uncle Evan and I have different opinions on things.”

An understatement. “Won’t matter. He— he won’t be the one helping you run the company.”

“What? Who, then?” she stammered in bewilderment.

He took a few more breaths before he could answer. “I have a call in to him now.”

She looked confused and unsure. He hadn’t expected it to be easy.

“Ask me again when you can reveal who the other person running the company will be.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Now, please rest. If the nurse okays it, I’ll come up and sit with you in a couple of hours.”

“You gonna do it?” He had to know.

She patted his hand. “Let’s talk more when you feel better.”

His baby girl hadn’t given him the answer he wanted. Abe just prayed he had time to convince her. Now, for the worst part. “Please ask Evan to come see me.”

She hesitated. She and his son were never in the room with him at the same time. Neither ever mentioned the other.

“Please,” he asked.

She nodded, and then left.

Before the door closed, the nurse was back in the room, checking him, the monitors. “I think you’ve had enough visitors for the day.”

Abe wasn’t going to argue, but there was one more person he needed to see alone. If he had to lie to do it. . . . “I could have some broth.”

The nurse straightened. His appetite hadn’t been worth warm spit. “I can’t leave you alone.”

“Evan is coming in a bit.”

The nurse hesitated. “We’ll see. Just rest.”

Abe closed his eyes and tried to relax. His baby girl, Sammie, would send Evan. Abe just hoped his eldest would understand why he wasn’t leaving him in charge. But he was afraid he wouldn’t.

Outside her grandfather’s bedroom, Samantha hung her head briefly and said a silent prayer for him. Each time she saw him, he was weaker. He needed the surgery, but for some reason he was putting it off. The doctor had warned them that he was playing with a loaded gun. Despite everything that had happened in the past between them, she loved him, regretted that she had stayed away so long. She’d blamed him, blamed Collins Industry, for taking her parents.

She’d missed so much with him, wasted precious time that she might not get a chance to have in the future. Straightening, she stared at the closed door, then started down the hall toward the stairs. Her uncle and his wife lived on the third and top floor. She wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

For some odd reason, her aunt and uncle had never liked her. Even as a child she had sensed their animosity. Her parents, her uncle and aunt, their children, and her grandfather lived in the same house. The three-story Georgian manor had ten bedrooms and had over twelve thousand square feet. It still seemed small at times because of her aunt and uncle’s attitude.

Which was going to get worse once he learned his father didn’t want him running Collins. Since her grandfather’s heart attack, Evan had spouted a lot about “when I’m in charge.” He fully expected to step into his father’s shoes. It wasn’t going to happen.

But did she want the job?

She massaged her temple. She wanted to be passionate about something, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She certainly wasn’t thrilled with her job as a feature writer at the Houston Sentinel. She’d majored in journalism because it had nothing to do with the automobile industry.

She’d been an average student, graduated, and bounced around a lot until she’d landed a job as a feature writer at the newspaper in Houston. The pay was horrible, the hours worse. If not for the trust fund her parents left her, she would have never made it financially.

She thought she’d found love with Mark Washington, the sports reporter at the same newspaper. They’d dated for three months before she’d ended things six months ago. Mark wanted her back, but as she’d told her grandfather, for her it was over. Worse, she was tired of trying to avoid him at work. Perhaps if she were more forceful, he’d leave her alone. There was nothing to keep her in Houston. But did she want the responsibility for over two hundred people and a business she had only a basic understanding of?

No matter how she’d felt as a teenager, her father had loved the company and his father. He would have done— had done— whatever it took to ensure both were served well.

Could she walk away knowing her grandfather and Collins Industry needed her? She wondered, going up the flight of stairs to the top and third floor. She hoped she never had to find out. Tonight, if the nurse allowed her to visit, she was going to encourage her grandfather to schedule the surgery as quickly as possible. They all needed him.

She knocked on her uncle’s door. He and his wife had the entire floor of eight rooms since their children, Shelby and Ronald, were grown and gone. From what she’d been able to learn from the house keeper, her cousins came home less than she did. They’d called but hadn’t come to visit their parents or their grandfather.

The door opened and her uncle stared down his nose at her, his eyes as unwelcoming as ever. “Yes?”

Not even a semblance of a smile, of warmth. Once her grandfather went back to the hospital for his surgery, she was moving into the guest cottage in the back of the house. She would have already been there if she hadn’t wanted to be near her grandfather. It was obvious no one wanted her here except him.

“You wanted something?” he asked. He’d been home from work since a little after five, yet he still had on his white shirt and red silk tie. It was almost six. He and his wife both had a fondness for designer clothes and fine jewelry.

“Granddad wants to see you.”

“He must be feeling better.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Janice, Daddy wants to see me. I’ll be back and we can go down to dinner.”

Dinner was always served when Evan wanted. The kitchen was closed otherwise. Her uncle liked being in charge. She just hoped her grandfather didn’t intend to tell him about his plans to put her in charge until he was stronger.

Tall and trim, Evan stepped into the hall. “Was there something else?”

She’d rather do anything than have a confrontation, but she forged ahead. Her grandfather’s health was too fragile. “He’s still weak and shouldn’t be upset.”

Dark eyes glinted with malice. “I know how to treat my father. Unlike you, I’ve been here.” He brushed past her and continued down the hall.

Samantha slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans, stared after him, then headed for the stairs. Looked like she was eating out again. There was no way she was going to sit through another dinner with her aunt and uncle.

Abe heard the knock on the door and said a prayer he’d find the right words. His nurse opened the door.

“My father wanted to see me.”

Abe briefly shut his eyes. Evan hadn’t even looked at Bertha. How could his flesh and blood be so uppity and condescending?

“I was just going down to heat up some broth. Just sit, no exertion. His granddaughter left a short time ago.”

Abe saw Evan’s mouth tighten. The boy never liked being told what to do. Or perhaps he recognized that Bertha had snubbed him by not looking at him just as he had her. “Of course.”

“I’ll be back as quick as possible, Mr. Collins.”

Abe didn’t try to acknowledge her in any way. Bertha would understand. He would need all of his strength in the coming minutes. Unlike Samantha, his oldest son didn’t approach the bed. Abe couldn’t help but think nothing would have kept William away.

“Need to talk to you,” he managed. He had to get this said.

Evan cautiously approached the bed, then slipped his hand into the pocket of his slacks. “Daddy, maybe you shouldn’t talk.”

Abe finally saw that Evan was scared and unsure of himself. Unfortunately, Abe had seen the furrowed brow and darting gaze before. “Company in trouble.”

His son’s brows drew together. His hand came out of his pocket. “What kind of trouble?”

“Losing business. My fault. Wouldn’t listen.”

Evan braced one hand on the side of the bed near his father’s arm and leaned closer. “Listen to whom?”

“William. Dillon.”

Evan’s shoulders snapped upright. Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “You’re dwelling in the past. It’s the effect of the lack of oxygen when you had the heart attack.”

“No. Wrong. I asked Sammie to help run the company.”

“What?” Evan yelled. “Are you crazy? She’s a reporter, for God’s sake! You must be senile!”

“No. Try to understand.”

“Understand that you always loved William more and, since you can’t have him, you want the daughter!” Evan yelled, leaning closer to his father. “You can’t do this to me!”

All wrong. All wrong.

Abe struggled to lift himself from the bed to somehow reassure Evan, who had always been insecure. His son kept yelling, pacing, shutting his father out.

Abe couldn’t understand the words because the pain in his chest was too severe. He was having trouble catching his breath. He fought to ignore the pounding in his chest, the dizziness, the sense of falling, of darkness.

Somehow he had to fix this. He— Abe slumped back on the bed and didn’t move. The monitor wailed long and loud.

Evan spun. Horror and fear gripped him. “Daddy!” He rushed to the bed.

The beeper screamed. Evan screamed louder. “Daddy! God, no! I didn’t mean it. Please, no!”

The nurse burst into the room and rushed to the bed, but even as she grabbed the automatic electronic defibrillator and ordered a hysterical Evan to call 911, she knew that it was too late.

Abe Collins wasn’t going to cheat death twice.

Chapter One

Most of Elms Fork had turned out for Abe Collins’s funeral, Dillon Montgomery noted. Two hours ago, they’d spilled out of the largest church in town. There were so many flowers, it had taken two black vans to carry them to the cemetery. The slow procession of cars behind the hearse had been two miles long. Most of the businesses— except for the gas stations and a couple of restaurants— were closed in honor of a man who had made Elms Fork more than a dot on a map.

Muffled sniffles came from beside him. Feeling helpless, Dillon tightened his arm around his mother’s slim shoulders. She wasn’t a woman who cried easily. They both had reasons to hate and love the man being slowly lowered into his final resting place. Abe had stuck by Dillon’s mother when half the town and many of the employees at Collins Industry turned their backs on her because she’d been unwed and pregnant with Dillon.

Twenty-three years later, he’d fired Dillon and ordered him off the company’s property. At sixty-nine, standing six feet, he’d still been a man who could win against another man half his age and win. At twenty-two, brash and arrogant, Dillon might have taken him on if his mother, Abe’s secretary at the time, hadn’t come into the office when she’d heard them arguing.

“Dillon,” his mother said softly, bringing him back to the present, “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Dillon patted her arm awkwardly. It was just him and his mother. He had no idea how to deal with her grief. She’d lost friends, of course, but none had affected her as much as Abe’s passing.

“I feel sorry for Samantha,” his mother continued. “She’ll have no one now.”

Her uncle and aunt certainly wouldn’t be there for her, Dillon thought. They were as selfish and snobbish as they came. Although Dillon didn’t associate with them, they probably hadn’t changed much in twelve years.

Dillon couldn’t see Samantha for the crush of people, the towering hats the women wore, but he could visualize her face— hurt and embarrassed after he’d rebuffed her awkward attempt to seduce him.

That had been twelve years ago. His mind shut down from going further. Those thoughts weren’t appropriate at a funeral. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since. “She’ll be fine.”

“I hope you’re right. Abe loved her so much,” his mother mused. “I’m glad she came before we lost him.”

Dillon wasn’t sure if his mother expected an answer or just wanted to talk. He’d come as soon as he’d heard The Old Man, as Abe was called behind his back, had died. Listening to the strong voice of the minister Dillon couldn’t think of one reason why Abe would have called him the day he’d died. Dillon had been in Canada working on a Lotus for the Formula One vintage car racing competition.

His mother had mentioned Abe’s heart attack when they’d talked the day before but said he was recovering at home. When the call came, Dillon had been in the middle of getting the car ready for a trial run and hadn’t been able to talk.

An hour later, when Dillon had been able to take a break, he’d called his mother to check on her. She was his and Abe’s only connection. Once he knew she was fine, he’d decided to call Abe later. When he’d called later that night, the house keeper said Abe was dead. He’d taken the first flight he could get to be with his mother. He would regret for a long time that he hadn’t taken Abe’s call.

“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.”

“Come on, Mama,” Dillon said, gently urging his mother toward the car parked a quarter of a mile away on the narrow two-lane road. There was no way they would get near Samantha to offer their condolences. His priority, as it had always been, was taking care of his mother.

They’d been at his mother’s home an hour when the phone rang. Dillon grabbed the receiver. His mother was watching a sappy Lifetime movie in the den. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but the movie was making his eyes cross.

“Hello.”

“May I speak with Dillon Montgomery and Marlene Montgomery?”

Dillon frowned at the strange wording. “Who is this?”

“Samuel Boswell, Abe Collins’ lawyer. Is this Mr. Montgomery?”

Dillon’s stocking feet came off the cushioned hassock, hitting the area rug beneath. “Yes.”

“Is Ms. Montgomery there as well?”

Dillon cut a look at his mother. He thought she was deep into the story, but obviously he’d been wrong. Sitting on the sofa across from him, she muted the sound on the built-in TV and watched him.

“Abe’s lawyer wants to speak to us.”

“Put him on the speaker,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.

Dillon hit the speaker. “We’re here.”

“Excellent. I’m sorry to disturb you at the time of your grief and appreciate you taking my call.”

Dillon rolled his eyes. Lawyers wasted so much time trying to make you know how important they were.

“Thank you, but what is the reason for your call?” his mother asked.

Dillon grinned. His mother was as straightforward as he was.

“The reading of Abe’s will is tomorrow morning at the Collins mansion. Abe requested you both be there.”

Dillon and his mother shared a look of surprise.

“I can’t imagine why,” Dillon said.

“What time?” his mother asked.

“Eleven sharp, Ms. Montgomery. Can I expect the both of you?” the lawyer asked.

“We’ll be there,” his mother said. “Is there anything else?”

“No, thank you. Good-bye.”

His mother came to her feet, hung up the receiver, and headed for the kitchen. Dillon followed, hoping she wasn’t going to cry again. “You all right?”

“Yes.” Using a potholder, she removed the baking dish with a rump roast from the warming oven. He’d wanted to eat when they returned from the cemetery, but since she wasn’t hungry, he’d pretended not to mind waiting.

Dillon grabbed the plates, set the table, and filled two glasses with iced sweet tea. His mother had picked at her food for the past two days. Today, that stopped.

“Abe and I settled our differences years ago.” She put the mashed potatoes in the microwave, then turned the gas burner on under the green beans. “I called the hospital when I heard about his heart attack, but was told only family members were allowed in his room. I spoke with Samantha once and asked her to tell him that I was praying for him.”

“He called me the day he died,” Dillon said quietly.

His mother placed her hand on his arm. “Perhaps he had a premonition he wasn’t going to make it, and wanted to make mends.”

Dillon lifted a dubious brow. “He’d choke first.”

Shaking her head, she turned at the ding of the microwave. “He was a hard man sometimes, but he was there when I was pregnant. I’m not sure if we would have made it otherwise.”

“And fired me when I wanted to make improvements on the turbo,” Dillon recalled, the incident no longer stinging. Because of that one event, he’d gone on to become a successful businessman with three garages for regular cars and a fourth for high-performance cars. He was also an in-demand mechanical consultant for vintage racing cars.

“You succeeded, as I always knew you would.”

She was probably the only one. She’d raised Dillon by herself. She’d never done anything but love and encourage him, even when the town called him a jailbird-in-waiting. He’d lived in the moment, doing as he pleased, and he’d done some crazy things.

One of those times he’d come home buzzed on illegal cheap booze and rammed his car into the garage. He recalled waking up to his mother’s tears, thankful he was all right, and the neighbors standing around sneering and predicting he’d kill himself one day and they just hoped he didn’t take them with him.

His mother had somehow gotten him inside, but he’d passed out on the living room floor. He’d come to when he heard her crying. She’d sat by him all night, scared he’d throw up and choke on his vomit. He finally realized he was hurting the only person who loved him completely. That was the last night he’d come home blind drunk. He’d been a senior in high school. He’d started hitting the books instead of the bottle, and he’d stopped chasing easy women.

His mother had saved him. There wasn’t a thing on God’s green earth that he wouldn’t do for her.

“You’re the strongest woman I know. You would have made it,” he finally said.

“Spoken like a son who loves his mother. Now sit down and eat. You have to be starving.” She filled his plate with beef, creamy potatoes, and green beans with real bacon bits. She placed a basket of soft rolls in front of him.

Dillon looked from his plate to her. Sighing, she picked up the plate he’d placed on the table for her and prepared her own plate. Seated, she said the blessing and picked up her fork. “I’m eating.”

“About time.” House rule: They both ate or they both went hungry. Dillon dug into his food with relish. He’d eaten in some of the finest, most expensive restaurants in the world, but his mother’s cooking beat them all.

“I wonder if there is someone to take care of Samantha. She sounded . . . alone and scared when we spoke briefly,” his mother mused. “I’m glad we’ll have a reason to see her tomorrow.”

Dillon said nothing. He wondered if Samantha remembered the searing kiss that had made him rock hard and ready. She’d had on a ruffled pink prom dress that stopped inches above her knees. She and her friends had tumbled out of a limo into the bar where he’d been drinking, trying to get over Abe’s firing him. He’d been in a foul mood.

Samantha hadn’t seemed to mind. She’d come on to him as soon as she’d seen him. If he hadn’t known she was half drunk and the reason she was trying to seduce him, he might have taken her up on her offer.

He’d never forget her clinging to him, murmuring that she just wanted to forget. Well aware of her parents’ death two weeks earlier, he’d held her, then taken her home instead of to the motel as she’d suggested.

Once at the Collins mansion, he’d expected to find someone waiting for her. Or Abe with a shotgun. There hadn’t been anyone. His mother never went to bed until he was safely in his.

Samantha had the saddest look he’d ever seen when she’d looked over her shoulder at him, then closed the door of the mansion. He’d made sure no one took advantage of her, but he’d always felt as if he’d let her down— which was idiotic because they’d barely known each other.

Adjusting his position in the chair, he kept his head down. Women. You could never please them.

Five minutes before eleven, Dillon and his mother arrived at the Collins mansion— there was no other way to describe the magnificent Georgian structure. It was the only three-story house in the town and sat on five acres of manicured lawns with its own small lake and eight-hole golf course.

Dillon pulled up behind a late-model Mercedes and cut the motor of his Ferrari, one of four cars he owned. It was part of his image as the go-to guy for automotive problems of high performance cars. The other part, he freely admitted, was showing Elms Fork that the guy they’d written off was wealthier and more successful than they’d ever be.

His mother smoothed her hand over the straight black skirt of her suit. It had a designer label, but she had selected it for comfort and style. And at his insistence. She’d done without when he was growing up so he wouldn’t have to. That was never going to happen again. Unlike Dillon, she had no desire to rub people’s noses in his success. That was okay. He’d do it for both of them.

He reached for her hand and found it steady, but her eyes were troubled. “You all right?”

She gave him the warm, loving smile that had bolstered him time and time again. “You know the only reason Abe wanted us here is because we’re in his will.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Dillon opened his door and came around to open his mother’s. Still slim and agile at fifty-seven, she gracefully swung her feet out and stood. At five foot four, she came up to the middle of his chest. She pushed strands of blackish- brown hair that brushed her shoulders off her cheek. She remained a beautiful woman. Many of his friends didn’t want to believe she was his mother when they met the first time.

“Maybe he wants me to restore his wife’s Mercedes. I understand it hasn’t been driven since she died.”

Marlene adjusted the hem of her short jacket. “She became ill the year Collins Industry took off . Abe would have given it all to have her well and by his side. Theirs was a love that everyone should have.”

Dillon caught his mother’s arm and started up the curved bricked steps. The kind of love that she probably had thought she had. Instead, Dillon’s father had deserted her. Times like these, Dillon wished he had ten seconds with A. J. Reed, his no-good father. But they’d made it without him.

One of the double twelve-foot oak doors opened. Dillon wasn’t prepared to see Samantha standing there. She was draped in a simple black dress and misery. Lips that had boldly promised to fulfill his every fantasy, trembled. Black gave a haunting, fragile quality to her beauty.

“Hello, Samantha. You probably don’t remember me. We spoke on the phone when Abe was in the hospital. I’m Marlene Montgomery, and this is my son, Dillon.”

Samantha’s startled eyes snapped to him the second his mother mentioned his name. He saw heat flush her cheeks. So she hadn’t forgotten.

Samantha simply stared. Dillon Montgomery was easily the handsomest and sexiest man she had ever seen. He was six feet two of mouthwatering temptation. Twelve years ago, she’d been miserable enough to throw herself at him and risk the fires of hell. If rumors were right, he was related to her.

His sensual mouth curved knowingly. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She was definitely flirting with fire for her sinful thoughts.

“Abe’s lawyer asked us to come,” his mother said in the lengthening silence.

Samantha flushed. What was the matter with her? At a time like this, no matter how enticing, she shouldn’t be ogling Dillon. “Please, come in.”

Perhaps it wasn’t a rumor after all that Dillon was Abe and Marlene’s son. Why else would they be there? Her grandfather’s lawyer said they were waiting on two other people. “We’re in Granddad’s study.”

“He loved you,” Marlene said as she entered the wide marble foyer. “I know he was glad you were able to be here with him.”

Samantha’s hand clenched on her damp handkerchief. “Thank you.”

“Samantha, we’re waiting. Bring them—” Evan Collins, in another of his tailored suits, this one gray pin-striped, stopped abruptly on seeing Dillon and Marlene. “What are you doing here?”

“Abe’s lawyer asked us,” Dillon said with entirely too much satisfaction, Samantha thought. “Since you sound anxious to begin, I suggest we go into Abe’s study so Boswell can get started.”

“I don’t want you in my house.” Evan blocked their entrance. Samantha’s gaze bounced from her angry uncle to Dillon, his easy smile gone, his black eyes narrowed.

“That’s not what Abe wanted and, as everyone in town knows, this was his house, not yours,” Dillon said.

Evan’s face flushed. Samantha had never heard anyone talk to her uncle that way.

“You must be Ms. Montgomery and Dillon.” Samuel Boswell, her grandfather’s lawyer, joined them, acting as if nothing were amiss. He was barely five feet, with a receding hairline and sharp, intelligent eyes behind his wire-framed eyeglasses. “I was hoping that was you.” He stuck out his hand. The handshakes were brief.

Samantha noted Dillon smirking at her uncle. Her uncle glowered back.

“Please follow me so we can begin,” the lawyer said.

Evan caught the lawyer’s arm. “Why are they here? I know what’s in Dad’s will, and they’re not in it.”

The man shifted uncomfortably in his shiny wing tips. “All your questions will be answered momentarily. Let’s go in.” Ignoring Evan, Dillon caught his mother’s arm and Samantha’s without thinking. She looked as if she were at her breaking point. Living with her contentious uncle and aunt, Dillon understood why.

He found he wanted to comfort her as much as he did his mother. She had grown into a beautiful woman and was just as tempting now as she had been twelve years ago.

And just as off-limits. He never dated women from Elms Fork anymore. In the small town, people were too nosy and into everyone else’s business. Besides, there were only so many free women to choose from. He’d never traveled the same path, dated friends or their relatives. Plus, he didn’t want the woman bothering his mother when he moved on— and he always would.

Inside the study, Samantha stepped away from him, then she introduced him and his mother to those already seated. “This is Ms. Montgomery and her son, Dillon. Granddad wanted them here. This is my aunt Janice, and my cousins, Shelby and Ronald.”

Dillon nodded. His mother spoke, but the only response she got was a hostile glare from Janice and bored looks from Shelby and Ronald. Dillon ignored the speculative once-over from Shelby. He’d steered clear of her in high school for good reason. Too much drama and possessiveness for his taste.

Samantha flushed and turned to them again. “Can I get you anything?”

“They aren’t guests,” Evan snapped. “Sit down so we can get this over with.”

Dillon stiffened and was moving before he realized it. Someone needed to put a muzzle on Evan’s loud mouth. His mother’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Thank you, Samantha. We’re fine.” His mother sank gracefully into a love seat, pulling a taut Dillon down next to her.

Twisting the handkerchief in her hand, Samantha took a seat in a high-backed chair near them. Dillon noted she hadn’t sat with her family. His mother had been right. She had no one.

“Now that everyone is here, we can proceed.” Samuel Boswell picked up several sheets of paper, adjusted his eyeglasses. “I had hoped, as we all did, that this day was many years away. Abe Collins was a good man.”

Marlene nodded. Samantha bit her lower lip. Dillon noted that no reaction came from the other family members.

“Abe made an unusual request in the reading of his will. There will be two readings with only the people involved. I’m meeting later with the house staff , several lifelong employees of Collins Industry, and the pastor of his church. He wanted family matters kept private.”

Translation. The shit was about to hit the fan, Dillon thought. Apparently Evan had the same thought. He glared at Samantha, then at Dillon and his mother.

Dillon grinned. This was about to get very interesting.

“ ‘I, Abraham Lincoln Collins, being of sound mind, do bequeath my home located at 1927 Pecan Place in Elms Fork to be equally divided between my son, Evan Emerson Collins, and my granddaughter Samantha Ann Collins.’ ”

Evan jerked upright and glared at Samantha. Since she was looking at the lawyer with a shocked expression on her face, she missed it entirely.

“Me?”

Boswell smiled kindly at her. “You. I believe his next statement explains better than I could. ‘I want Sammie, my baby girl, to always have a place to come home to, to know I loved her parents, and mourn their loss daily.’ ”

Tears seeped down Samantha’s cheeks. Dillon didn’t expect her family to try to comfort her, and he wasn’t disappointed. His mother rose, pulled a nearby chair closer to sit next to Samantha, then gave her a fresh tissue and curved her arm around her trembling shoulders.

Dillon had countless reasons to be proud of his mother, but this was one of the proudest.

“ ‘To ensure she has the funds to maintain the house and grounds, I’m leaving her all of my assets, including cash, stocks, annuities, and bonds, in an irrevocable trust.’ ”

“What?” Evan came to his feet. “That can’t be true.” He crossed the spacious room, and reached for the will.

Samuel drew the papers to his chest. “Mr. Collins, please take a seat. I’m not finished.”

Heaving with fury, Evan didn’t move. “When was this will written?”

“The day your father was released from the hospital.”

“Then that explains it,” Evan announced with a dismissive shove of his hand at the will. “His lack of oxygen after his first heart attack must have affected his brain. He wasn’t himself.”

“Abe was seen by a psychiatrist less than an hour before he changed his will, which was witnessed by his doctor and his private duty nurse.”

“Checkmate,” Dillon said, and laughed. “This is really getting interesting.”

Evan pivoted and snapped. “You think this is funny?”

“No, I think it’s sad,” Dillon said slowly.

“Please, Mr. Collins, take a seat so I can finish.”

Evan retook his seat. The lawyer flashed a worried look at him, adjusted his glasses. “ ‘To Marlene Montgomery, the most efficient secretary a man could ask for, but just as importantly, a kindhearted woman who forgave when she didn’t have to, I bequeath the sum of two hundred and forty thousand dollars— the salary she would have earned if she hadn’t quit when I fired her son. I paid for my rashness ten times over. You were irreplaceable and I was too stubborn to ask you to come back. I know Dillon can take care of you, but I’d like for you to have the money to do something fun and then come by the grave site and tell me.’ ”

Although tears rolled down her cheeks, Marlene smiled.

Dillon started to rise and go to her, but she waved her hand to indicate she was all right. He noted that her other hand was wrapped around Samantha’s. He couldn’t tell who was holding whom.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “ ‘Collins Industry was founded on a vision and succeeded because of hard work and determination. I want to leave my company in the hands of people who will value it just as much and work tirelessly for it to succeed. Therefore I leave joint ownership of Collins Industry to Samantha Collins and Dillon Montgomery— if they agree to jointly run the company for five years.’ ”

Dillon was stunned. There was no other way to describe his reaction.

Evan was on his feet again. “That’s bullshit! Collins Industry is mine! I don’t care what some quack psychiatrist said, Daddy must have been senile. He wouldn’t have left the company to an outsider.”

“Uncle Evan,” Samantha said quietly when he stopped to take a breath, “Granddad asked me the day we lost him to consider taking over the company.” She looked across the room at Dillon. “He mentioned there was another person he wanted to help.”

“If there was another person, it was me,” Evan said. “There must have been some mistake in drawing up the will.”

Boswell looked off ended. “There was no mistake.”

“Mr. Boswell is right,” Samantha said. “Granddad said I would be working with someone else. Don’t think harshly of him,” she rushed to say at her uncle’s angry expression. “He was worried. The company is in trouble. He wanted to save it, and he thought Dillon and I could pull it off . I think that’s why he put off his surgery.”

Hands on his hips, her uncle snorted dismissively. “And how do you propose to do that? I’ve been here, helping run the company while you’ve been off playing and drawing the money from my brother’s trust fund. You have no clue how to run Collins Industry. Dillon has even less. More importantly, Daddy fired him.”

On an apparent roll, Evan swung to Dillon. “Just because Daddy was feeling sentimental that he never claimed his bastard is no reason—”

Dillon shot out of his seat like a bullet. He grabbed Evan by the collar of his tailor-made white shirt and drew back his fist. “Dillon,” his mother called, catching his arm with both hands. “Stop it.”

Dillon’s chest heaved with barely controlled rage. “Bastard” was the one word that he would never take easily. He was called that too many times growing up, taunted, not allowed to associate with the “good kids” because his mother wasn’t married when she had him. Abe wasn’t his father, but Dillon had no intention of telling the loudmouthed Evan.

“Dillon, please.” His mother’s voice trembled.

Dillon cut a look at his mother. While he’d been called bastard, she’d been called much worse. She wasn’t turning loose of his hand. He’d walk through burning coals before he hurt her.

“Apologize to my mother.”

“I won’t—”

Dillon’s fist tightened, cutting off the flow of oxygen, then relaxed only marginally. “Do it!”

“I apologize, Marlene,” Evan said with a nasty sneer on his face.

Dillon shoved Evan distastefully away from him before he hit him anyway. Evan staggered, then straightened. His face promised retribution. “I’ll have you arrested for assault.”

“Go ahead and try,” Dillon told him, noting that Evan’s family had stood but none had tried to help him. “I’ll put my lawyers against yours any day. I was provoked. You’re lucky my mother was here or you’d be picking your teeth up off the floor.”

“Come on, Dillon. Sit down.” His mother tugged his arm.

“Cross that line again and nothing will save you.” He finally allowed his mother to lead him back to the love seat he’d been seated on.

Samantha felt helpless and miserable. This wasn’t what her grandfather wanted. “Uncle Evan, what we don’t know, you can teach us. The company is slowly dying. If that happens, the employees and town will lose as well. Together we can make Collins Industry a top contender with turbo engines again.”

“The company is fine!” Evan shouted, his chest heaving. “I’ll get an injunction if I have to! I’ll sue! I’ll lock the doors!”

“Perhaps I should finish,” the lawyer said quietly. “If you start any legal proceedings to contest the will, your salary at Collins Industry will be frozen until the case is settled. If you’ll recall, Abe left all of his personal assets— with the exception of the house, which you and your niece own jointly— to Ms. Collins. If you want to fight this, you’ll do it with your personal funds. Since Abe was deemed sane by a notable psychologist, the case could take months, especially if Mr. Montgomery and Ms. Collins decide to fight.”

“I’ll fight,” Dillon promised, for the hell of it. He planned to sign over the company before the day was over.

Boswell cleared his throat. “However, if you accept the will, Mr. Collins, you’re to remain as vice president with your salary.”

“That’s blackmail,” said Janice, his wife, coming to stand by her husband. “Do something, Evan! What will people say when they find out?”

“That—” Dillon stopped abruptly as his mother shook her head. He leaned back in the seat.

“Abe knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he hoped you’d come to see that the company needs to change or it won’t survive,” the lawyer said.

“I see all right. And all of you can go to hell!” Evan stormed from the room with his wife on his heels.

“Is there any mention of his other grandchildren?” Shelby asked.

“No, I’m sorry.” Boswell slowly shook his head. “Just Samantha Collins.”

“So am I.” Shelby stood and left the room. Her brother followed.

Samantha’s emotions had never been so chaotic. She wasn’t sure about working with Dillon, but she didn’t have a choice. He still looked as if he’d like to rip someone apart. She liked things orderly and calm, non threatening. They wouldn’t be that way with Dillon. Then, there was this attraction she couldn’t control.

She flexed her toes in her black heels. If she didn’t want them hanging over a very hot fire, she’d do well to remember that Dillon could be related to her.

“Dillon, I’m not sure what your schedule is like,” she ventured. “I’m available anytime you’d like to meet tomorrow to discuss our next step in running the company.”

He aimed that laser-sharp gaze at her. It was all she could do not to shrink back in her chair.

“You don’t think I’m going to go along with this farce, do you?”

“Farce? Granddad left half of the company to you because he believed in you,” she returned, anger creeping into her voice.

“Yeah.” Dillon laughed without humor. “A company he took great pleasure in firing me from. I have no intention of helping Collins Industry. I have my own life. I wish you well.” He approached the desk the lawyer sat behind and braced his hands on top.

“Draw up the papers, and I’ll sign over my half of the company to her.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” Boswell folded his hands on top of the will. “Abe took into account that you might not be amenable to this initially.”

“He was right.” Dillon straightened. “If you can’t do it, my lawyers can.”

“Mr. Montgomery, it’s not a matter of can’t. Abe’s will specifically stipulates that neither you nor his granddaughter can sell or give away your half of the company for five years. Whether you want to or not, you’re half owner of Collins.”

“We’ll just see about that.”

Turning, he took his mother’s arm and walked away, leaving Samantha and the lawyer staring after him.

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On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, Sin was sipping a nice vintage wine and helping celebrate the recently announced engagement of C.J. Callahan, one of his two best friends, in the lavish East Hampton home of C.J.’s elated parents. Just because Sin was standing with C.J. and Alex Stewart, Sin’s other best friend, and enjoying himself didn’t mean he’d stopped noticing the people around him, especially those he cared deeply about.

Since he’d long ago developed the ability to listen with one ear while observing — it was critical with so much going on at sports games — Sin listened to C.J. go on and on about what a great woman Cicely was and how lucky he was, while Sin watched Summer Radcliffe chat with a beaming Cicely St. John, C.J.’s fiancé, in the elegant, French-inspired great room.

The other woman with them was Dianne Harrington Stewart, the new wife of Alex. Dianne, a stunning long-legged former international fashion model, looked as happy as Cicely. On the other hand, Summer’s usual smile and vibrancy were noticeably missing…at least to him.

He’d first noticed Summer’s pensiveness when Dianne and Alex were dating and had an argument outside of C.J.’s bar, Callahan’s. Summer had completely stunned Sin by musing that, when Dianne and Alex settled their disagreement and kissed they would later have make-up sex.

Sin couldn’t get her startling comment out of his mind. It bothered him that he hadn’t been able to tell if she’d been wistful or frustrated. Not once in their long friendship had he ever heard her mention sex. Truthfully, it stunned him a bit that she had. She wasn’t the type of woman to take intimacy lightly or talk about it openly. Afterwards, she’d ignored his attempts to find out if the comment had been off-hand or something more, and had gone inside the bar to play pool with Dianne.

Sin traveled a great deal, but he hadn’t heard about Summer being in a relationship. Her cousin, C.J., was as protective of Summer as he was of his younger sister, Arial.

C.J. certainly would have mentioned it if Summer was serious about a man…if he had known. Lately C.J. had a full plate with Callahan Software, Callahan’s Bar, and Cicely. It disturbed Sin that some idiot might have slipped past C.J. Worse, that the idiot didn’t appreciate what a wonderful woman he had. Sin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. If he found out that was the case, he would take care of it himself. No one, absolutely no one, took advantage of Summer while he breathed.

From the moment they met when she was just out of high school and dealing with the death of her parents, he’d felt protective of her. Despite her tragic loss, she’d worked her butt off to make her parents’ dream of owning a successful upscale restaurant in Manhattan a reality. He admired her determination, loyalty and tenacity.

She hadn’t had it easy in life. Perhaps because he’d lost his father when he was eighteen, and she’d lost her parents at the same age, he felt a certain empathy and closeness with her. If at all possible, he was going to figure out what was bothering her and fix it. He didn’t like seeing a forced smile on her beautiful face.

A broad hand clasped Sin on the shoulder, breaking into his thoughts. He looked up into C.J.’s handsome, clean-shaven face which had always made him extremely popular with the women. “Thanks for being my best man.”

With his dark eyes twinkling in his bearded face, Sin tipped his wine glass toward C.J. Both men were over six feet, but while C.J. had the broad shoulders of a line backer, Sin was lean and muscular. “Thank me when I drag you away from the blow-out bachelor party Alex and I are going to give you so you can be at your best for your wedding.”

C.J.’s laughter was pure wickedness. “I might leave before then. I can’t wait for Cicely to be completely mine. She gave up her dream for me.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when his attention shifted to where the women were standing. Sin could tell by the rapt expression on C.J.’s face, he and Cicely had gotten lost in each other’s gaze again as they had done off-and-on since their arrival two hours ago. For them, everyone else in the elegantly decorated room had ceased to exist.

“I think we lost him,” Alex said with a burst of laughter. “Again.”

Alex, a successful Manhattan lawyer with a list of Who’s Who clients, as well as the people no one ever heard of but whose cases he took because he hated to see people screwed over – stood at a trim six-foot-two.

“I seem to recall you being the same way,” Sin reminded Alex. Placing his champagne flute on the tray of a nearby waiter, Sin caught C.J.’s arm. “Let’s put him out of his misery.”

“Let’s.” Alex caught C.J.’s other arm and they led him to his waiting fiancé.

They were barely there when C.J. reached out and tenderly pulled Cicely into his arms and kissed her. “Happy?” C.J. asked.

“I’ve never been happier.” Cicely leaned into the shelter of C.J.’s six-foot-four frame, her head against his broad chest.

“I plan to keep you that way.” C.J. gave her another kiss.

Dianne walked into her husband’s open arms. While the newly engaged snuggled and the newly married looked on approvingly and did the same thing, Sin watched Summer. There was a smile on her striking face that was serene and restful, but there was also a hint of sadness in her dark chocolate eyes. The sparkle of happiness and teasing warmth that had unknowingly gotten him through a couple of rough days in the last four months wasn’t there.

Sin didn’t think; he just stepped forward and curved his arm around Summer’s slim waist. Her arm went around him without hesitation. They’d done this a thousand times, but he’d never felt as he did now – that there was a barrier between them that he couldn’t break through to comfort her. He didn’t like the feeling. At the moment, there were too many things in his personal life that were out of his control. He didn’t want to add another.

Sin felt the slight trembling of Summer’s slim body, and pulled her just the tiniest bit closer as he glanced down at her.

He saw what she undoubtedly wanted everyone to see, a beautifully poised and stylish woman in a white sheath that accentuated her shapely five-foot-five slim body to perfection. The coal black wavy hair that usually hung free and reached to the middle of her back was in some kind of intricate twist on top of her head. The upsweep made her slender neck appear vulnerable, her heart-shaped face more alluring. Any man would be proud to call her his.

“Looks like we’re the odd ones out,” Sin said, trying to tease her into smiling for real.

“Yes,” she said without looking at him.

Sin wondered if anyone else heard the tiniest tremble in her voice. He’d take her for a walk on the beach behind the estate as they’d done so many times after she’d lost her parents and in the years since, if he thought he’d get an answer. He wouldn’t. Summer could be as tight-lipped as the clams she served in Radcliffe’s, her five-star restaurant.

Stepping away from Sin, Summer plucked a flute from a nearby waiter’s tray. “I’d like to propose a toast to my cousin, C.J. and his fiancé and my friend, Cicely.” Summer kept her flute raised as C.J.’s sister, his brother and his wife, joined them. “To C.J. and Cicely, wishing you every happiness on your journey of forever together. May each day bring your closer, make your love stronger.”

“To C.J. and Cicely.” People chorused as the distinct click of crystal flutes sounded.

Sin drank his wine, but he never took his gaze from Summer. Her hand was steady, the sparkle finally back in her incredible eyes. Whatever it was had passed. While he was glad, he intended to find out what had put the sadness in her lovely face.

Sin was watching her.

In the past the knowledge that he was always there had given Summer a certain amount of comfort. At the moment, it made her want to squirm and hang her head.

And, unlike in the past, he was the last person she could talk to about the reason. At least the party was over.

Bidding her family and Cicely good-bye, Summer climbed inside the limousine Sin had hired to drive him, Alex, Dianne and her up to the Hamptons from New York. Scooting over, Summer kept the practiced smile on her face. She’d considered leaving early, could even think of so many plausible excuses that she could have used. Sin would have insisted the driver take her back to town. But that would be the coward’s way. She wouldn’t add that to her shame.

What was the matter with her that she couldn’t move past this…this feeling that kept circling her and coming back to nip her on the backside no matter how much she fought it.

How could this have happened to her? It made no sense, but that didn’t change it or make it go away.

It had just snuck up on her when she hadn’t been looking or expecting it. Sin was one of her best friends. He wasn’t supposed to make her skin tingle, her body have the strong desire to lean closer, to brush her lips across his, to feel the softness of his beard against her cheek.

And no matter how hard she tried to stop the new feelings, they wouldn’t go away. She suspected they had started when, a couple of months ago, she began to catch glimpses of sadness in his expression that before had always been filled with laughter and teasing. She hadn’t asked about the reason because the occasions were so fleeting.

Or was it because she hadn’t wanted to hear that it had been because of a woman?

Summer blew out a breath and waited for the rest to get inside the limo. Perhaps that was why she’d caught herself teasing him about the women in his life, she’d been hoping to gain information. She never did. Sin wasn’t the type of man to talk about his women. But she had no doubt they were many. He and C.J. both had reputation about women going in and out of their lives like a revolving door, but once out, they were never invited back.

If that wasn’t enough for her to deal with, the Lil’ Green Monster had decided to perch on her shoulder.

She’d felt horrible that she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that men she thought were confirmed bachelors had somehow found the loves of their lives while she was still searching. That Summer now called the women they’d found friends somehow made the ache worse.

Everyone around her seemed to be having a summer romance, heading to the altar, or having a baby while Summer remained alone. She wasn’t lonely. She was too busy for that, but she wished there was one special person — someone attainable – to share the day with, to talk about nothing, or just to hold and watch the sun set.

Still, she had no right to feel the twinge of jealously. She had so much to be thankful for. She was living her dream, running Radcliffe’s. Hundreds of restaurants opened and promptly closed in New York while Radcliffe’s thrived. Her envy made her feel like an ogre. She didn’t like the feeling and planned to do something about it. Sin might be giving her some bad moments, but he had also helped her to see that not facing her problems head-on only made the situation worse.

“That was fun,” Dianne said as she slid in on the other side of the limo. Alex climbed in beside her. “Reminds me of our engagement party.”

Alex kissed her on the cheek. “The second happiest day of my life. The happiest was when we were married.”

Sin entered the car in time to hear Alex’s comment. Thankfully, he left a good two feet between him and Summer. “Cut it out, you two.”

Dianne grinned, leaned against her husband and crossed her long legs. “One day you and Summer will feel the same way about someone.”

“Not if I can help it,” Sin said, then turned to Summer. “How about you?”

Summer’s smile slipped a notch. Of all the men for her body to lust after, Sin was the absolutely worse. Why settle for one peach when you had the orchard? “I’m too busy,” she managed, then, “Oh, I forgot my purse,”

Sin placed his hand on hers when she started to get up. “I’ll get it. Where did you leave it?”

She shouldn’t be feeling the tingling sensation that radiated up her arm, the arousing heat. He’d touched her thousands of times over the years. “Not sure. I’ll be back.” Climbing out her side, she hurried up the walk and into the house.

Luckily, the two people she sought were in the first of the three foyers, wrapped in each other’s arms kissing. The rest of the family was nowhere in sight. Apparently they understood C.J. and Cicely wanted to be alone. Summer picked up her envelope purse from behind the vase, exactly where she had intentionally left it. “Excuse me.”

C.J. slowly lifted his head. Cicely straightened. “I thought you were gone,” he said.

“I came back for this.” Summer lifted the purse and took a deep breath. “You guys know I love you, right?”

Cicely immediately pulled free of C.J. and came to her, placing her slim hand on her shoulder. “Of course. What is it?”

C.J. frowned. “You all right?”

Summer nodded. “I don’t know how to say it except straight out. A couple of times this afternoon, just for a moment or two, I was jealous. Looking at Alex and Dianne, and now you two bursting with happiness, I’m beginning to feel as if my time will never come.”

They both hugged her at once. Cicely spoke first, “I’ve had more than a few jealous moments in my life. It was difficult enough admitting it to myself. I never had the courage to admit it to anyone else.”

“I was jealous of Sin because he and Cicely got along so well and I couldn’t think of a thing to say to her,” C.J. admitted. “I’d rather eat spouts than admit it to him.”

Summer might not be lucky in love, but she was with friends and relatives. Not only had C.J. and Cicely accepted her apology, they’d commended her. “I’m glad you found each other,” Summer said, the tension gone from her body.

“Your day is coming, Summer,” Cicely said. “You’re beautiful, successful, and intelligent. Love will find you when you least expect it.”

“The guy had better be for real, or he and I are going to have a little talk.” This time C.J. wasn’t smiling.

Summer thought of Sin, fallen-angel handsome and completely off limits. “You don’t have to worry. Carry on. See you Wednesday.” Turning, she hurried back outside and saw Sin waiting beside the limo. His dark eyes were narrowed with speculation as he studied her face.

“You aren’t the forgetful type.” Sin opened the door when she neared

“C.J.’s never been engaged before.” Summer quickly got inside and scooted to the far corner, not daring to look at Sin. She hadn’t fooled him, but at least today she wouldn’t have to talk about it. He’d bide his time.

Sin, Alex often said, had the tenacity of a pit-bull. She might have been able to fool everyone, but not Sin. He’d always seemed to know when something was bothering her.

Since the death of her parents, he’d been there for her. And when C.J. took off to traipse around the world a year after graduating from college, Sin had become even more important in her life. With him, she could be as silent or as angry as she wanted as she worked though the grief of losing her parents so abruptly. They were best buds.

No matter how she might wish otherwise, they could never be anything more

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