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Conflict of Interest
GINA WILKINS
A CONTRACT…BETWEEN LOVERSLiterary agent Adrienne Corley liked Gideon McCloud's books, but that didn't mean she liked him. Meeting her temperamental client face-to-face had everything to do with his career and nothing to do with how she found the reclusive writer sexier than she'd dreamed possible….Gideon enjoyed his solitary lifestyle–until his gorgeous agent turned up demanding he attend to matters professional and…personal. Enthralled by Adrienne's sexy smile, Gideon welcomed her into his home–and into his bed–but could he keep his heart out of the deal?



The gleam in his eyes made her pulse speed up.
“You know all those times we talked on the phone?” His fingers slid down the curve of her jaw. “I didn’t picture you looking quite like this.”
She had to move now, before she did something really foolish and unprofessional—like make a pass at her client.
“I think I’ll read for a while before I turn in,” she said, scooting away from him. “I can’t wait to read your new book, by the way. I’m really looking forward to it.”
He studied her face for a moment, his gaze so intense that she wondered if he saw too much there, but then he asked, “How would you like to read it now?”
“I would love to.”
He seemed amused by the fervency of her assurance. “Go on back and put your feet up, and I’ll bring the manuscript to you.”
“In the bedroom, you mean?”
There was an undercurrent of laughter in his voice as his eyes met hers. “That sounds good to me.”
Dear Reader,
Your best bet for coping with April showers is to run—not walk—to your favorite retail outlet and check out this month’s lineup. We’d like to highlight popular author Laurie Paige and her new miniseries SEVEN DEVILS. Laurie writes, “On my way to a writers’ conference in Denver, I spotted the Seven Devils Mountains. This had to be checked out! Sure enough, the rugged, fascinating land proved to be ideal for a bunch of orphans who’d been demanding that their stories be told.” You won’t want to miss Showdown!, the second book in the series, which is about a barmaid and a sheriff destined for love!
Gina Wilkins dazzles us with Conflict of Interest, the second book in THE MCCLOUDS OF MISSISSIPPI series, which deals with the combustible chemistry between a beautiful literary agent and her ruggedly handsome and reclusive author. Can they have some fun without love taking over the relationship? Don’t miss Marilyn Pappano’s The Trouble with Josh, which features a breast cancer survivor who decides to take life by storm and make the most of everything—but she never counts on sexy cowboy Josh Rawlins coming into the mix.
In Peggy Webb’s The Mona Lucy, a meddling but well-meaning mother attempts to play Cupid to her son and a beautiful artist who is painting her portrait. Karen Rose Smith brings us Expecting the CEO’s Baby, an adorable tale about a mix-up at the fertility clinic and a marriage of convenience between two strangers. And in Lisette Belisle’s His Pretend Wife, an accident throws an ex-con and an ex-debutante together, making them discover that rather than enemies, they just might be soul mates!
As you can see, we have a variety of stories for our readers, which explore the essentials—life, love and family. Stay tuned next month for six more top picks from Special Edition!
Sincerely,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor

Conflict of Interest
Gina Wilkins


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For John, who is still my strongest supporter after all these years.

GINA WILKINS
is a bestselling and award-winning author who has written more than sixty-five books for Harlequin and Silhouette. She credits her successful career in romance to her long, happy marriage and her three “extraordinary” children.
A lifelong resident of central Arkansas, Ms. Wilkins sold her first book to Harlequin in 1987 and has been writing full-time ever since. She has appeared on the Waldenbooks, B. Dalton and USA TODAY bestseller lists. She is a three-time recipient of the Maggie Award for Excellence, sponsored by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of Romantic Times.



Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue

Prologue
After the thirteenth unanswered ring, Adrienne Corley slammed her telephone into its cradle. She wasn’t the type to lose her temper very often, but Gideon McCloud could provoke a saint into a tantrum.
It was the fifth time in the past three days that she had attempted to reach him. His answering machine had broken several weeks ago and he hadn’t bothered to replace it, so she couldn’t leave a message. She’d sent e-mails, but apparently he hadn’t checked those in a while, either.
The worst part was that she suspected he was sitting right there beside the phone, listening to it ring and choosing not to answer.
“I do not need this aggravation,” she grumbled, glaring at the phone as if her scowl would carry through the lines to the man she had been trying to reach. “I could get an easier job, you know. Working in a bank. A library, maybe. Even digging ditches would have to be better than working with eccentric, temperamental authors.”
“Threatening to quit again?” Jacqueline Peeples, her administrative assistant, asked as she set a mountain of mail on Adrienne’s desk.
“Someday I’m going through with that threat.”
“Yeah, right. Tell that to your daddy.”
Adrienne transferred her glare from the telephone to her co-worker. “I’m not afraid of my father. If I choose to quit his literary agency, I’m certainly free to do so.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Jacqueline had heard that before, of course. She didn’t believe it any more than Adrienne did. “At least you’ve got your vacation coming up. If I’ve ever seen anyone who needs two weeks away from the office, it’s you. So don’t you let your father try to talk you out of it again.”
“I won’t,” Adrienne vowed. “I’ve earned this vacation—the first I’ve taken in three years—and I’m going to enjoy every day of it. I’m so tired of schedules and appointments that I haven’t even made any plans for the next two weeks. I’m going to act completely on impulse, take every minute as it comes.”
“That sounds like exactly what you need. But in the meantime, what are you going to do about Gideon McCloud?”
“I’m going to make him talk to me—even if I have to fly to Honesty, Mississippi, and break into his house.”
Jacqueline laughed, as Adrienne had intended. “Now that I would like to see.”
“Me, breaking into his house?”
“No. You in Mississippi.”
The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a brilliant solution. Just the sort of gutsy, tough-guy move her father would make. Gideon McCloud was curt, blunt and reclusive, but he was a talented writer with a great future ahead of him, and she intended to grab a percentage of that future.
“Book me a flight,” she said without giving herself a chance to think about it. “Early next week, preferably. That will give me time to get everything here cleared away.”
Jacqueline’s eyebrows rose. “You can’t be serious. You want to go to Mississippi to meet with an author during your vacation?”
The more she thought about it, the better the idea seemed—though, of course, she was overworked and overstressed. She nodded slowly, her resolve strengthening. “It’ll only take a day or two, and I’ve never been to Mississippi, so I can count that as a vacation trip. Two birds with one stone. Let’s just see if Gideon McCloud can ignore me when I’m staring directly into his eyes.”

Chapter One
Gideon McCloud’s telephone rang several times Monday, but he ignored it so effectively he hardly heard it. In a moment of weakness earlier that morning, he had answered a call. The unfortunate telemarketer’s ears were probably still ringing from the force with which Gideon had slammed the receiver back into its cradle. He had an almost pathological aversion to telemarketers; hence, his general reluctance to answer his telephone.
He really should replace his answering machine, he mused when he became aware that the phone was ringing yet again. Maybe he would get around to that sometime later in the week. Then he focused on his computer screen and tuned everything else out.
Perhaps another half hour passed before he was distracted from work by his doorbell. It chimed half a dozen times, followed by a pounding on the door, followed by someone leaning on the doorbell again.
Muttering beneath his breath, he shoved himself away from the keyboard and stalked through his immaculate house to the front door, which he jerked open impatiently. “What?”
A tall, slender woman in her early sixties stood on his doorstep, holding the hand of a blond cherub with shoulder-length curls and huge blue eyes. A large, wheeled, red suitcase rested on the porch between them, and the little girl carried a bulging purple backpack. Gideon frowned at the luggage for a moment before slowly lifting his gaze to his mother’s face. “What’s going on?”
“If you would pick up your telephone, you would already know the answer to that.” Without waiting for an invitation, Lenore McCloud stepped past him into his entryway, dragging the suitcase with one hand and holding the little girl’s hand in her other.
Gideon closed the door behind them, then turned to face his mother. He was still unnerved by the sight of that suitcase. “Well?”
“Your aunt Wanda fell during the night and broke her hip. It was several hours before anyone found her, and she’s in bad shape now. Her neighbor called me a couple of hours ago, and I need to go there immediately.”
Because his aunt was the only surviving member of his mother’s immediate family, Gideon wasn’t surprised she felt the need to rush to Wanda’s side. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she’ll be okay.”
“Yes, so do I.” Lenore glanced down at the still-silent little girl. “Isabelle, sweetie, the den is right through that door. Why don’t you run in there and watch cartoons for a few minutes while I talk with Gideon?”
The child nodded obediently and disappeared into the den. A moment later Gideon heard the opening strains of “Scooby-dooby-doo…”
“Why is she watching cartoons in my den?” he asked his mother suspiciously.
“Isabelle’s going to stay with you until I can make other arrangements. I hope it will only be for a few days, but I can’t make any guarantees.”
Shaking his head, Gideon had both hands in the air before she even finished speaking. “No way, Mom. Forget it. You can’t leave her here.”
Lenore wore the stern, don’t-mess-with-me expression he remembered very well from his youth. “There really is no other choice. Nathan and Caitlin won’t be back from their honeymoon for nearly two weeks. Deborah went back to Florida yesterday. And I can hardly take a four-year-old with me to the hospital.”
“What about the housekeeper who watches Isabelle while Nathan’s working? Can’t she stay with her?”
“Mrs. Tuckerman left right after the wedding Saturday for a two-week cruise with her bridge club. It seemed like a good idea for her vacation to coincide with Nathan’s honeymoon, especially since I had volunteered to watch Isabelle. No one could have predicted Wanda’s accident, of course.”
Gideon could feel the cage bars closing around him, but he tried one last time to escape. “Surely there’s someone else. I have to work, and you know how I get when I’m past deadline. Leaving a four-year-old with me probably constitutes reckless endangerment of a minor or something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re perfectly capable of watching Isabelle for a few days. She’s a very well-behaved child, no trouble at all. She’s in preschool from eight in the morning until two in the afternoon, so you can work in your usual solitude during those hours.”
“And after two? What am I supposed to do with her then?”
“You’re an intelligent young man. You’ll manage.”
“I don’t want to manage. You can’t leave her here.”
“Fine.” Lenore gave him a wounded look. “Since I have no other options, I’ll take Isabelle back to my house. I’ll call my poor sister and tell her I can’t come to her when she needs me because it isn’t convenient for my son.”
He groaned. “Mother—”
She held up a hand. “It’s all right. I understand. You’re an important writer, and your time is very valuable.”
The cage doors slammed shut. Gideon was trapped, and he knew it. He sighed. “Go to your sister. I’ll watch the kid.”
If Lenore had harbored any doubt that he would eventually capitulate, it didn’t show in her expression. She pulled a folded sheet of paper from the leather purse dangling from her arm. “This is the schedule Nathan and Caitlin left for me with Isabelle’s preschool and dance class times.”
“Dance class?”
Ignoring his groan, she continued, “You also have the phone numbers for her school and her pediatrician, and a number where Nathan can be reached in an emergency. I’ve written a couple of numbers for myself at the bottom of the page, and you have my cell number, of course.”
“How long do you expect to be gone?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. Isabelle had lunch at school today, of course, and I gave her a snack after I picked her up. She’ll probably be hungry for dinner around six, and she should be in bed by eight. Try to make sure she eats healthily. Don’t let her have too many snacks or junk foods. Now I really must be on my way, since I have a two-hour drive ahead of me. I’ll just step in to say goodbye to Isabelle.”
His footsteps dragging, Gideon followed Lenore into his den. Isabelle sat curled on one corner of his suede-leather sofa, the cartoon she had selected playing on the television across the room. She looked away from the screen when they entered, her expression uncertain. “I’m staying here?”
“For a few days,” Lenore agreed, giving the child a bracing smile. “You’ll be fine, sweetie. Your big brother will take very good care of you.”
Because he wasn’t used to thinking of himself as Isabelle’s big brother—after all, he’d met the child for the first time less than four months ago—it took him a beat to realize that his mother expected him to say something then. “You’re welcome to stay here, Isabelle.”
He didn’t blame her for looking less than enthusiastic. She was probably well aware that he was completely ill-equipped to care for a small child. Though he knew she was gregarious and talkative with other people—even total strangers—she had been rather reserved with him during the few occasions they’d been together. She had treated him with a somewhat wary shyness that had told him she didn’t quite know what to make of him, and since he’d never decided quite what he felt about her, he’d been content to leave things just that way between them. Distantly civil.
He’d certainly never expected to find himself babysitting her.
“I have to go, sweetie. Be good for Gideon, okay? And be patient with him,” Lenore said a bit wryly. “Sometimes he’s a slow learner. But he’ll be very nice to you,” she added, giving her son a meaningful look.
Isabelle wrapped her arms around Lenore’s neck. “Goodbye, Nanna. I hope your sister gets all better soon.”
Gideon still found it strange to hear his half sister refer to his mother by that grandmotherly nickname. It hadn’t been very long ago when Lenore hadn’t even wanted to acknowledge the child’s existence. Now here she was taking full responsibility for her ex-husband’s kid while her oldest son, the orphaned child’s legal guardian, was away on his honeymoon, and hugging her as affectionately as if she really were Isabelle’s grandmother.
It was no wonder, Gideon mused with a shake of his head, that most people in this town tended to think of Lenore, a tireless, generous community volunteer, as a near saint. They had no such illusions about him, however.
Ten minutes later he found himself alone with a four-year-old who gazed up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. He didn’t have a clue where to begin.
He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even 4:00 p.m. yet. Too early for dinner. Four hours away from her bedtime. “So, uh, do you want a drink or something?” he asked awkwardly. “I have some soda, I think. And fruit juice.”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“Oh. Well.” He looked around the room, which was decorated in Southwestern style with leather, distressed woods, pottery, western paintings and Remington bronzes. The walls were lined with shelves almost filled to over-flowing with hardcover and paperback books. It was a guy’s room, and there was nothing in it to entertain a child except the television she had been watching.
“I need to finish something in my office,” he said. “Will you be okay in here watching TV?”
She nodded gravely. “I’ll be okay.”
She looked awfully tiny sitting there on his big couch. “If you need anything, just let me know, okay?”
“Okay.”
He practically bolted out of the room. His office had always been a retreat for him, but it seemed even more a refuge now. Unfortunately, he knew he couldn’t stay locked in there until his mother returned to free him.

Gideon had been sitting in front of his computer for half an hour when a sound from the doorway pulled his concentration away from the computer screen. To his frustration he’d managed to type maybe two sentences since he’d sat down, so he was frowning when he looked up.
Annoyance turned to consternation when he spotted Isabelle standing just inside the doorway, a stuffed white owl cuddled against her chest and a pitiful quiver in her lower lip. She looked to be on the verge of tears, which was enough to make Gideon panic.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, pushing away from the computer. “Did you hurt yourself?”
She shook her head. “I heard a noise outside the window. It scared me.”
Exhaling slowly in relief, he shoved a hand through his already disheveled dark hair. A brisk, mid-March wind was blowing outside, and he suspected she’d heard a tree branch tapping against the house. “There’s nothing scary outside, Isabelle,” he assured her. “Just a couple of trees planted next to the den windows. It isn’t even dark out yet.”
A fat tear rolled slowly down her cheek. “It’s lonely in the den.”
He supposed it was natural for her to be upset. The child had been through a great deal of trauma in the past year. She’d lost her parents in an accident, had been uprooted from her home in California and resettled in her oldest half brother’s home here in Mississippi and was now with a half brother she hardly knew. A brother who had no idea how to comfort an upset child.
“Can I stay in here with you?” Isabelle asked. “I promise I’ll be quiet.”
He glanced toward the writing desk he used for paying bills. “You can sit at this desk. Do you like to draw pictures?”
She nodded, her expression brightening.
“I’ve got the only refrigerator in town with no artwork stuck on the front with magnets. Maybe you can draw something for my fridge.”
She seemed to like that idea.
He dug out a stack of printer paper, several pencils and a box of colored markers from his supply closet and piled them on the desk after moving a teetering tower of unopened mail out of the way. He had no toys in the house, but plenty of art provisions, since he was seriously addicted to office supply stores. Isabelle settled into the big chair behind the writing desk, and Gideon returned to his computer.
True to her word, Isabelle was very quiet as she contentedly scribbled and colored, but Gideon still found himself unable to concentrate on his writing. He wasn’t accustomed to having anyone else in his house when he worked, much less in the same room with him. After writing and deleting the same sentence for the fourth time, he muttered a curse beneath his breath and punched a key to close the file.
“What’s the matter, Gideon?”
She had a unique way of pronouncing his name, he mused. Nothing he could pinpoint, exactly, but it sounded different when she said it. “Nothing’s wrong,” he lied.
“Are you writing another book?”
“Trying to.”
“Nate said you write good books, but they’re not for kids.”
She always shortened Nathan’s name so casually, but then, Isabelle had known Nathan all her life. He had been the only one of the three elder McCloud siblings to maintain a relationship with their father after the bitter divorce from their mother a few months before Isabelle’s birth. “No, I don’t write children’s books.”
“What are your books about?”
“Most people call them thrillers. They have elements of science fiction and fantasy in them and what has been referred to as dark humor.”
She blinked a couple of times in response to his dry description, then said, “I like Dr. Seuss.”
Her matter-of-fact statement made Gideon grin. “So do I.”
His smile seemed to take her by surprise. She studied his face a moment, then smiled back at him before returning her attention to her artwork.
Okay, Gideon thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be so tough after all. How hard could it be to keep an eye on an exceptionally bright and well-behaved four-year-old?

It was cloudy and dark by 7:00 p.m. on that Monday evening, and a cold drizzle had begun to fall, blown in on a strong northern front. Not a very experienced driver in the first place, since she rarely needed a car in the city, Adrienne struggled a bit with the unfamiliar rental car on the bumpy Mississippi road. She’d gotten lost twice before she found the town of Honesty, then had some difficulty finding anyone to give her directions to Gideon’s address.
She should have known, she thought as she carefully negotiated a winding gravel road, that Gideon would live well outside of town. She was definitely forming a mental picture of a crusty hermit who was more comfortable with the characters in his head than the people in the real world.
She had never met him—had never even seen a photograph of him—but she’d talked to him several times on the telephone during the past two years since he had signed with her father’s literary agency. Mostly, their communication had been through letters and faxes. She loved his books, but she hadn’t been able to get to know him very well through their limited contact.
Based strictly on his behavior, she had formed a mental image of him that wasn’t particularly flattering. She guessed that he was in his late thirties or early forties. A bit geeky, most likely. Probably a real oddball. He wouldn’t be the first talented writer she had met who was downright strange.
He was the first she’d bothered to track down this way—something she couldn’t explain. She had decided her motives were a combination of wanting to impress her father with her professional cleverness and the fact that she absolutely loved Gideon McCloud’s books.
His house looked normal enough—a neat frame bungalow tucked into a woody hillside. The lot was naturally landscaped with mulch and ground cover, which would require a minimum of effort to keep it looking nice. And it did look nice, she had to admit. She’d bet it was really pretty later in the spring, when the trees and bushes would be in full bloom, and in the fall when the surrounding hillsides would be ablaze with color.
Okay, so she liked his home. And more than liked his writing. That certainly didn’t mean she would like him.
Parking at the end of the long gravel driveway, she climbed out of the rental car. As she hunched into her clothing against the chilly mist, she wished she’d brought a heavier coat. The wind seemed to slice right through the leather jacket she wore over a black pantsuit.
There was only one pole lamp on the property, and as far as Adrienne was concerned, it cast more spooky shadows than it eliminated. Moving swiftly but carefully over the slick rock walkway that led to the porch steps, she could almost feel the eyes of hungry night creatures following her progress. It was so quiet she was sure she could hear her own heart pounding. Who could sleep out here without the soothing sounds of cab horns and emergency sirens, muffled shouts and the clatter of garbage trucks?
She was relieved to duck under his covered porch, out of the mist. Tossing her damp auburn hair out of her face, she paused for a few moments to catch her breath before reaching for the doorbell. There were lights burning in the windows and sounds coming from inside, so she knew someone was home. Showing up unannounced on his doorstep was hardly proper business etiquette, but it wasn’t as if she could have called and let him know she was on her way. He wouldn’t have answered the phone if she’d tried.
She had to ring the bell a second time before the door finally opened. Her first thought was that this could not possibly be Gideon McCloud. This man was young—no older than thirty—and incredibly good-looking, with tousled dark hair, long-lashed green eyes and an athlete’s body clad in a gray sweatshirt, washed-soft jeans and running shoes. Maybe she had the wrong house.
But then he spoke—or rather, barked at her—and she knew she had the right man, after all. “What do you want?”
“Are you Gideon McCloud?” she asked, more a formality than an inquiry.
“Yes. Who are you?” His tone was impatient, his attention obviously focused elsewhere.
“I’m Adrienne Corley. Your agent,” she added, in case the name didn’t immediately register.
At least that got his attention. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Before she could answer, a child’s wail sounded from behind them. “Gideon! I still can’t find Hedwig.”
Gideon grimaced, then held the door wider. “Come in. You can help us look for—”
“Gideon!”
He shoved a hand through his hair, explaining its disarray. “I’m coming, Isabelle.”
Closing the door behind Adrienne, he turned and walked away, motioning for her to follow. Thoroughly confused, she trailed after him, her bulging briefcase tucked beneath her arm.
She noted in a quick, sweeping glance that the room they entered was a neatly furnished, Southwestern-style den. In the center of the room, dressed in a white nightgown with pink ribbons, stood a little girl with the angelically beautiful face of a Sandra Kuck cherub. Framed in a cloud of golden curls, her rosy cheeks were tear-streaked, her huge blue eyes flooded. Even as Adrienne watched, another teardrop escaped to slide slowly down her face.
“Your daughter?” she asked Gideon.
“My sister,” he answered curtly. “Isabelle.”
Sister? The child couldn’t be more than four.
“Gideon?” The little girl’s lower lip quivered as she spoke. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Then we’ll have to look again,” he said. “My house isn’t that big, and you’ve only been here a few hours. Your toy couldn’t have simply disappeared.”
He turned toward the doorway. “I’ll go look in the office and the kitchen again. You two keep searching in here.”
“Um, what are we looking for?” Adrienne called after him.
“Hedwig,” Isabelle replied.
“A stuffed toy owl,” Gideon clarified over his shoulder. “White.”
Left alone with the woebegone child, Adrienne looked uncertainly around the room. “Where have you looked?”
“Everywhere.”
Adrienne drew a deep breath and moved toward the suede couch. She laid her briefcase and leather jacket at one end, then turned toward the child. “Okay, let’s look again.”
They searched behind the cushions and beneath the couch, then peered under a big leather recliner and a couple of armchairs covered in a Southwestern tapestry fabric. Their efforts netted nothing. There weren’t even any dust bunnies beneath the furniture. She wished Gideon’s housekeeper lived in New York; Adrienne could use someone this scrupulous, she thought, recalling her own string of less-than-dedicated domestic workers.
Sitting back on her heels, she looked at Isabelle again. The child had been peering under tables and behind the television cabinet to no avail. Adrienne could hear doors opening and closing forcefully in another part of the house, probably the kitchen, the slams accompanied by a low mutter that was very likely a string of unintelligible curses. Gideon wasn’t having any better luck with his own search, obviously.
Remembering what he’d said, Adrienne spoke to Isabelle. “You’ve only been here a few hours?”
The child nodded. “Nanna brought me.”
“And you haven’t been anywhere else since?”
Isabelle shook her head. “I’ve been right here.”
“You had your owl when you got here?”
Another nod.
“Okay.” Adrienne stood. “Tell me everything you’ve done since you arrived.”
Isabelle puckered her face in thought. “I watched TV, and I drew pictures in Gideon’s office.”
“He said he would look in the office.”
The child sniffed. “He already did. He looked all over it.”
“What did you do after you drew pictures?”
“I had dinner. Gideon made spaghetti. I spilled some on my clothes,” she added, her lip quivering again, “so Gideon told me to change into my pajamas.”
“You changed in a bedroom?”
“No. In the bathroom, because I had to wash spaghetti off my face and hands.”
“Where did you put the clothes you had on before?”
“In the hamper.”
Adrienne held out her hand. “Show me.”
Slipping her little fingers into Adrienne’s, Isabelle led her down a short hallway to a small bathroom papered in a muted plaid and fitted with oak cabinets and a marble sink and tub. White globe lights framed the beveled mirror over the sink, and a wicker hamper stood beneath a print of ducks in flight at sunrise.
Isabelle opened the hinged lid of the hamper and pointed at the brightly colored knits tumbled in the bottom. “Those are mine.”
Adrienne reached in to pick up the spaghetti-sauce-splashed shirt and slacks. Two brown plastic eyes stared up at her from the bottom of the hamper. “Is this a friend of yours?” she asked with a faint smile, holding the toy up for Isabelle’s inspection.
The child’s face brightened with a broad, dimpled smile. “Hedwig!”
Adrienne watched as Isabelle hugged the stuffed owl tightly, and then she said, “We’d better go tell your brother we found it.”
“He’ll be glad. I think he was getting sort of mad. It’s hard to tell with Gideon, though.”
Adrienne couldn’t help chuckling. “Is it?”
“Mmm-hmm.” As naturally as if they’d known each other for a long time, she reached up to take Adrienne’s hand again as they moved into the hallway. “I don’t think Gideon’s used to being around kids.”
Adrienne was intrigued by Isabelle’s mannerisms. She was such a tiny little thing, yet her self-possession seemed years ahead of her age. Adrienne suspected she’d spent a great deal of time with adults. “You don’t think he’s used to kids? Don’t you know?”
“I haven’t known him very long,” Isabelle confided, then pulled Adrienne into an airy kitchen, where Gideon was peering into an oven.
The little girl seemed to find the sight amusing. “Hedwig’s not in the oven, Gideon. He’s right here.”
Closing the oven door, Gideon turned to stare at the child who had transformed from tearful to cheery. “Where was it?”
“We found him in the clothes hamper. She, um, what’s your name?” Isabelle suddenly thought to ask Adrienne.
“I’m Adrienne Corley.”
Isabelle nodded gravely and turned back to Gideon. “Miss Corley found him.”
Gideon released a pent-up breath. “Good. Now why don’t you and Hagar go watch TV or something while Ms. Corley and I talk a few minutes?”
“It’s not Hagar, it’s Hedwig,” Adrienne corrected him before Isabelle could do so. “From Harry Potter, right?”
Isabelle smiled and nodded, then skipped out of the room with her owl. Adrienne watched her leave, then turned to find Gideon looking at her questioningly.
“I’m in publishing,” she informed him. “I know about Harry Potter.”
“You want some coffee or something? I could use some myself. Actually, a couple of shots of bourbon sound pretty good right now, but since I’m baby-sitting, I guess I’d better stick with coffee.”
“Coffee sounds good. Thanks.”
He waved her to one of the four chairs grouped around a round oak pedestal table. “Have a seat. Want something to eat? I’ve got some lemon pound cake I bought at the bakery yesterday.”
“That sounds great,” she said, realizing only then how hungry she was. She’d missed dinner during her travel adventures.
A few minutes later she found herself sitting across the table from Gideon, cake and coffee in front of them. It was somewhat disconcerting to be facing him that way, after the unexpected chaos surrounding her arrival. The search for Hedwig had certainly been an ice-breaker, but now she was having a bit of trouble getting her mind back to business.
She couldn’t stop thinking about how attractive he was, with those amazing green eyes and that brooding mouth, and his thick, dark hair. She noted only as an objective observer, she assured herself—someone who had reason to imagine his photograph on the back of a book jacket.
As for anything more than that, she still wasn’t even sure she liked the guy.

Chapter Two
Gideon studied the woman sitting across his kitchen table. She didn’t look exactly the way he’d pictured her during their telephone conversations. She was younger, for one thing, no older than his own thirty years, if that. And prettier, with glossy auburn hair and dark-chocolate eyes set in a creamy heart-shaped face. Nice figure, too, the type he referred to as “society sleek.” Small bust, narrow waist, slender hips, long legs—all nicely toned.
Definitely a big-city girl, as out of place here in rural Mississippi as he would have been in the juice bar of her trendy health club. “So why are you here? We didn’t have an appointment or anything, did we?”
Apparently savoring every bite of her cake, she shook her head. “I’ve been unable to reach you to set up an appointment. And I have tried,” she added, a touch of accusation in her tone.
He shrugged without apology. “I haven’t had a chance to check the mail in a while.”
“Or e-mail, apparently. And you don’t have an answering machine. I sent two registered letters—both of which you signed for—but you never replied. I didn’t know what else to do except come here myself.”
He supposed maybe he should express a little regret at her inconvenience. “Sorry. I tend to ignore the rest of the world when I near the end of a book. I’ve been told it’s not a particularly admirable trait.”
“So you are nearing the end of the book?”
“Is that why you’re here?” he asked instead of answering. “To find out how the book’s going?”
“That’s one of the reasons. Since your deadline was three weeks ago and I haven’t heard from you, I thought there might be a problem. I have some other business to discuss with you, also. Since I wasn’t able to give you advance notice of my arrival, I certainly understand if this is an inconvenient time for you. I would be glad to make an appointment with you for a later date—either a telephone conference or another face-to-face meeting.”
“What sort of business do you want to discuss?”
“The offers on your next book, for one thing. And the promotional opportunities for the one you’re working on now. Your publisher wants to give this one a big marketing push—book tours, national TV, print interviews, that sort of thing. I have several pages of paperwork I want you to look over.”
He winced. The very thought of a book tour gave him a headache. Having to deal with all those people? It was enough to make any respectable recluse shudder. “I really can’t discuss this tonight. It’s been a stressful afternoon, to say the least, and frankly, I’m too tired to think about promotion. Besides, I’ve got to get Isabelle bunked down for the night.”
She nodded, her expression resigned. “Tomorrow, perhaps?”
“Maybe,” he said, though he couldn’t imagine he’d be any more in the mood then. As she had pointed out, he was already past deadline on the current book, and he wanted nothing more than to be left alone to work on it. It seemed as though everyone was conspiring to keep him from doing so.
Adrienne nodded. “If you’ll direct me to the nearest hotel, I’ll call you tomorrow about a convenient time to meet.”
He chuckled dryly. “Closest we have to a hotel within an hour’s drive are a couple of bargain-rate motels out on the main highway.”
Her jaw seemed to tighten a bit, but she said only, “I’m sure that will be fine.”
“Tell you what,” he said on an impulse. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Isabelle has the spare bedroom, but you can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch in the office.”
“Oh, no, I—”
He silenced her with a quick slice of his hand. “If you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t. I sleep in there half the time, anyway.”
Actually, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. Since Isabelle was staying overnight, and since she had responded well to Adrienne, maybe Adrienne could help him keep an eye on the kid during the night. Maybe even help her get ready for school in the morning; after all, what did he know about dressing a little girl, fixing her hair, that sort of thing? Since he seemed to be stuck with them for the night, he might as well make the best of the situation.
And very soon, he hoped, he would have his house to himself again. Just the way he liked it.

As Adrienne lay in bed that night—Gideon McCloud’s bed, she reminded herself, shifting restlessly on the crisp, clean sheets she had put on herself—she wondered if she had made a monumental mistake when she’d rather impulsively left New York. She certainly hadn’t expected to find herself staying overnight with him and his little sister.
She wondered what the story was with little Isabelle. She doubted they were full siblings, with a twenty-six-year gap between them. Had Gideon’s father, like her own, chosen a young trophy bride for his second marriage? At least Adrienne was spared the embarrassment of late-life half siblings. Lawrence Corley hadn’t particularly wanted her, much less any more offspring at this stage of his life.
She really should have insisted on finding another place to stay for the night, even if she had to make use of one of those bargain-rate motels Gideon had mentioned. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t put up more of an argument. She’d found herself agreeing almost before she’d realized what she was doing.
What was it about him she found so persuasive? Sure, he was handsome, but she was accustomed to being around striking men. His green eyes were uncomfortably perceptive but hardly hypnotic. She’d been aware of a tug of attraction, but she had never allowed her hormones to guide her actions before.
So what was she doing in his bed?
She and Gideon hadn’t engaged in much conversation after she had agreed to stay the night. Somehow she’d found herself tucking Isabelle into bed and reading her a bedtime story—a suggestion that had come from Gideon. By the time Isabelle was asleep, Gideon had been closed into his office and settled at his computer. He’d looked up from his work only long enough to absently inform Adrienne where she could find the clean linens. As an afterthought he had added that she should let him know if she needed anything, but she suspected he was hoping there would be no further interruptions.
She had spent the rest of the evening reading one of the manuscripts she’d brought with her. After watching the local ten-o’clock news, she’d turned in a good two hours earlier than she would have usually gone to bed. Gideon had not once emerged from his office.
Rolling onto her side, she closed her eyes, but sleep proved elusive. It was much too quiet. She could hear every gust of wind, not to mention hooting owls and the occasional moo from a distant cow. As soon as she had Gideon’s signature on several contracts, she was heading back to civilization and her long-overdue vacation.

Groggy and disoriented, Adrienne woke after a restless night when the morning sun hit her full in the face. Either Gideon was an early riser, she thought, glaring at the sheer curtains that allowed the dawning sun into the room, or he was a heavy sleeper who wasn’t bothered by the light.
The bedside clock read six-forty-five when she climbed out of bed and moved into the adjoining bath. By seven-fifteen, she had showered, dried her hair and dressed in one of the two casual outfits she had packed with the two professional pantsuits she’d brought with her. Smoothing her thin, emerald-green sweater over comfortably tailored black slacks, she left Gideon’s bedroom.
Gideon and Isabelle were in the kitchen, and from the look of things, the morning was not running smoothly. Isabelle’s fine blond hair was a pillow-tangled mess, and there was a smear of grape jelly on her chin. She wore a long-sleeved pink T-shirt festooned with cartoon characters Adrienne didn’t recognize and black leggings that ended just above her bare feet. A half-eaten bowl of cereal sat in front of her, along with the remains of two jelly-spread slices of wheat toast and a half glass of milk.
Dressed in a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, Gideon stood nearby, his dark hair in its apparently usual disarray, a look of impatience on his unshaven face. Just as Adrienne entered the room, he glanced at the microwave clock and said, “Isabelle, if you don’t hurry with your breakfast, you’re going to be late for school. How can anyone take this long to eat a bowl of cereal?”
“I was reading the cereal box,” the child explained. “It has funny jokes on the back.”
“You can already read?” Adrienne asked as she walked straight to the coffeemaker on the counter next to Gideon.
“I can read the easy words,” Isabelle answered, her tone somewhere between modest and boastful.
“And you’re only four?”
“Just turned four,” Gideon said. “The kid is smart, but she’s very slow,” he added with a meaningful look at Isabelle’s cereal bowl.
Isabelle dutifully spooned another bite into her mouth. Adrienne accepted the coffee mug Gideon offered her and filled it with strong, fragrant black coffee. She sipped the brew gratefully, feeling the jolt of caffeine clear her mind. “When does Isabelle’s school start?”
“Eight,” Gideon muttered with another impatient glance at his watch.
“I suppose we’d better hurry, then.” She set her mug down and moved toward the table. “Isabelle, it’s time to finish getting ready. Let’s go do your hair, brush your teeth and find your shoes.”
“She hasn’t finished her cereal,” Gideon pointed out.
Adrienne shrugged. “She won’t starve. My father sent me to school plenty of times with my breakfast half-eaten because I’d dawdled. I learned to eat in a timely fashion or be hungry before lunchtime.”
Gideon gave it a moment’s thought, then nodded. “Makes sense. Go with Adrienne, Isabelle. Tomorrow morning you’ll have to save your cereal-box reading until you’re completely ready for school.”
Though her lower lip protruded just a bit, Isabelle slipped out of her chair and followed Adrienne out of the kitchen.
With Adrienne supervising, it took less than ten minutes to get Isabelle groomed and shod. “She’s still going to be late,” Gideon predicted, retrieving his car keys from a drawer in a table near the front door. “But at least it’ll only be by a few minutes. Why don’t you come with us, and I’ll buy you breakfast after we drop Isabelle off?”
Business breakfasts and lunches were commonplace for her, so she nodded. “Sounds good. But breakfast is on me. I’m the one putting you out.”
“We’ll argue about the check later. Let’s go.”
Because Gideon drove a pickup, they decided to strap Isabelle’s booster seat in the back of Adrienne’s rental car to give them more room. Adrienne gave him the keys and slid into the passenger seat. She waited in the car while he escorted Isabelle into Miss Thelma’s Preschool. He wasn’t gone long, and he was scowling when he returned.
“Miss Thelma dressed me down for bringing Isabelle late,” he muttered. “Talked to me like I was one of her preschoolers.”
Adrienne winced. “How did you respond?”
“I told her I was doing the best I could under the circumstances, and if she didn’t like it, too bad. Prissy old biddy.”
“I hope you didn’t add that last part aloud.”
“No. Not this time, anyway.”
“Admirable restraint.”
“I thought so.”
“Isabelle’s parents are away, I take it?”
“Isabelle’s parents—my father and his second wife—are dead,” Gideon replied with a bluntness that startled her. “They died in an accident last year. Isabelle lives with my older brother, Nathan, who’s away on his honeymoon. He was married Saturday morning.”
“So you’re baby-sitting.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be. My mother volunteered for that task, but she had to leave town yesterday because of a medical emergency with her sister. She didn’t have anywhere else to leave the kid, so she dumped Isabelle with me.”
Adrienne frowned a bit as she tried to understand his family tree. “Your mother was baby-sitting Isabelle?”
“Yes. Ironically enough, she’s become a sort of surrogate grandmother to the child my father created with someone else while my mother was still married to him.”
Before Adrienne could come up with a suitable response—if there was one—he turned the car into the parking lot of a metal-sided diner that looked as though it had been built in the 1950s. Most of the clientele appeared to drive pickup trucks. She noticed when Gideon escorted her inside that male customers outnumbered the women, and the majority of both genders wore blue-collar working clothes. The clatter of dishes and flatware melded with conversation and laughter to create a welcoming din.
The blue-jeaned, T-shirted, early-thirties redhead working the cash register just inside the door greeted Gideon with an eager smile that dimmed a few watts when she spotted Adrienne. “Just find yourselves a table,” she said to Gideon. “Carla will be with you in a minute.”
Adrienne couldn’t help noticing that Gideon barely gave the woman a second glance as he nodded and led the way into the busy diner. Signs dangling from the ceiling designated the smoking and nonsmoking sections, but since it was only one big room with no dividers, it seemed to Adrienne to be a rather meaningless gesture. Gideon chose a booth at the back of the nonsmoking area, where the haze seemed a bit thinner. Accustomed to restaurants that did not allow smoking at all, Adrienne blinked a bit to clear her burning eyes, her nose twitching against the acrid odor.
“Guess I should have asked if you suffer from allergies or anything,” Gideon commented belatedly. “There are still a lot of folks around here who haven’t kicked the habit.”
“I suppose I can tolerate the secondhand smoke for the duration of a meal.”
He plucked a plastic-coated menu from a stand that also held salt, pepper, ketchup and hot sauce. “Trust me, the food here is worth the discomfort,” he said as he handed her the menu.
Glancing down at the breakfast list, she mentally winced at the calorie counts of some of the features. Fried eggs, fried sausage, fried bacon, fried hash browns, buttered grits and biscuits with sausage gravy. Heart attack on a plate.
A heavyset woman with teased gray hair and a pleasantly lined face set a steaming mug of coffee in front of Gideon, then offered a second mug to Adrienne. “I already know what Gideon wants,” she drawled. “What can I get you, hon?”
Adrienne ordered one scrambled egg, an order of dry toast and a fruit cup.
“Are you sure that’s all you want?” Gideon asked. “The omelets and hot cakes are both great here, and nobody makes better biscuits.”
“He’s right about that,” their server said ruefully. “Take it from someone who’s eaten way too many of them.”
Adrienne thought of the lemon pound cake she’d eaten in lieu of dinner the night before. “I’d better stick with my original order,” she said with a touch of regret.
Their waitress nodded and moved away.
“Are you always so disciplined?” Gideon asked.
“Not always. But I try.”
He grunted and sipped his coffee, apparently considering the subject of breakfast food closed. Adrienne noticed that they were receiving quite a bit of attention from other diners, both covertly and openly. Gideon was obviously a frequent customer here, but there seemed to be a lot of speculative interest in her. The only greetings Gideon had exchanged with the other diners were a few cordial nods. She wondered if the others kept their distance because of her presence or if Gideon generally discouraged small talk.
For some reason, she suspected it was primarily the latter.
The waitress returned in an amazingly short time with their food. “Is this one of your writer friends, Gideon?” she asked casually as she served them.
“My agent,” he replied, reaching for the salt shaker. “Adrienne Corley, meet Carla Booker.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Booker.”
The older woman chuckled. “You just call me Carla, hon. Everyone does. Are you from up north?”
“New York.”
“Well, isn’t that something?”
“I think Joe Huebner is trying to get your attention over there,” Gideon said. “Probably wants to start on his second pot of coffee.”
Carla grinned. “You’re probably right. Nice to meet you, Miz Corley. Y’all give a holler if you need anything else.”
The platter in front of Gideon was completely filled with a huge omelet oozing with cheese, ham, onions, peppers and mushrooms, a side order of buttered grits and two fat, fluffy-looking biscuits with a bowl of cream gravy. She watched as he dumped salsa on the omelet. “Are you always this undisciplined?”
“When I eat breakfast at home, I usually have cereal or a bagel. But when I eat here, I have what I want.”
Had to be a guy thing, she thought with a slight sigh. She was probably gaining weight just looking at his breakfast. Gideon, on the other hand, was shoveling it in with almost sensual pleasure, and there wasn’t a superfluous ounce anywhere on his extremely fine body.
She speared a chunk of cantaloupe from a bowl of mixed melons and strawberries. “Are you ready to discuss business?”
“Not while I’m eating.” He scooped a bite of grits into his mouth.
Gideon McCloud was definitely a difficult client, even among the group of often demanding, sometimes neurotic and frequently temperamental writers she dealt with on a daily basis. The others were usually eager to hear exciting offers, to grab every chance to advance their careers and increase their recognition. Gideon seemed to want to write in complete anonymity.
Though he had turned down a few early offers he didn’t consider rewarding enough, he didn’t seem to be motivated solely by money, since he’d also shown little interest in several very lucrative propositions. He had approved the release of very little biographical material, had not provided photographs for publicity purposes—even though he certainly had the right look—and had expressed absolutely no enthusiasm for book tours or interviews or even a promotional Web site.
Because she sensed that he was on the verge of a breakthrough with his writing, his lack of cooperation frustrated Adrienne. Her father was becoming impatient with her inability to get Gideon to commit to the newest offers, and he had been hinting that he might have to take this client in hand himself.
But she sensed that she would get nowhere by pushing Gideon before he was ready. She concentrated on her breakfast and directed the conversation away from his work. “We seem to be attracting attention. I suppose your acquaintances are wondering who I am.”
He glanced around briefly—causing several heads to turn abruptly away—and then returned to his food. “They all know who you are by now. Carla’s told them you’re my agent from New York. Now they’re wondering why you’re here. She’ll be back in a bit to try to find out for them.”
“Word travels fast here.”
“You have no idea.”
She watched the other diners with discreet curiosity during the remainder of the meal, intrigued by the contrasts between big-city and small-town dynamics. Here, everyone seemed to know everyone else, and even those who appeared to be strangers tended to exchange “good mornings,” even to strike up conversations as they stood in line to pay at the old-fashioned cash register.
She saw quite a few wide hips encased in stretch fabrics, teased hair in questionable shades of blond, beer bellies sagging over drooping blue jeans, farm equipment caps and camouflage—stereotypes she had expected to find in rural Mississippi. But the rumble of laughter and low drawls of conversation, mingled with the smell of coffee and food, proved to be pleasantly relaxing. Adrienne found herself enjoying the simple meal quite a bit, even without much conversation from her taciturn companion.
Carla stopped by the table with a coffee carafe. “Y’all doing okay?”
Adrienne held out her mug. “Fine, thank you. The food is very good.”
“Well, thank you. Are you here on business with Gideon, Miz Corley?”
“Yes, I am.”
The woman nodded her tightly teased gray head. “I thought you must be. Bet you got some movie or TV offers for him, hmm? I said when I read that last book of his that it would sure make a good movie. I think you need to hire Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts to be in it. Don’t get any of those flash-in-the-pan teenyboppers who show off their belly buttons more than their talent. That would just ruin everything.”
Adrienne couldn’t help being amused, though Gideon was scowling. “Even if one of Gideon’s books is optioned for film, he and I would have little input into casting, Carla. But I would certainly pass your suggestions along.”
“Maybe he could be in one of those cameo spots, like other writers have done. I’ve always told him he’s got the looks for Hollywood, even if he could use some work in the personality department.” She laughed heartily at her own wit as she patted Gideon’s shoulder with a familiarity that Adrienne would bet few others dared to display.
“I’ve told you before I have no secret desire to see myself onscreen, Carla.”
Ignoring Gideon’s grumble, Carla continued to Adrienne, “Maybe Hollywood will put a little more romance in his stories. I told Gideon all those thrills and chills in his last book were fine, but it wouldn’t hurt him to put in a little more sizzle.”
“You do have other customers, Carla. Go tell them all you’ve learned and conjectured about my business.” Gideon’s words were gruff, but Adrienne thought she heard the faintest undertone of affection.
Perhaps Carla heard it, as well. She didn’t seem to take offense, but merely laughed again. Before she moved on, she said, “You have a pleasant visit in Honesty, Miz Corley. Have Gideon show you some of the sights around here before you go back to the big city.”
“Are there any sights around here?” Adrienne couldn’t resist asking when the waitress moved on.
“I suppose that’s in the eye of the beholder.” He glanced at her empty plate. “Are you finished?”
“Yes.” His own plate was also empty, she noted. Amazing.
Attention focused on them again as they made their way across the diner toward the cash register. Because she didn’t want a public scene, and suspected Gideon did not share that qualm, she didn’t argue with him when he pulled out his wallet and gave her a look that dared her to object.
Once again she noted that the greetings he exchanged with those around him could hardly be described as warm or encouraging. Didn’t he have friends around here?
As they stepped out of the diner, they almost collided with a uniformed police officer who was just entering. He smiled apologetically at Adrienne, and she was struck by how attractive he was in a rough, sexy sort of way. Talk about film-star material…
And then he spotted Gideon. His face hardened, and his smile vanished. Gideon stiffened beside her, and she could almost feel the temperature drop by several degrees.
“You always seem to be standing in my way, McCloud,” the officer drawled, a rather dangerous edge to his deep voice.
“You could always leave town and avoid any risk of running into me,” Gideon replied evenly.
Adrienne lifted an eyebrow in response to the blatant antagonism between these two men who seemed to be very close to the same age. “Perhaps we should all step to our right and clear a path,” she said when neither appeared willing to move.
The officer gave her a nod and moved out of the way, sweeping his hand in a polite gesture obviously intended for her. “Ladies first.”
Placing a warning hand on Gideon’s arm—after all, it was her job to look out for him, in a manner of speaking—she smiled and practically towed Gideon outside with her. “Thank you, officer,” she said over her shoulder.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
Gideon made a sound that might have been a growl, followed by a muttered, “Jerk.”
“Always a delight to see you, too, McCloud,” the other man called after them.
Adrienne felt a ripple of anger run through Gideon’s arm before she dropped her hand. “Old friend?” she asked dryly.
Gideon merely gave her a look and stalked toward her rental car.

Chapter Three
Fifteen minutes after they returned to Gideon’s house—just after 9:30 a.m.—Adrienne found herself alone in his kitchen. After telling her he needed to work on a scene while it was still fresh in his mind, he’d closed himself in his office again. He’d looked relieved when she’d assured him she had brought quite a bit of reading with her, since she couldn’t even take a vacation without having her work nearby, and he’d promised to be out to talk business with her as soon as he finished the scene.
She had decided she’d better not hold her breath until he reemerged. Settling at the kitchen table with her laptop computer, her cell phone and a stack of manuscripts, she concentrated on her work as diligently as she assumed Gideon was concentrating on his.
It was rather nice, actually, to work uninterrupted for a change. Vacation time or not, she might actually get quite a lot accomplished on this trip—if only she could convince Gideon to cooperate.

Gideon was aware of Adrienne’s presence in his house. She didn’t make any noise, even though he found himself listening for her on several occasions, but he knew she was there, anyway. The awareness didn’t stop him from working—or even from losing himself in his writing—but each time he surfaced, he thought of Adrienne.
Not such terribly intrusive thoughts to have, he acknowledged, picturing her brown eyes and glossy auburn hair. And then his imagination drifted a bit lower, lingering on her sleek, slender curves. Willowy, he decided. That was the word he would have chosen to describe her.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing having a willowy woman in the next room while he worked. As soon as he finished this scene, he would go talk to her….

It was just after eleven when the kitchen telephone rang, drawing Adrienne out of her work. She glanced up as it rang again. Surely Gideon would answer.
The phone rang again. Shaking her head at his refusal to buy an answering machine if he had no intention of picking up the phone, she pushed herself out of her chair and stalked toward the extension. Someone had to answer. This could be an emergency. “McCloud residence,” she said.
After a momentary pause, a woman spoke. “This is Lenore McCloud, Gideon’s mother. May I ask to whom I’m speaking?”
“I’m Adrienne Corley, Mrs. McCloud. Gideon’s agent from New York.”
“I see. Was my son expecting your visit? He didn’t mention it to me.”
“I’m afraid I popped in unexpectedly,” Adrienne explained. “I had some important business to discuss with him and I, um, had a bit of difficulty reaching him to arrange a meeting.”
His mother’s laugh was wry. “That I believe. Reaching Gideon is an impossible task at times. I wasn’t sure he would answer this call, even though he surely knew I would be checking in with him.”
“I’ll go tell him you’re on the line. He’s in his office.”
“Oh, dear. I hope he doesn’t snap at you.”
“You needn’t worry about my feelings being hurt if he does.” Adrienne thought ruefully of her father. “I’m quite used to that sort of thing.”
“Well…good luck.”
Adrienne thought she might like Gideon’s mother, but then she’d already decided the woman must have the forbearance of a saint to put up with Gideon and to accept her ex-husband’s child so graciously. “Thank you.”
Laying the receiver on the kitchen counter, she walked to Gideon’s office and knocked firmly on the door, knowing a tentative tap would probably never catch his attention. She didn’t wait for an invitation to enter, but opened the door and stuck her head inside. “Gideon, your mother is on the phone.”
He didn’t take his eyes from his computer screen. “Tell her I’ll call her later.”
“No, you won’t, you’ll forget. You really should talk to her now while she’s on the line.”
It was the same rational tone she used with her father when he was acting unreasonably. Sometimes the strategy worked, and sometimes it just ticked him off.
Gideon seemed on the verge of the latter as he glared at her. And then he shook his head, pushed a hand through his hair and muttered, “Sorry. I get surly when my flow of thought is interrupted.”
“No problem. I’m often the same way. Are you taking the call in here?”
He nodded and reached for the phone.
“I’ll hang up the extension in the kitchen,” she said, and let herself out of his office, closing the door behind her.
He wasn’t an entirely hopeless case, she decided as she slipped the receiver quietly into its cradle and returned to her own work. He just needed someone to take him in hand and remind him about the manners his mother had no doubt tried to instill in him. Not that she had any interest in taking on such a project herself, of course.

“She sounds nice.”
Half his attention still focused on the words on his computer screen, Gideon frowned. “Yes, she’s nice. And, no, nothing interesting is going on here. She’s here to discuss business with me—which we’re going to do as soon as I finish this scene I’ve been struggling with for days.”
“Yes, I know you want to get back to work,” his mother said with long-suffering resignation. “I simply wanted to check on things there. Did Isabelle sleep well? Did you have any trouble getting her to school this morning?”
“As far as I know, she slept just fine. And she was only a few minutes late to school, which hardly justified the attitude I got from the old biddy who runs the place. It’s preschool, for crying out loud. What’s the kid going to miss if she’s a few minutes late? Advanced coloring class?”
“Miss Thelma can be a bit…unbending,” Lenore acknowledged. “But she means well, Gideon. She’s an excellent administrator, and you can certainly understand that having her students there on time makes her schedule run more smoothly. Please try to be patient with her until I return, for Isabelle’s sake.”
“When are you coming home?” he asked without making any guarantees about his patience. “How’s Aunt Wanda?”
“Not good, I’m afraid. She went into shock before she was found, and you know her heart is bad. She’s in intensive care now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and the words were sincere. Though he wasn’t close to his maternal aunt, he knew his mother must be frantic with worry about her only sister. And, though he rarely expressed his feelings, he cared very deeply about his mother. “Do you need me to come there to help you with anything?” he offered a bit awkwardly.
“No, darling, but thank you for offering.” Lenore sounded genuinely touched. “I know you’re busy with your book, and to be honest, the best thing you can do to help me now is to take care of Isabelle. I would hate to have to call Nathan and Caitlin home early from their honeymoon, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“She’s no trouble at all,” Gideon said, especially with Adrienne here to help out, he silently added. He wondered how much longer he could delay his agent’s return to New York. After all, wasn’t it part of her job to make sure he finished his books in a timely manner?
“I’ll call again tomorrow,” Lenore said. “And answer the telephone, will you? It could be an emergency at Isabelle’s school, you know.”
He grimaced. “I’ll try to listen for it,” he promised without enthusiasm.
He was definitely going to have to buy an answering machine.
He couldn’t have said how much time passed before his work was interrupted again, by yet another knock on the office door. Scowling, he looked around. “What now?”
Adrienne opened the door. “Sorry to interrupt again, but didn’t you say Isabelle gets out of school at two?”
“Yeah. Why?” He glanced at his watch. It was already one-thirty. “Damn. I’m finally close to finishing this scene.”
“Why don’t I go get her? The booster seat is still in my car, and I remember the way.”
Tempted, he glanced from her to the screen again. “You’re sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”
“Not at all. Of course, you’d better call the school first and see if it’s okay. I’m a stranger to the staff. We can’t expect them to turn Isabelle over to me without authorization.”
He reached for the phone. Five minutes and a few terse exchanges later, they had their approval. “You’ll have to show your driver’s license and this note,” he said, scrawling something on a sheet of unlined paper. “But you’re authorized.”
She plucked the signed note from his fingers. “I’m on my way. It’s a good thing I brought an umbrella with me.”
Only then did he become aware of the steady drumming rain against the office windows. “How long has it been raining?”
“Almost an hour. According to the radio in your kitchen, we’re in for some downpours this afternoon and early evening.”
“You’ll be okay picking up Isabelle?”
“I’ll be fine. Finish your scene. You and I really need to talk business today. I have to get back to New York tomorrow.”
He nodded. “We’ll talk as soon as you get back.”
She really was being very helpful with Isabelle, he thought after she left, as he stretched a few kinks out of his shoulders. As eager as he was to get back to his normal routines, he rather wished Adrienne could stay as long as Isabelle did. He was sure that was the only reason he was so reluctant to see her return to New York.
Listening to the steady fall of rain outside the office windows, he frowned, wondering if he should have insisted on going after Isabelle himself. He hoped Adrienne wouldn’t have any problems picking her up. And then he reminded himself that Adrienne had a stake in his finishing this book—after all, she didn’t get paid until he did.
He put his hands to the keyboard again and let himself be drawn back into the world that existed solely in his mind.

Emerging from her colorfully decorated classroom with a stream of other students, Isabelle greeted Adrienne with a bright smile. “Hi, Miss Corley. Did you come for me?”
Adrienne returned the smile, pleased that the child seemed happy to see her. “Yes. Your brother is busy writing, so I volunteered.”
Thelma Fitzpatrick, the gruff-voiced, squarely built owner of Miss Thelma’s Preschool and Daycare, hovered nearby with a frown on her irritable-grandmother face. “This is highly unorthodox,” she grumbled. “We are not accustomed to releasing our students to complete strangers.”
Since Adrienne had already provided Gideon’s letter of authorization and her driver’s license, she didn’t know what else it would take to reassure the woman. “I respect your concern for your students, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. I know the McClouds must have the utmost confidence that Isabelle is safe here.”
The woman folded her hands in front of her and eyed Adrienne with lingering suspicion. “I suppose we’ve done all we can, considering that her guardian is off on his honeymoon and her appointed caretaker had to leave town. Though I can’t imagine anyone leaving a small child with Gideon McCloud,” she added in a murmured aside.
Immediately defensive on Gideon’s behalf—after all, he was her client—she smiled coolly. “Actually, I think she’s in very good hands with her brother.”
“Humph.” The other woman was notably unimpressed. “You obviously don’t know him very well.”
“Gideon’s taking good care of me, Miss Thelma,” Isabelle said earnestly, proving she had been playing close attention to the conversation. “He made me spaghetti for dinner last night.”
“Yes, well…” Miss Thelma cleared her throat. “Go with Ms. Corley, Isabelle. I’ll see you in the morning. And don’t forget to bring a stuffed animal for our jungle party.”
“I won’t forget.” Demonstrating that she wasn’t particularly intimidated by the stern-looking woman, Isabelle gave her a big hug before skipping out of the school at Adrienne’s side.
Sheltering the little girl beneath her umbrella, Adrienne ushered her to the car and secured her into the booster seat in the back. Isabelle started babbling about her day the minute Adrienne slid behind the steering wheel. Trying to concentrate on the child’s chatter and negotiate the wet roads at the same time, Adrienne murmured what she hoped were appropriate responses. Isabelle must have been satisfied, since she continued with barely a pause for breath.
Cute kid, Adrienne thought with a faint smile, but the child did love to talk.
A traffic light glowed red ahead of her as she approached the last intersection before leaving the city limits. It changed to green several seconds before she reached it, so she didn’t slow down. The nose of the rental car had just entered the intersection when a blur of red passed in front of her, so close she could almost feel the heat of its exhaust.
She slammed on the brakes, missing a collision by a heartbeat. The lightweight rental car slid on the wet pavement, squealing into a spin that she fought with her heart pounding in her throat. The spin ended with a crunch of metal when the back of the car made jarring contact with a lamppost. Her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, Adrienne sat for a moment in frozen silence, trying to remember how to breathe again. And then a wail from the back seat got her moving.
She whipped around in her seat. “Isabelle, are you all right?”
Still strapped securely in her safety seat, the little girl was uninjured, though she was obviously frightened. Going limp with relief, Adrienne swallowed hard before saying, “It’s okay, sweetheart. The car’s a little crumpled, but you and I are fine. You don’t hurt anywhere, do you?”
Drawing in a tremulous breath, Isabelle shook her head. “I’m not hurt.”
“Good.” Because the child still appeared to be in need of comfort, Adrienne reached for the door handle. “Hold on just a minute. I’ll come around to you.”
The rain had dwindled to barely more than a mist. Adrienne didn’t bother with an umbrella, figuring that after what they had just been through, a little moisture certainly wouldn’t hurt either of them. No other vehicles were immediately visible when she stepped out of the driver’s door, though she could hear a car engine approaching on the intersecting street. She hoped whoever it was would call for assistance while she comforted Isabelle. She had carelessly left her own cell phone sitting on Gideon’s kitchen table.
Opening the rear passenger door, she reached inside to unbuckle Isabelle, who had stopped sniffling, but still looked shaken. The child wrapped her arms around Adrienne’s neck and buried her face in her throat. “I was scared.”
Adrienne rocked her soothingly, an instinctive movement that somehow seemed appropriate. “So was I, sweetheart.”
Fear was rapidly changing to anger for her. That moron in the red car could have killed them! And he hadn’t even stayed around to see if anyone was hurt.
The vehicle she’d heard approaching stopped at the traffic light, then turned to slide in behind her car. She wouldn’t have to ask anyone to call the police, after all. The police had already arrived, she thought, relieved to see the marked patrol car. She was even more surprised to recognize the officer who exited the vehicle and moved toward her. He was the same man she’d almost bumped into that morning when she and Gideon left the diner.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked her in the rough-edged drawl she remembered from earlier.
“Yes, we’re okay. Just shaken.”
He studied the crumpled rear of the nondescript compact. “What happened? Did you hydroplane?”
Her temper flared again. “Some jerk in a red sports car ran a red light right in front of me! If I hadn’t practically stood on the brakes, I would have slammed right into him.”
The officer’s cool gray eyes narrowed. “A red sports car?”
She nodded, uncertain whether he believed her or not. “He was driving like a maniac—speeding and swerving. He didn’t even slow down to see if we were okay.”
“You didn’t get a look at the license plate, did you?”
“No. Everything happened too quickly.”
“Doesn’t matter. I know who it was. Not much I can do about it without another witness, but you can bet I’ll let him know I heard about this.”
She doubted that would accomplish much, but she supposed she had little recourse. She couldn’t even tell him the make of the vehicle, and he couldn’t go around questioning everyone in town who drove a red sports car, even though he seemed to think he already knew who’d been driving like such a maniac. A repeat offender, apparently.
“You’re both getting wet in this mist. Why don’t we sit in the patrol car while I fill out the accident report and call for a wrecker?”
“You really think a wrecker is necessary?”
“Ma’am, you won’t be driving that car anywhere. The back fender is crumpled all around the rear tire.”
She sighed. Terrific. She hoped her insurance company and the rental car service would be able to work all this out without much trouble. Running a hand over Isabelle’s damp hair, she moved toward the cruiser. “I appreciate your assistance, Officer…?”
“Smith, ma’am. Dylan Smith.” He touched the brim of his hat in a rather charmingly old-fashioned gesture.
“I’m Adrienne Corley.”
“Yes, I know. You’re Gideon McCloud’s agent from New York. Heard all about you from Carla at the diner this morning.” He opened the back passenger door of the patrol car. “Your pretty little friend can sit in the back seat while you and I fill out the accident report in the front.”
“Would you like to sit in the police car, Isabelle?”
The child looked intrigued. “Okay.” She climbed obligingly into the car, leaning over the front seat to study the dashboard and radio.
“I suppose I’ll need my identification and insurance policy number. Would you mind keeping an eye on Isabelle while I get my purse?”
“Not at all, ma’am.”
As Adrienne made her way across the slick pavement toward the crumpled car, she wondered if Dylan Smith deliberately tried to act the stereotype of a drawling Southern cop. She still didn’t know the root of his antagonism toward Gideon, or vice versa, since Gideon hadn’t mentioned the encounter again after leaving the diner, but Officer Smith had been pleasant enough to her. Apparently he didn’t hold her association with Gideon against her.
She had just reached the front of the rental car when her foot came down on an oily pool of rain water. The slick sole of her loafer offered absolutely no traction. Her leg flew out from under her, and she felt herself falling.
All she could do was brace herself for the impact with the hard, wet pavement.

Gideon’s sneakers slapped hard against the floor tiles of the Honesty Medical Clinic. Staff and patients alike moved swiftly out of his path as he charged down the hallway to the emergency examining room. No one dared interfere with his progress.
Sitting on a padded bench in the hallway outside the closed door of the examining room, Isabelle was happily listening to her own heartbeat through a stethoscope as a brightly uniformed young brunette hovered nearby. The child smiled broadly when she spotted her brother. “Hi, Gideon.”
He knelt in front of her, his hand on her knee as he looked for injuries. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “We had a wreck, but nobody got hurt, and then Miss Corley fell down and Officer Smith brought us here, but Miss Corley’s going to be okay and Miss Nancy’s letting me listen through a stefascope.”
“It’s a stethoscope, Isabelle,” the young woman corrected clearly.
“Stethoscope,” the child parroted carefully.
Nancy beamed at Gideon. “She’s so bright. I can’t believe she’s only—”
“Where’s Adrienne?” he broke in, having reassured himself that Isabelle was unharmed.
Nancy’s smile faded a bit in response to his curt interruption. “She’s in there with the doctor. But you can’t—”
Gideon pushed open the examining room door and moved through it, leaving Nancy sputtering behind him as the door swung closed in her face.
Wearing a hospital gown with a thin robe belted over it, Adrienne sat at one end of a paper-covered examining table, her bare feet dangling over the end. Her right foot was strapped into a black brace, her bare toes notably swollen. Two women stood at one side of the room studying a chart; Gideon recognized one as the doctor and assumed the other was a nurse.
It was the uniformed police officer hovering very close to Adrienne’s side, smiling at her and being smiled at in return, who sent Gideon’s blood pressure soaring.
He knew he was glowering when Adrienne looked his way, but she didn’t seem particularly intimidated by his forbidding expression. Her smile turned rueful. “I’m afraid I’ve done something stupid.”
Gideon moved to Adrienne’s side, effectively stepping between her and Dylan Smith. “Are you all right?”
She gestured toward her injured foot. “The good news is that my ankle isn’t broken, only badly sprained. And Isabelle is fine.”
“Yes, I saw her out in the hallway. What happened?”
“Someone ran a red light and almost caused a collision, then took off without stopping. I went into a spin and hit a streetlamp pole.”
“That’s when you hurt your foot?”
Glancing down at her hands, she cleared her throat. “No. I, er, slipped and fell on the wet pavement, landing with my foot twisted beneath me.” She raised her eyes to smile gratefully at Dylan, who had stepped back but still stood nearby. “Officer Smith handled everything beautifully. He called for a wrecker, then brought me straight here without alarming Isabelle. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t come along when he did.”
Something about the way she smiled at the officer made Gideon’s hands itch to curl into fists. He glared at the other man. “Shouldn’t you be out arresting someone for causing an accident and then leaving the scene?”
“I wish I could,” Dylan replied evenly. “Unfortunately, Ms. Corley was the only witness, and she didn’t get a good look at the other vehicle.”
“All I saw was a speeding red sports car,” Adrienne confirmed. “Everything happened too fast for me to get a license plate number or even the make of the car.”
“A red sports car?” Gideon turned to Dylan again. “You’re telling me you don’t know who that was?”
“You and I both know it was probably Kirk Sawyer,” Dylan answered with obviously forced patience. “But he doesn’t drive the only red car in town. Without a license plate number or some identification, my hands are tied.”
Gideon made a sound of disgust. “Figures.”
Dylan’s eyes narrowed in corresponding anger. Adrienne spoke quickly. “Officer Smith has done all he can to help me, Gideon. I’m very grateful to him.”
Dylan faced Adrienne, deliberately turning a shoulder to Gideon. “I’m glad I was able to help, ma’am. You be sure and call me if there’s anything else I can do for you while you’re in town.”
Gideon was disgusted by the way Adrienne seemed to be taken in by the other man’s exaggerated Southern charm. “Thank you, Officer,” she said sweetly.
He nodded and donned the hat he’d been holding. “Take care of that ankle, ma’am.” Turning toward the doorway, he raked Gideon with a cool look. “McCloud,” he muttered in lieu of a more civil leave-taking.
Gideon focused on Adrienne again, effectively dismissing the departing officer. “When can you leave?”
The doctor stepped forward then, having discreetly stayed out of the way during Gideon’s terse conversation with Dylan. “She can go as soon as she’s dressed and I’ve talked to her a bit more about the care of her ankle. I’m lending her a pair of crutches she can use for a few days just to make walking more comfortable.”
Gideon glanced at Adrienne. “I’ll go wait with Isabelle while you get dressed.”
“Be sure and let her know I’m fine, even though I’ll be using crutches when I join you. I don’t want her to be worried.”
“I’ll tell her.” Nodding toward the doctor and nurse, he turned and left the room, impatient to get out of this place and back to his own house.
Isabelle was still sitting on the bench with the young clinic employee, this time playing with a tongue depressor. “I saw her tonsils,” she announced proudly to Gideon.
“Congratulations. You seem to be well on your way to becoming a doctor.” He sat on the bench beside his sister and directed a faint smile at her companion. “Thanks for keeping her entertained. I’ll take over now so you can get back to work.”
The brunette nodded. “Okay. ’Bye, Isabelle. You’ve been a very good girl.”
Isabelle flashed her numerous dimples in one of her particularly endearing smiles. “’Bye, Nancy.”
And then she turned to Gideon. “Where’s Miss Corley?”
“She’s getting ready to go home with us.”
“Is her leg okay? She fell and hurt it and Officer Smith carried her to his police car.”
The image of Adrienne being carried in Dylan’s arms almost made Gideon scowl again. He kept his expression bland only because he didn’t want to upset Isabelle. “Adrienne hurt her ankle, and she’ll be wearing a brace until it heals. She’ll walk with crutches for a few days to keep her weight off the injury until it feels better.”
Isabelle looked concerned. “Does it hurt?”
“I’m sure it’s uncomfortable, but she was smiling when I was in there with her.” Mostly at Dylan Smith, he couldn’t help remembering with another ripple of irritation.
Isabelle seemed to be reassured. “I can take care of her when we get to your house,” she offered. “I can bring things to her so she won’t have to walk on her hurt foot.”
“Adrienne will appreciate your help.”
He was startled when Isabelle suddenly climbed onto his lap and rested her head on his chest. “I’m kind of tired,” she murmured with a little sigh.
Awkwardly patting her back, he wasn’t surprised that she was worn-out. She’d had a long, eventful day.
He was beginning to feel rather drained himself.

Chapter Four
Her swollen and bruised foot propped on a pillow on a footstool in front of her chair, Adrienne sat in Gideon’s den that evening with a cup of hot tea in her hands and a white stuffed owl in her lap. Gideon and Isabelle had been taking care of her, in their unique ways, which explained the tea and the toy.
She still felt like a fool.
Poor Gideon, she thought, listening to the clatter of dishes in the kitchen as he cleared away the remains of the broiled steak and baked potato dinner he had prepared for them. All he seemed to want was to be left alone to write in peace, and now he found himself responsible for his baby sister and his injured agent.
Gideon wandered into the den a few moments later. “You need anything?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you. I was just thinking that I should try calling the airline, see if I can get a flight out early tomorrow. I’ll have to arrange transportation to the airport, of course, since I’m not sure I could make an hour-long drive with my right foot in a brace, but I—”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re in no shape to travel tomorrow. The doctor ordered you to take it easy for a few days and that’s what you’ll do. Stay here and recuperate, and you can go back to New York later in the week. Friday, probably.”
Though she appreciated his generous, if bluntly offered, invitation, especially knowing how badly he wanted his privacy back, she shook her head. “Thank you, but I won’t impose on you any longer. I’m not injured that badly, and I can get assistance boarding the plane.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “I’m not going to argue with you about this. You’re going to be sore tomorrow, both from the impact in the car and from the fall. There’s no reason for you to leave in that condition—and don’t say again that you don’t want to impose on me. I would tell you if I found your presence bothersome.”
“I should never have shown up on your doorstep without giving you prior notice.”
Her guiltfest only seemed to annoy him further. “You didn’t have a hell of a lot of choice, considering I wouldn’t take your calls or read my mail.”
Now he was making excuses for her. She sighed and shook her head. “I’m really sorry about all of this.”
“If anyone should be apologizing, I should, for making your job so difficult. I haven’t even made time to discuss the business that brought you here. But it would be a waste of time for us to sit here apologizing to each other.”
She smiled ruefully. “I suppose you’re right. And I know how you feel about wasting time.”
The smile he gave her in return was a bit lopsided, but still charming in its own way. For an instant she was taken back to the moment when she had stepped out of the examining room and found Gideon waiting for her with Isabelle curled in his lap. He had looked more than a bit uncomfortable, but his hand had been gentle as he’d patted Isabelle’s back. She had been startled to find herself wondering how it might feel to have his hands on her.
“You seem to be getting to know me pretty well,” he said.
It took her a beat to realize that he was responding to her last statement and not to her errant thoughts. She cleared her throat. “In some ways, perhaps.”

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