The Third Kiss
Leanna Wilson
The first kiss…was a peck on Brooke Watson's cheek following a proposal from Texas's most eligible bachelor, Matt Cutter. Though uninterested in a temporary "marriage," Brooke couldn't refuse when Matt promised funding for her favorite charity.The second kiss…was sensual. Matt's ailing grandmother would rest peacefully knowing he would be wed. Besides, acting like the loving couple with Brooke was remarkably easy….The third kiss…was real! Somehow their pretend courtship developed into a relationship running deep with tender emotion. But marrying for the wrong reasons could ruin everything….
“Would you like to get married?”
Brooke laughed, unable to believe her ears. Had the Matt Cutter just proposed? Stunned, she shook her head to clear the cobwebs. She started walking to her car. “Goodbye, Mr. Cutter.”
“Wait!” He fell into step with her.
She felt a magnetic pull toward him, as if he were reeling her in. Her skin tightened with awareness and a raw need she didn’t recognize.
She couldn’t give the logical answer that had lodged in her throat. She could only stare up at him. She noted the stern set of his jaw, his generous lower lip that made her want to rise up on tiptoe and kiss him.
She got into her car. He closed the door and rested his hands along the base of the open window. Leaning down, he gave her a grin that made her stomach do somersaults.
“Think about it.”
Dear Reader,
There’s something for everyone in a Silhouette Romance, be it moms (or daughters!) or women who’ve found—or who still seek!—that special man in their lives. Just revel in this month’s diverse offerings as we continue to celebrate Silhouette’s 20th Anniversary.
It’s last stop: STORKVILLE, USA, as Karen Rose Smith winds this adorable series to its dramatic conclusion. A virgin with amnesia finds shelter in the town sheriff’s home, but will she find lasting love with Her Honor-Bound Lawman? New York Times bestselling author Kasey Michaels brings her delightful trilogy THE CHANDLERS REQUEST… to an end with the sparkling bachelor-auction story Raffling Ryan. The Millionaire’s Waitress Wife becomes the latest of THE BRUBAKER BRIDES as Carolyn Zane’s much-loved miniseries continues.
In the second installment of Donna Clayton’s SINGLE DOCTOR DADS, The Doctor’s Medicine Woman holds the key to his adoption of twin Native American boys—and to his guarded heart. The Third Kiss is a charmer from Leanna Wilson—a must-read pretend engagement story! And a one-night marriage that began with “The Wedding March” leads to The Wedding Lullaby in Melissa McClone’s latest offering….
Happy Reading!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
The Third Kiss
Leanna Wilson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Grandpa Glenn, a prince of a father-in-law
Books by Leanna Wilson
Silhouette Romance
Strong, Silent Cowboy #1179
Christmas in July #1197
Lone Star Rancher #1231
His Tomboy Bride #1305
Are You My Daddy? #1331
Babies, Rattles and Cribs…Oh, My! #1378
The Double Heart Ranch #1430
The Third Kiss #1484
Silhouette Books
Fortunes of Texas
The Expectant Secretary
LEANNA WILSON
believes nothing is better than dreaming up characters and stories and having readers enjoy them as she does. Leanna is the winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award and Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award. Married to her real-life hero, she lives outside Dallas with their active toddler and newborn. But all the diapers and lullabies haven’t kept her from writing. She’s busy working on her next book, be it a Silhouette Romance, Harlequin Temptation or Harlequin American Romance novel. She enjoys hearing from her readers, so you can write to her c/o: Leanna Wilson, P.O. Box 294227, Lewisville, TX 75029-4277.
Contents
Chapter One (#ue961fa2c-60e1-5e18-91f1-1a5359264770)
Chapter Two (#ufde44a57-bdcc-57c9-9c7d-6e5d7e69831a)
Chapter Three (#ud5c09506-514f-508b-92ad-2d44c24079f3)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Do you ever think how much easier life would be if you could find Prince Charming?” Peggy mused, scuffing the sole of her boot on the sidewalk.
“No,” Brooke Watson answered without hesitation. “But I could use a fairy godmother and a little of her magic.” Not to look for a husband, but to find a miracle for one of her troubled young clients. Men, she’d decided many years ago, only complicated her life.
She’d seen too many dysfunctional marriages during her tenure as a child psychologist. Not to mention her own mother’s penchant for collecting husbands the way her young clients collected and traded Pokémon cards.
“I could use some magic to pay off my credit card bills. Ohh, look! Another sale!” Peggy passed a streetlamp and steered Brooke toward Cutter’s Western Wear.
It was the oldest department store in San Antonio, situated along the winding, scenic River Walk. The Cutter family history went all the way back to the Alamo. They graced both the business and society sections of the paper weekly. At least the handsome heir and CEO did. What was his name? Brooke couldn’t recall, nor did she want to remember. She had no use for spoiled rich men. She had better things to do with her time.
“Last stop,” she said, following her friend through the door shaped like a chuck wagon’s tailgate. “Then I need to get back home.”
“And work?” Peggy complained.
It wasn’t just work. She was committed to helping the children placed in her care.
A woman sped past her, knocking into her with a sharp elbow. Brooke shook her head with consternation. Must be some sale, Brooke thought to herself.
Peggy looked over her shoulder, “Maybe you can find some new jeans.”
“What’s wrong with mine?” Brooke asked, glancing down at her faded Wrangler jeans. Some of her patients didn’t even have clothes to call their own. “Took me a few years just to break these in.”
Brooke walked beneath a banner, and a storm of commotion erupted around her. Sirens wailed. A mariachi band kicked into high gear, the trumpets blaring, a drum’s rhythm vibrating in her ears. A band? What the heck was happening?
Brooke faltered but kept moving forward with the surging crowd behind her. A chorus of cheers erupted from the customers packing into the store like sardines. Clapping thundered in her ears, echoing the beat of her heart. She glanced around and noticed vibrant red and yellow balloons clustered together. A wave of balloons tumbled over her with ribbons and tiny bits of paper twirling in the air conditioner’s breeze. Bright crepe paper decorations were strung along the windows and across the ceiling. She blinked against the waterfall of confetti.
What was this, a party? A surprise party? Had the guest of honor arrived behind her? Must be someone famous. Maybe even the head of Cutter Enterprises.
Turning, Brooke searched the crowd but saw no one she recognized. But then, she didn’t keep track of celebrities. Deciding it was time to go home, she searched for Peggy.
Her friend stood a few feet in front of her. She’d dropped her packages at her feet. Her features brightened with surprise and delight. “You did it. You’re the one, Brooke!”
“Did what?” Had she set off some weird shoplifting alarm? She wasn’t carrying any merchandise. Heck, she hadn’t even made it to the rows of boots, Stetsons and jeans. “What’d I do?”
Like the Red Sea parting, the wall of people in front of Brooke opened up. A tall man, wearing a black Stetson that shaded his deep-set, midnight-blue eyes, stepped forward. Instantly she recognized the famous Cutter.
She’d seen his picture prominently displayed on television and in the papers ever since he’d taken over his family’s company. He was the Cutter family’s pride and CEO, San Antonio’s Prince Charming, every woman’s fantasy.
Every woman except her.
She had to admit he was even sexier and more virile in person than any of the photos she’d ever seen. An energy seemed to radiate off him like heat shimmers off asphalt. He drew everyone’s attention, including Brooke’s.
Then Brooke noticed that his penetrating, unnerving gaze was aimed at her. He moved toward her, gave her a knock-your-boots-off smile, doffed his cowboy hat, revealing thick, wavy black hair, and held out his hand. To her!
“Welcome to Cutter’s.” His voice sounded as deep and rich as his wealthy pockets. “I’m Matt Cutter.”
Numbed by the shrill music and chaos, her brain clicked into autopilot. She shook his hand. But there was nothing mechanical or common about his warm palm pressed against hers, the strength in his fingers engulfing her hand or the electric shock that jarred her out of her trance.
Every nerve ending in her body vibrated. Her senses sharpened, blocking out the confusion and noise around her. Confident and bold, he took center stage, similar to the way he’d taken over his family’s company a few years back. His gaze was as intense and focused as a spotlight.
Brooke’s pulse skittered crazily in response. She noticed the way his Western shirt and jeans accented his broad shoulders, trim torso, slim hips and long, well-muscled legs. For an instant her brain registered that his starched jeans were slightly faded and the seam along his fly frayed. Awareness, red-hot and shocking, rocked through her.
Giving herself a mental shake, she blinked and withdrew her hand. Brooke cloaked herself in a professional demeanor, the one she used when a client shocked her with some intimate or appalling fact.
“Do you welcome all your customers with this much fanfare?” she asked, her voice lifting above the racket from the band and crowd.
His eyes brightened with humor, making them magnetic, and the corners crinkled. He grinned, throwing her off balance again. She had to get her reaction to him under control. What was wrong with her? Maybe the heat of the summer day had gotten to her. Or maybe it was the noise surrounding them, crowding her.
“Not usually,” he said. His words were laced with laughter, making his voice rich, vibrant, irresistible. “But we’ve made an exception. Just for you.”
The way his voice dropped, emphasizing the last word, made the statement intimate and caused her stomach to dip crazily. She could almost believe him, almost imagine him waiting for her. Just her.
You’ve lost it, Brooke. Really lost it!
She shook loose the strange effect he had on her and held her hand against her jumpy stomach. He was resistible. Just like every man she’d ever met. Prince Charming was a fairy tale, a feminine fantasy created to compensate for the helplessness women often felt. Well, she was not powerless.
Besides, Prince Charming had never worn a Stetson.
“You’re our one millionth customer,” he said, his eyes glittering as flashes of cameras went off around them like fireworks. “Congratulations.”
“But I didn’t buy anything.” She protested, wishing her fairy godmother would suddenly appear, wave her magic wand and make her vanish into thin air. The sudden attention made her squirm inside. Or maybe the odd sensation was Matt Cutter’s fault. No, she wouldn’t accept that possibility.
“You didn’t have to purchase anything. You’re the millionth customer to visit our original store.”
Her face burned with the same self-consciousness she’d experienced as a teen when her mother had forced her to attend all those debutante balls. She’d resisted, rebelled against the spectacle. She much preferred her quiet, uncomplicated life to this chaos.
The crowd seemed to be staring right at her. Or envying her, she thought, as she noticed women jostling each other to get a closer look at the CEO of Cutter Enterprises. She tried to ignore her own reaction to his charismatic eyes and chiseled features.
“But customer,” she argued, “implies I bought something. I didn’t intend to—”
He closed the gap between them and cut off her remark. “You didn’t have to.”
His nearness frayed her carefully controlled nerves. “Why don’t you pick someone else?”
Hands shot into the air, vying for Matt’s attention. Brooke’s ears rang as the women surrounding them called out to Matt, “Pick me! Me! Me!”
Matt shook his head. “You’re the one.”
“I don’t want to be the one.” His one. Anyone’s one!
“Neither of us has a choice.” His gaze sharpened, and she had a keen sense that he would have liked to have chosen someone else. Anyone else. She wasn’t headline material. She wasn’t the type of woman to grace covers of magazines. She was ordinary…plain. And difficult.
Peggy jostled her arm. “Your mother is going to flip!”
Brooke shuddered to think of her mother’s reaction. “The only thing that would make my mother happy is if I showed up with a husband. You’re not selling any of those, are you, Matt Cutter?”
“Maybe she’ll be impressed with a few other prizes,” Matt said, looping her arm through his. When he tucked her close to his side she felt as hot as a Texas heat wave.
Pressed against his well-honed frame, Brooke heard alarms go off in her head. He made her feel weak, fragile and incredibly feminine. She bucked against that assessment. But she couldn’t move away from him, no matter how much she wanted to. He held her firmly against his side.
“Don’t argue,” he whispered, his voice compelling. He gave a smiling nod toward the cameras while moving her toward a platform and up the steps. “You’re the winner.”
But she didn’t want to win. She didn’t need anything. Not when so many others needed so much more. Faces of children she’d worked with through the years filed through her mind.
“Come on.” He allowed no other arguments. He faced the audience and kept his hand on her arm as if she might bolt at any second. And she might have. If he’d given her the chance.
Irritation nettled her. She decided in that instant that Matt Cutter might be handsome, even sexy, but he was arrogant, domineering and overbearing.
“Good afternoon!” He spoke into a microphone, his voice resounding through the store and reverberating through her entire body. “Cutter’s Western Wear is proud to announce we have now welcomed our one millionth customer.”
Another cheer went up, and more flashes went off in front of Brooke’s eyes, making her see spots.
“Tell us your name, Miss…” His focus, as well as the crowd’s, shifted toward her.
She considered giving another name. Maybe even Peggy’s. She couldn’t imagine how this would look to her clients. Their psychologist making the headlines. But if nothing else she was honest, and so she spoke into the microphone. “Brooke,” she said, “Brooke Watson.”
“Well, Brooke,” Matt Cutter said, slipping his arm around her waist, holding her close, making her skin tingle, “today is your lucky day.”
Brooke wondered then if maybe she did have a fairy godmother, who’d gone overboard with the magic.
Matt Cutter had never met a more exasperating woman!
He admitted Brooke Watson had warm-brown eyes and a body that could make any red-blooded American male break out in a hormone-overloaded sweat. But what kind of woman resisted all he had to offer…er, all his store had to offer? He’d expected the millionth customer to gush, blush, maybe even throw herself at him. But he hadn’t expected this woman’s chilly reluctance and stubborn resistance.
He sure hadn’t expected to be attracted to her, either.
“I really can’t accept this,” Brooke repeated, stepping back from the microphone and him.
He frowned. Maybe she hadn’t understood. “It’s a lifetime supply of jeans.”
“I don’t need any jeans. I like the ones I have.”
He admitted her jeans looked sexy, the way they hugged her like an intimate embrace, caressing every feminine curve she had. His appreciative gaze swept over the tall, willowy brunette. “Those won’t last forever.”
She shrugged. “They’ll last longer than some things.”
What the hell did she mean by that?
“Look,” she offered, “if you have to give away a lifetime supply of jeans, then I’ll choose who they go to.”
She scanned the crowd. Everyone went berserk, screaming and hollering, waving and jumping, trying to get Brooke’s attention. Then she smiled, really smiled, for the first time since he’d met her. And it gave his stomach a strange sensation.
“The lifetime supply of jeans goes to—” she grinned while he gritted his teeth “—this woman in front. Peggy Simmons.”
The redhead raised her arms like Rocky, after winning the championship fight, and turned in a tight circle.
Now what was he going to do? Brooke gave away prizes as if she was cleaning out her closet of the past year’s clothes. What was wrong with her? What woman didn’t want clothes? Maybe she simply didn’t wear jeans often enough to justify a lifetime supply. Fine. But she wouldn’t be able to resist the next prize.
“That was very generous of you,” he said into the mike, well aware of the cameras aimed at him and of the wall of reporters taping every word. Maybe the circus atmosphere Brooke had generated would create bigger headlines. Definitely a plus for Cutter’s. “Now, for this next gift you’ll have to sit here.”
“But I don’t—”
“Sit.” He barked the command as if to his black Lab, Dodger, and jerked the microphone behind his back.
Brooke snapped her mouth closed and glared at him.
Maybe that wasn’t the right approach for this woman. He touched her arm gently, even though he wanted to grab her. This woman brought out a Neanderthal side of him. “Look, it won’t take long. I won’t hurt you,” he said softly so only she could hear. “Promise.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
He ground his teeth and edged closer to her, challenging her, daring her not to step back toward the chair. In spite of her height, she still didn’t meet his chin and had to crane her neck to glower at him. “That’s right, Miss Watson. Right over there.”
“Doctor. It’s Dr. Watson,” she corrected him in a clipped tone that set his nerves on edge.
A doctor, eh? He could see that. He could see a lot of things in this woman, some of which he didn’t particularly like. But he saw many things he did appreciate, like the deep-rose of her lips, the way the tip of her nose tilted up, the challenge in her toffee-colored eyes. He especially liked the way she didn’t back down. She stood her ground, never retreating, like so many women he’d known who would have bent over backward to please him. Maybe that’s what attracted him. But that was absurd! Because this spitfire of a woman annoyed the hell out of him.
She stood toe-to-toe with him. Actually, her breasts brushed against his chest and tied his insides into knots. Trying to ignore the way she affected him, he pushed on. She gave an inch, then another. They inched their way across the platform until she backed into the chair and plopped into the seat with a thud.
“Perfect.” He took a deeper breath, now that he couldn’t feel her against him or imagine what she’d be like wrapped within his embrace. But he couldn’t let her escape. Not until he’d finished with her. Finished giving her all she deserved. All the presents for being the millionth customer, that is. Keeping his hand on her arm, he glanced over his shoulder for his assistant to bring the next gift.
“This is a coveted prize, Dr. Watson,” he said, giving her a subtle warning that he wouldn’t tolerate her giving this one away. Lifting the mike, he announced, “The next prize for our valued millionth customer is a pair of custom boots made exclusively here at Cutter’s!”
A satisfactory ah-h-h went through the crowd. Feeling confident, he knelt beside her chair, gave her a wink and pulled Brooke’s tennis shoe off. He tossed it over his shoulder, and it landed with a dull thud on the platform.
“Hey! Give me back my shoe.” She reached for it, and he grabbed her hand.
It was a battle of wills that he hadn’t played with a woman in a long time. If ever. And he was determined to win.
“I’m going to give you something better than that old tennis shoe.” He placed the mike on the floor behind him so their voices wouldn’t carry. Then he trapped her foot against his thigh.
Her eyes widened. His insides burned. A staggering heat seemed to fuse them together. Or maybe it was his imagination. Maybe it was the flashes from the cameras. Maybe the crowd was pressing too close.
Touching Brooke was definitely a mistake.
Her toes curled in protest and made his skin tighten with need. Blood pumped hot and fierce through him. What was she doing to him?
“I like my tennis shoe,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let go of my foot.”
“I’m only going to measure it.”
“Measure someone else’s. Let me choose another—”
“No.” His temper snapped.
Why couldn’t someone else have been the millionth customer? She tried to pull her foot away, but he held firm. Until she winced. Guilt shot through him. Quickly he closed both hands over her foot and soothed the place he’d injured. He kneaded her instep. Beneath the thick sports sock, he felt her fine bones, her warmth. Slowly she relaxed. The center of her eyes dilated with awareness. Keep your hands to yourself, Cutter!
“I’m sorry.” He forced himself to quit massaging her foot and get through with this procedure. “Now be still. This will only take a minute.”
Her shoulders stiffened at his instructions. He slid the foot-measuring plate between her foot and his thigh. The cold metal chilled his overactive libido.
“A perfect six,” he said, “but very narrow.” Then he measured the length from her ankle to her knee, sliding the measuring tape along the curve of her calf. He felt her tremble. She tried to pull away from him, but he held firm. “Your boots will be ready in six weeks, Miss…Doctor. What color would you like? White to go with your doctor coat?”
“I’m not that kind of doc.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A professor then?”
“A psychologist.”
Definite trouble. “How about black for troubled souls?”
“Or for your black eye if you don’t let go of my foot.”
She was one feisty filly. He laughed, taking more pleasure in the anger sparking in her eyes. Abruptly he released her foot and stood.
Though he dreaded bringing out the grand prize, he had no choice. Everything had all been staged, and it was too late to turn the tide. Seeing it move toward them like a float in the Rose Parade, he reached for the microphone.
“Now, ladies and gentleman and doctors, too.” His eyes darted toward Brooke. She was reaching for her wayward tennis shoe. “Here’s the grand prize.” Matt reached into his pocket for the keys. “Your very own convertible!”
The crowd went wild as the tiny roadster was wheeled to the front of the platform. Brooke dropped her shoe, her mouth gaping before she recovered, her gaze slicing toward Matt for confirmation.
“You don’t want that!” someone yelled. “Give it to me!”
“How ’bout me, honey?” a man from the back hollered. “I could sure use a date magnet like that.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed with irritation. He took Brooke’s hand and closed her fingers around the keys. “The car is yours. Understand?”
She locked gazes with him. He felt an electric shock right in the middle of his chest, as if she’d zapped him with a cattle prod.
“Could I have a van instead?” she asked.
Her question stunned him. Now, after all this time, she was going to get greedy? “What?”
“A van. You know with sliding doors on both sides.”
He knew he would regret asking, but he couldn’t stop himself, “Why?”
This time, she leaned toward the microphone. “I’m going to donate this car…well, van…to an orphanage here in town.”
The crowd fell silent. It felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room and every greedy hand waver chastised.
“An orphanage?” Matt repeated.
She nodded. “They really need a vehicle to transport the children for doctor appointments and special events. So if you don’t mind…?”
She pushed the keys back toward him, putting the ball in his court. How could he say no?
Slowly light applause trickled through the crowd, and Matt’s attitude toward Brooke suddenly changed. An orphanage. How many people would do something like that? Not many. He gave her a nod of approval.
“Cutter’s would be glad to trade this car in for a vehicle that will help the orphanage.”
Finally Brooke gave him a smile that melted the cynicism surrounding his heart. This woman amazed, confounded and confused him. And that spelled trouble.
“What else do I get?” Brooke asked. Luckily her voice didn’t carry to the mike.
What else? Maybe he’d been wrong about her. Maybe he’d wanted to believe there was someone out there who wasn’t interested in money or what he could give them.
“What more do you want?” he asked.
“Isn’t there a sign over in the window saying something about a million pennies?”
He’d forgotten. This woman distracted him, jumbled his thoughts, discombobulated him. “Are you going to keep this one?”
She lifted her chin with a challenge. “Why don’t you find out?”
Chapter Two
Enough celebration for one day.
Enough Brooke Watson…or Dr. Brooke Watson…forever.
Matt strode down the hospital corridor, intent on forgetting his irritation over the millionth customer debacle. More important things concerned him.
The antiseptic smells made him scowl as he made his way past the nurses’ station. But Brooke’s clean, fresh scent of soap and sunshine lingered with him, permeated his thoughts and kept him thinking of her long, sexy, jeans-clad legs.
What was the matter with him?
Tempering his scowl, he opened the door to room 517 and gave a warm smile to the fragile woman in the hospital bed. “Hello, darlin’.”
Her gaze shifted from the television set to Matt. He saw the spark return to her vibrant blue eyes, and her weathered face creased with a faint smile. “How did it go?” She held out her hand, beckoning him closer. “I want to hear all about it.”
“In time,” he said, settling himself on the edge of the bed, mindful of the IV tubes. He took her frail hand in his and kissed it. “How are you today, Grandmother? Feeling any better?”
“Feel just like a pin cushion.”
“More needles, eh?”
“Useless waste of time. There’s not a damn thing they can do for old age. Comes a time when a body’s ready to give out.”
Every one of his muscles tensed, and his heart contracted with fear and worry. “Don’t talk that way, Grandmother. You’re as young as—”
“An old goat. Don’t fool yourself, Matt, darling. My time’s coming. I’m at peace with it.” She patted his hand as if to soothe him, when it should have been the other way around. “I’m just sad I won’t live long enough to see you married and happy.”
She said it as if marriage was synonymous with a cheerful state of mind. Which didn’t compute with him.
“Well, I’m happy,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light. “Happily single. One out of two isn’t bad.”
The wrinkled skin between her faded brows pinched tight.
“Don’t you worry. Soon as you’re feeling better you’ll have plenty of time to set me up with more of your friends’ nieces and granddaughters.” She’d been playing matchmaker for years now, and Matt had taken it in stride but at the same time had easily sidestepped matrimony. “I might even surprise everyone and get married one of these days.”
“You tease.”
His grandmother was right. He wasn’t looking for a wife. He didn’t have anything against marriage. He simply wanted to be sure a woman wanted him. Not his fortune. Which seemed impossible, especially with the women he’d dated, who were as money hungry as tigers on the prowl.
Eliza Louise Cutter gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re not happy, Matt. Believe me, if you were to find true love, the way your grandfather and I loved each other, then you’d understand why it’s so important. It will make and keep you young at heart. That’s one reason I’m not afraid to leave this life. At least I’ll be with your grandfather again. My dear, sweet Linc.”
“Don’t talk that way…”
She tsked him. “Go ahead and tell me how the big celebration went.”
He gave a frustrated sigh and wished he could convince her that she had years and years left. It was as if she’d given up! As if she wanted to die. “It was more like an auction. She—”
“She?”
“The millionth customer. An exasperating woman if I ever met one. She was giving away all the prizes.”
“Giving them away?”
He nodded gravely. “She gave the lifetime supply of jeans to a friend. And she asked for the roadster to be traded for a van so she could give it to an orphanage. Can you believe that?”
“Sounds like a levelheaded woman. And a generous one.” His grandmother gave an approving nod. She carefully folded back a portion of the white hospital sheet. “Exasperating, huh? I do believe that’s what Linc said about me when we first met. I told you about that, didn’t I?”
“Once or twice.” He grinned.
She waved her hand, dismissing her fond memories. “You just don’t like changes. Never have. But maybe it worked out for the best. Maybe this exasperating woman’s generosity will stir up more publicity for the store. And more important, maybe it did a little good for the community.”
If anyone knew the meaning of generosity, he did. He’d learned it from his grandparents. Where his parents had been selfish, using their millions for indulgences and self-gratifying motives, Eliza and Linc Cutter had given not only gobs of money but gold bullions of time. Matt had been a recipient in more ways than one.
So why had Brooke Watson’s altruism irritated him? He simply didn’t like it when his plans veered off course.
He decided to play the devil’s advocate. “It could look as if this woman didn’t like our products. As if our merchandise wasn’t good enough for her.”
His argument lacked conviction. He hated to admit he’d been impressed with her. Too impressed. Too aroused. Especially when they’d stood toe-to-toe. He didn’t want to think how close he’d come to grabbing her and kissing her. What a headline that would have been!
“What did she do with the million pennies?” Eliza asked.
“Hmm?”
“That exasperating woman,” she quoted him, her mouth lifting in a smile. “What did she do with the million pennies?”
He shook loose his raging hormones. “She gave them to a local school.”
He’d anticipated her wanting the money for herself, or maybe even asking for more. But she hadn’t. She’d simply promised the money to a bunch of needy kids.
His previous annoyance had grudgingly changed to approval. Why had he wanted to dislike Brooke Watson so much? He shrugged off that question, refusing to touch it as if it were the electric fence surrounding Fort Knox.
“She seems thoughtful and caring,” his grandmother mused. “Sounds like a nice woman. Not exasperating at all.”
How about irritating, infuriating, maddening? He pictured Brooke. None of those words came to mind. Only beautiful, sexy, tempting. Trouble, he decided.
“What did she look like?”
“Hmm?” Her question jarred him from his thoughts.
A twinkle sparkled in his grandmother’s eye. He wished he could keep that sparkle there and make her want to continue living. “What did she look like?”
“I can’t really remember, Grandmother.” Actually he couldn’t forget.
Eliza’s papery brow wrinkled into a frown.
Immediately he felt a jolt of concern to his heart. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling bad? Do you need a nurse?”
“No, no, darling. I’m fine. As fine as I can be, confined to this bed. I’m just wishing you could find a woman…someone kind and generous…like that woman who won. But someone who would light your fire.” She waggled her silvery-gray eyebrows.
“Grandmother!”
She chuckled softly, then leaned her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Faint blue veins made a delicate pattern across her eyelids. “Someday you’ll find her. I just wish I could live long enough to meet the woman who’s going to knock your socks off.”
“Don’t worry yourself sick.” He placed a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Call if you need anything before then.”
She nodded but didn’t open her eyes. Reluctant to leave, he hovered near the doorway until her breathing fell into the rhythm of sleep. A constriction cut off his own oxygen supply. She was all he had. All he’d ever had. She’d raised him, loved him when his parents had been too busy trekking around the world, spending money as if it was grown on trees and forgetting they had a family business to run and a son to raise. So his grandmother had stepped in to care for him. Now he’d do anything…anything…for her.
Anything, huh?
Would he be willing to make her last wish come true? With that simple question, an outrageous plan locked into place. Why not? Why couldn’t he do this one thing for her, when she’d sacrificed so much for him? She’d taken time away from her beloved Linc to raise him, going to all his baseball games, tennis matches and golf tournaments. Why couldn’t he make this one sacrifice for her? After all, it wouldn’t have to be forever. Only until…
He winced at that thought. He couldn’t think of her dying. But he could concentrate on making his grandmother the happiest woman alive. If that was her last wish, then, by God, he’d see that she had it. He’d find himself a bride. A temporary bride.
But who?
His mind clicked into gear, keeping pace with each clunk of his boot heels against the linoleum floor as he strode back down the hallway toward the elevator. It didn’t take long for him to land on a possibility. His only possibility.
The only thing that would make my mother happy is if I showed up with a husband. Brooke Watson’s words came back to him full force.
Of course. She’s the one!
She had incentive. Just as he did.
But she hadn’t lunged for his wallet. So maybe she’d be willing to give him his ring back after a short, fake engagement, the way she’d given away all his prizes.
He congratulated himself on a fine plan. This would be a piece of cake. A piece of wedding cake!
“Why don’t we read this book together, Jeffrey?” Brooke kept her voice upbeat even when she felt defeated once more by this reticent five-year-old.
He kept his head bent, never looking up, never responding. A shock of brown hair fell across his forehead, and she smoothed it back. At least he no longer flinched.
“This is one of my favorites. Have you ever read it?” She continued talking, though she felt as if she was talking to a brick wall.
But she didn’t stop. She plowed ahead, opening the book, showing him the pages. If he would only look up enough to see the bright, colorful carnival pictures of cotton candy, popcorn and clowns. She’d just reached the second page when a shadow crossed the book. With a sigh she stopped. Was it already time for her to leave?
Expecting to see the prim and stoic Mrs. Morris who ran the orphanage, she glanced up and felt the breath knock out of her lungs. “What do you want?”
Matt Cutter gave her that charming grin she was sure had made many women swoon. But not her. He didn’t faze her in the least. Not even those navy-blue eyes that seemed deeper than the ocean and as full of as many mysteries. She refused to notice the way his starched white shirt emphasized his tan or the way his faded jeans fit a tad too snugly, causing a heat flash inside her.
“I came to see you.” His deep, sexy voice made the back of her neck tingle.
She closed the book. What did he want now? She’d taken enough grief from friends and co-workers the past couple of days to keep her permanently out of the limelight. It was all Matt’s fault. Men like him were trouble. Pure and simple. “How’d you find me?”
“It’s not a secret that you come here every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, is it?”
“No, but—”
“Good, then your secretary isn’t in trouble.” He swiveled a kid-size chair toward him on its legs and settled into it as if it were as comfortable as a leather recliner. He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles, the toes of his custom black boots pointing toward the ceiling.
Irritation sparked inside her. How would he like someone barging into one of his high-powered business meetings? “I’m in the middle of a session.”
“Hey, cowboy,” Matt addressed Jeffrey. “How are you?”
Her attention snapped toward the little boy who stared at Matt like he was Paul Bunyan reincarnated.
But he wasn’t. He was a wealthy business owner. He’d franchised his family’s store, taken it nationwide, diversified Cutter’s assets and branched out beyond Stetsons and Ropers to retail clothes, fast food and oil. He bought and sold companies like most people borrowed books from the library. His rate of return with women was, according to the tabloids, even faster.
And here he was at a little, out-of-the-way orphanage, concentrating on a five-year-old as if he was about to make a business deal. “Do you mind my interrupting you and Dr. Watson for a minute?”
Brooke caught a small, almost indiscernible, shake of the little boy’s head. But it was there! She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t witnessed it. Her heartbeat kicked up its pace.
Unbelievable! She’d been working with Jeffrey for over six months and there had been only minuscule improvements. Most of her colleagues would have given up by now. Then Matt Cutter waltzes in the room and the kid merely acts shy, instead of traumatized. What was it about the famous cowboy? Who was he…Prince Charming in a Stetson?
That was dangerous thinking, even if she didn’t want a Prince Charming. And she didn’t.
Women acted as if he was Tom Cruise or something, swarming around him, fawning over him, buying up any newspapers, magazines or tabloids that printed his picture. Well, she didn’t get it. Maybe that’s why she was more irritated than delighted at Jeffrey’s tiny response.
“What are y’all reading?” Matt asked, disturbing her thoughts even more as he turned the book over on her lap and brushed his hand against her thigh. A jolt of electricity coursed through her. “Hmm. Looks interesting. But carnivals and circuses are for little kids. Not big boys like you.”
Annoyance nettled inside her, especially when she saw Jeffrey’s eyes widen.
“I’ve got a book at home, cowboy, that I bet you’d like. It’s about cowboys and horses. Would you like me to bring it sometime for you to read?”
Again, the little boy gave a microscopic indication that he would.
Amazed, Brooke wondered what magic Matt had woven in the few moments he’d been here. She stared at him, bewildered and confounded, but also impressed and baffled. This showed progress. And gave her hope for the little boy. But how had Matt accomplished so much in so little time?
Catching sight of Mrs. Morris walking the periphery of the rec room, wearing her brightly colored quilted vest, Brooke leaned toward the little boy. “Jeffrey, it’s time for me to go, but I’ll be back in a couple of days. Okay?”
No response. Frustration returned full force.
Trying to remain positive, she touched his shoulder lightly. “I’ll bring you a cowboy book then, if you want.”
She stood, indicating it was time for Matt to follow her. Picking up her briefcase and taking her childhood book away from Matt, she told Jeffrey goodbye and turned on her heel. Mindful that the CEO was following at his own leisurely pace, she wondered if he was surveying the orphanage, planning to buy it and turn it into condos or a golf course. Men like Matt Cutter always had their own agendas.
When she glanced over her shoulder to give a final wave to Jeffrey, she almost tripped over her own two feet. Matt Cutter was following her, all right—and staring right at her behind! Instead of outrage she felt a shiver of satisfaction ripple down her spine. Matt Cutter dated only the most beautiful women—actresses and models, the créme de la créme.
Although she felt a boost to her womanly pride to know he was looking at her with obvious desire, that’s where it ended. Because she did not want Matt or his interest. No way. No how.
“Goodbye, Dr. Watson,” Mrs. Morris said as Brooke signed out for the day. “We’ll see you Wednesday.”
“Yes, yes, fine.” Straightening her thoughts as she would a stack of wrinkled, ruffled papers, she sharpened her focus. “If there are any changes with Jeffrey…if you need me for anything…just call.”
“Of course.” The woman shifted her gaze and patted her graying pageboy cut. “And, goodbye, Mr. Cutter. Come back anytime to visit. Anytime.”
He stopped and gave the older woman’s hand more of a caress than a shake. Brooke tried not to roll her eyes. Then he gave a nod to the receptionist and flashed one of his famous smiles to the other gawking workers lurking around doorways as if they had nothing better to do than stare at the famous CEO.
“It was a pleasure, ladies,” he said with a wave.
A pleasure? Good grief! Was he running for public office? She shoved her way out the door and into the glaring sunshine.
After reaching the curb, they walked through the parking lot. When she was sure they were out of hearing range of the orphanage, she turned on Matt Cutter with professional outrage. “What do you think you’re doing? I was in the middle of a session and you barged in—”
“Whoa.” Matt held up one hand in self-defense. “Mrs. Morris said your time was up, anyway. She was on her way over to take Jeffrey back to class. I simply interrupted for her.”
He gave her his know-it-all grin that had zero effect on her. Except to aggravate her even more.
“A nice lady, Mrs. Morris,” he said, apparently oblivious to Brooke’s anger, or perhaps he was ignoring it. “She was gracious enough to show me where you were. Said it wouldn’t hurt since Jeffrey doesn’t respond to anyone.” A frown pinched his forehead. “What’s wrong with him, anyway?”
“It’s unethical for me to discuss a patient. Besides, it’s none of your business.” She crossed her arms over her chest. The Texas sun beat down on her, causing a trickle of perspiration to slide down her spine. Or was Matt to blame for her sudden flush? “Now if you’re here about those damn boots—”
“Easy, Cinderella. I didn’t come bearing gifts, glass slippers or boots. But if that’s what would make you smile, then I’ll try to find something.” He patted his shirt and pants pockets. “Or better yet, next time I’ll bring a dozen roses with me.”
She didn’t want roses or anything else from this man. “Just get to your point. There is a point to your being here, isn’t there?”
“Always.”
She waited.
He watched her. Not really watched, but eyed her, sized her up, letting his gaze roam over her freely, intimately. She felt a shiver ripple through her that wasn’t revulsion. It was awareness…arousal…alarming!
Why wasn’t she insulted? Why didn’t she want to slap his face? What made her suddenly think about kissing his arrogant mouth? She had to get away from this man. The faster the better.
“Well…” She tapped her toe.
His blue eyes glimmered with a low-burning heat that made her insides shift eagerly, no, restlessly. Uncomfortably, she corrected.
“Mind if we go somewhere where we can speak privately?” he asked.
“Yes, I do mind. I mind your intrusion in my schedule today. I mind standing in the heat, waiting for you to tell me what you want. I mind—”
“I offered to take you somewhere more comfortable—”
“Like your home?” she asked, knowing that would be like the spider inviting the fly into his web.
He edged toward her, his mouth pulling to one side in a tempting smile that unraveled her composure. “Is that what you would like?”
She jerked her chin. “I don’t have time to stand around discussing the weather or anything else. Now either say what it is you came to say or you’ll have to excuse me.” To emphasize her point she checked her watch. “I have another appointment.”
“Believe me, I didn’t come here to discuss the weather.” His heated gaze told her exactly what he was thinking about. It wasn’t storm fronts or the local heat wave. But it did make her hot and bothered.
“What then, Mr. Cutter?”
“Matt.”
Her mouth pinched at the corners. She didn’t need to think of him as Matt or in any other personal way. “Mr. Cutter, you’re going to make me late.”
“Of course.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, making her gaze drop to the faded line of his zipper. She had lost her mind! Then he rocked back on his heels. “I apologize for any inconvenience in your schedule. If you want I could call and—”
“I don’t want you to call. Now, please…”
He gave a sharp nod, making the brim of his Stetson dip, then rise. “I’ll cut to the chase. How would you like to get married?”
She felt as though a bucket of ice-cold water had been tossed at her. “What?”
“Well, not really married. Engaged. Temporarily.”
Her jaw dropped, and she snapped her mouth closed. “Are you nuts?”
“Probably.”
Stunned, she gave a shake of her head to clear the cobwebs from her brain. Maybe she’d heard him wrong. But she didn’t think so. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.” She started walking to her car. “Goodbye, Mr. Cutter.”
“Wait!” He fell into step with her. “Hear me out.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s for a good cause.”
She laughed, unable to believe the strange turn of events or even her own hearing. Had Matt Cutter, the Matt Cutter, just proposed to her? In an offhanded, casual way? “I’ll bet. Your cause, right, Mr. Cutter? Or were you planning on donating a million to the orphanage here?”
“If that’s what will make you agree, then I’ll arrange it.”
She stumbled to a stop. “You’re serious?”
“As a stock market crash.” He flicked the brim of his hat with his forefinger.
She felt a magnetic pull toward him, as if he were slowly reeling her in, closer, closer, closer…Until he could take a bite…or nip…or nuzzle. Her skin tightened with awareness and a raw need that she had rarely, if ever, felt. What would Peggy or her mother say if they’d heard Matt’s proposal? Grab him and never let go!
What was happening here? It felt like a fairy tale or a dream or some wild fantasy. But it wasn’t hers. Maybe her mother’s. Or Peggy’s.
But she couldn’t seem to back away from Matt. She couldn’t give the logical answer that had lodged in her throat. She could only stare up at him, feeling awestruck, dumbfounded, baffled.
She noted the serious look in his eyes, the stern set of his jaw, his generous lower lip that made her want to rise up on tiptoe and kiss him. The heat must have addled her brain.
“You’re going to be late for your appointment, Doc.”
She blinked and shook herself. “Uh, yeah…yes.” She realized then that she’d reached her no-nonsense gray Ford. She fumbled with the keys, then remembered she’d left the windows down to alleviate the stifling heat. Opening the door, she slid into the sticky, hot seat. “But—”
He closed the door and rested his hands along the base of the open window. Leaning down, he gave her a grin that made her stomach turn completely over. “Think about it. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Three
I’ll be in touch. That’s all Brooke seemed capable of contemplating the rest of the day. Specifically, Matt’s touch. And he hadn’t even touched her!
Oh, yes, he had. When they’d first met. She could still feel the way her stomach had curled into a ball of longing when he’d caressed her foot. He hadn’t caressed it, she argued to herself. He’d simply measured it.
Yeah, right!
“Did you decide?” Felicia Watson Holbrook Roberts Evans, minus or plus a few other surnames, sipped her white wine.
Jarred out of her musings, Brooke stared at her mother. Decide what? To marry Matt Cutter? It was absurd! Ludicrous! She couldn’t even believe she was dwelling on his proposal. Obviously he had some warped agenda. Or had lost his mind. Maybe he needed therapy instead of a bride. She’d never met a man who didn’t need psychotherapy. Either way, she was staying clear of him.
“Brooke?”
“Hmm?”
“Dinner.” Felicia tapped her pale-pink, manicured nails on the leather bound menu. “Did you decide what you’re having?”
How about Matt Cutter? Good grief! Her mother’s and Peggy’s attitudes had finally worn off on her.
“You’ve been reading that menu for what seems like hours.”
She hadn’t read one appetizer or even peered at the desserts. “What are you having, Mother?”
“The halibut.”
“Sounds fine to me.” Especially since she wasn’t hungry.
After they’d ordered, Felicia clasped her hands and gave her daughter one of those looks. “What are you doing this Friday?”
She asked the question in a casual manner that Brooke knew was never offhanded. There was always purpose behind every word or deed.
Felicia had obviously decided to get down to business. Her business. Her agenda. Just as Brooke had known she would. It was always just a matter of time before her mother launched into her latest matchmaking scheme.
“Working probably.” She let her gaze drift around the posh restaurant, noticing the glittering diamonds and understated but elegant clothes of the patrons. It made her think of the children at the orphanage, and she wondered what they were having for dinner tonight. Monday night—frankfurters and beans, cherry Jell-O and chips. “I’ve got a stack of files that need updating.”
A small frown creased the bridge between her mother’s carefully plucked, brushed and styled eyebrows. It had taken thousands of dollars from ex-husband number four to remove any and all wrinkles daring to appear on her mother’s face. But Felicia had never been one to worry about money. With each husband, she’d moved up the social ladder. Her latest acquisition was worth millions, which translated into a huge mansion, a Mercedes and all the diamonds and jewels her mother could want. Face-lifts, too.
“You’ll simply have to put it off.”
Here we go! “Who is it this time, Mother?”
“A charming man I met at a little lingerie boutique.”
“Which one?” Brooke asked.
“What difference does it make?”
“If he was shopping for lingerie, then it probably means he’s got a main squeeze.”
“Brooke!”
She sipped her water and wished she’d ordered something stronger. This could be a long evening. “Mother, I’ve told you, I’m not in the market. I’m not interested in finding a man.”
“Nonsense. You really should meet this one. He’s just darling. Such a gentleman. Walked me to my car, carried my packages for me. What a dear!”
Brooke refrained from making a diagnosis and focused on buttering her roll. She’d made the mistake once, and only once, of actually meeting one of her mother’s prime candidates. For years after that Felicia had thrown that disastrous date into her face, saying, “If only you’d given Sterling a chance…”
“Well, of course, I understand why you’re not interested.” Her mother touched her left earlobe as if to check and make sure her three-carat diamond earring hadn’t been lost or stolen. “Not after the weekend you had!”
Alarm bells sounded in Brooke’s head. Damn. She knew.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me the second you got home to tell me all about it. I had to hear it from Lisbeth Mabry. She saw it on the ten-o’clock news. Of course, I said it couldn’t be my daughter. What would you be doing shopping at a retail shop? But she was adamant.
“Then I understood perfectly what you were doing there. You weren’t shopping for boots or jeans. You were shopping for a man!” Her mother gave a victorious grin. “Finally!”
Her mother took a celebratory sip of wine. “Matt Cutter. Now, he’s a catch. Wait till the women at the country club hear that my daughter has caught the richest man in Texas. They’ll be perfectly ill with jealousy.”
Brooke’s temples began pounding.
“Now,” her mother continued, “it makes sense why you wouldn’t want to go out with some man your mother has found for you when you’ve got one of your own.” She leaned forward, breaking one of her cardinal rules by resting her forearm on the edge of the table. Her azure-blue contacts glittered with excitement. “So tell me all about this Matt Cutter.”
“What makes you think I have him? Er, could have?” Or want him? She didn’t, of course.
“You could have any man you wanted. If you put your mind to it.”
“You mean, if I set a trap for him.”
“A trap.” She tsked. “Having your hair and nails done is not a trap. It’s garnish. Simply shows a man you’re willing to go the extra mile to please him. Clothes are simply an accessory to lure them in, make them appreciate what’s—” she lowered her voice to a whisper “—underneath.”
“You know, Mother, some women don’t live their lives in order to please a man.”
Felicia dismissed that statement with a wave of her hand. It was an inconceivable thought, especially when she considered Brooke’s career-minded focus vulgar. “Tell me about Matt Cutter. Or does he prefer to be called Matthew?”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Except that he wants to marry me. For some bizarre reason that she couldn’t fathom. And she didn’t plan to find out more. She certainly wasn’t about to tell her mother that juicy tidbit.
In fact, maybe she’d dreamed the whole thing. Which actually seemed even more ludicrous to her. Or maybe he’d been trifling with her. A bored rich boy’s game.
“He seems absolutely dreamy. Charming and debonaire.”
“You mean rich.” Actually, Matt’s money made her want to run the other way. Money had never made her mother content or deliriously happy. In fact, it seemed to only make her hungrier for more and set her sights on a better “catch.”
“I meant he’s definitely husband material.” Always mindful of calories and her waistline, Felicia delicately picked at her salad, careful not to dab too much dressing on the spinach. “He seems perfect for you.”
“Why would you say that?” To Brooke, Matt was her total opposite. They were from different worlds, had different goals in life and had by some weird strike of providence been thrown together in a bizarre circumstance. It meant nothing.
Then why does your heart pound every time you think about him?
It doesn’t!
But she knew it did.
Felicia set her fork on the side of the china plate and gave her daughter that direct gaze that meant Now listen to me, young lady! “For one thing, you could quit that job of yours.”
She stared in horror at her mother. Where did she get these ideas? “Why would I want to do that? I love my job. Besides, it’s not a job, it’s my career. My passion. My mission.”
Her mother looked as if she’d eaten something distasteful. “Passion is for candlelight and romance. Not trying to fix snotty-nosed kids’ problems. I hate the fact that you have to visit those depressing places.”
“Like hospitals and orphanages?”
“Precisely. They make you morose. No one wants a melancholy wife.”
Brooke refrained from rolling her eyes. She wondered if Matt felt the same way about Jeffrey and the orphanage. But he hadn’t appeared to look upon the small child with pity or anything else. In fact, he’d seemed perfectly at home. He’d actually asked about her patient later.
More important, would he really donate a million dollars if she agreed to marry him…or as he’d phrased it enter into a temporary engagement? Did money mean so little to him that he could toss it around like confetti? Or was it a way to ease his conscience for having so much when others had so little?
Not that it really mattered. She doubted she would ever see Matt Cutter again. Even if he had promised to keep in touch. What did a promise mean to him, anyway? Men like him made promises the way most people made coffee, often and without much thought. Matt’s promise was probably as empty as his marriage proposal. A temporary proposal, of all things!
“Well, don’t get your hopes up, Mother. I don’t think I’ll be seeing Mr. Cutter again.” She was absolutely sure of it.
“Why on earth not? You know, Brooke, it’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one.”
“And just as easy to fall out of love, right, Mother?” Her teeth clenched in exasperation. “I don’t want to fall in love at all.”
“Nonsense. You don’t know what you’re missing.” She twirled her new wedding ring around her finger. “Love is Heaven here on Earth.”
“That’s why you’ve been to divorce court so many times, right?”
“Well…” Her mother clamped her lips together.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I shouldn’t have said that. But you don’t seem to understand that I don’t want a husband. I don’t want Matt Cutter.”
Liar!
“Your two-o’clock appointment has arrived, Dr. Watson,” Jennifer’s voice came over the intercom in her usual clipped, impersonal tone.
Brooke scanned her desk. “I don’t have a file on that patient. Could you bring it in first?”
“He’s new,” Jennifer explained.
Releasing the tension in her neck, Brooke rotated her head to the side. She liked to be prepared for each patient. “I still need a file. What’s his name?”
“Matthew Cutter.”
Her heart stopped, then jolted forward like a runaway train. What was he doing here? Delivering her boots? Or was he going to propose again?
No, she’d decided she’d misunderstood him. He didn’t want to marry her, temporarily or permanently, any more than she wanted him.
“He’s not a patient,” she said, deciding right then not to admit him to her office.
He was a nuisance.
A headache.
Definite trouble.
She pushed away from her desk and headed toward the closed door to her office that led to the reception area. She didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but she wasn’t playing any longer. Before she jerked the door open, she paused to smooth the wrinkles out of her suit skirt.
God, she wished she’d taken her mother’s advice and bought a new pair of shoes. Maybe with a bit more of a heel to accent her legs. And look at her hands! She could use a manicure or at least some lotion. What about her makeup? She should have at least stuck her lipstick in her purse this morning.
Are you nuts? Look at you! Primping as if you’re about to meet Prince Charming!
Prince Charming, my foot. It was Matt Cutter. He was a spoiled man with obviously too much time and money on his hands.
But a good-looking man if she’d ever seen one.
What are you thinking?
Trouble was that she wasn’t thinking. She was reacting, like a hormone-raging teen about to meet Ricky Martin. And she had the simple solution. She wouldn’t see Matt Cutter. She’d let her secretary handle it. He could take his appointment and—
She eased open the door.
“Jennifer,” she whispered, hearing the desperation in her own voice. Self-preservation, she corrected. “Get rid of him—”
Then her gaze met Matt’s grin. Damn!
“Now, why would you want to get rid of me?” First one broad shoulder, then the other squeezed into her office. He stepped inside as if he owned the place. “After all, I did as you asked. I didn’t surprise you this time. I made an appointment. And—” he checked his watch, mimicking the way she had over a week ago in the orphanage parking lot “—you owe me the next hour.”
She gulped. An hour with Matt Cutter! Her heart fluttered, and she clenched her hands. She wouldn’t allow him to affect her that way. Any way. “What do you want?”
He closed the door behind him and gave the bright garish decor geared more toward kids than adults a once-over. “I thought I made that clear last time. I want…need you.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/leanna-wilson/the-third-kiss/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.