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Cinderella's Tycoon
Caroline Cross


THE BUSINESS TYCOON"Honor" was Texas tycoon Sterling Churchill's middle name. So when a mix-up at the local sperm bank unexpectedly made him a father-to-be, he gallantly stepped forward to marry shy beauty Susan Wilkins. It was a marriage in name only - until he gave his bride a soul-spinning kiss.Now his new wife was carrying his child and wearing a look of pure splendor. Could tough-as-nails Sterling open the rusty doors of his heart… and turn pumpkins into coaches for his Cinderella bride?Five wealthy Texas bachelors - all members of the state's most exclusive club - set out on a mission to rescue a princess… and find true love.







Letter to Reader (#u10f48895-98b8-51c4-9d6b-62b3b79c8a20)Title Page (#u85a509f5-3d2e-5795-99ea-b74b780a9c6c)Dedication (#uc39ae3b6-e79e-5152-9df0-ab121dab7324)Acknowledgments (#u392c8215-e23d-50a5-8c6a-c35bc47d967c)CAROLINE CROSS (#u3a80b6c2-1ecd-5639-be07-d85d8f68907b)“What’s Happening in Royal?” (#u5c79b02c-da4f-5fda-a3dd-8e21dda155c4)Chapter One (#uc98d1e96-0d1b-5edb-8057-1c3f983bccb4)Chapter Two (#uc9f17ec8-2f09-5e8e-a79c-67d958e59909)Chapter Three (#uc2a1dadf-f311-5a36-8706-48daece590a3)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)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Teaser chapter (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


This month, in CINDERELLA’S TYCOON

by Caroline Cross, meet Sterling Churchill—CEO

of Churchill Enterprises. Nothing seems too big a

challenge for steely Sterling, until he finds himself

marrying Susan Wilkins—a plain-Jane librarian

who wants only to have her baby in peace in this

modern-day Cinderella love story!

SILHOUETTE DESIRE

IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE






Five wealthy Texas bachelors—all members

of the state’s most exclusive club—set out on a

mission to rescue a princess...and find true love.

And don’t miss BILLIONAIRE BRIDEGROOM

by Peggy Moreland, next month’s installment

of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, available in

Silhouette Desire!


Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire—where you’re guaranteed powerful, passionate and provocative love stories that feature rugged heroes and spirited heroines who experience the full emotional intensity of falling in love!

Wonderful and ever-popular Annette Broadrick brings us September’s MAN OF THE MONTH with Lean, Mean & Lonesome. Watch as a tough loner returns home to face the woman he walked away from but never forgot.

Our exciting continuity series TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB continues with Cinderella’s Tycoon by Caroline Cross. Charismatic CEO Sterling Churchill marries a shy librarian pregnant with his sperm-bank baby—and finds love.

Proposition: Marriage is what rising star Eileen Wilks offers when the girl-next-door comes alive in the arms of an alpha hero. Beloved romance author Fayrene Preston makes her Desire debut with The Barons of Texas: Tess, featuring a beautiful heiress who falls in love with a sexy stranger. The popular theme BACHELORS & BABIES returns to Desire with Metsy Hingle’s Dad in Demand. And Barbara McCauley’s miniseries SECRETS! continues with the dramatic story of a mysterious millionaire in Killian’s Passion.

So make a commitment to sensual love—treat yourself to all six September love stones from Silhouette Desire!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to.

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S : 3010 Walden Ave, P.O Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3


Cinderella’s Tycoon

Caroline Cross










www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To the other Texas Cattleman’s Club ladies:

Dixie Browning, Peggy Moreland, Metsy Hingle and

Cindy Gerard, four exceptional writers whose considerable

talents are matched only by their generous hearts.


Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

Caroline Cross for her contribution to the

Texas Cattleman’s Club miniseries.


CAROLINE CROSS

always loved to read, but it wasn’t until she discovered romance that she felt compelled to write, fascinated by the chance to explore the positive power of love in people’s lives. She grew up in Yakima, Washington, the “Apple Capital of the World,” attended the University of Puget Sound and now lives outside Seattle, where she works (or tries to) at home despite the chaos created by two telephone-addicted teenage daughters and a husband with a fondness for home-improvement projects. An award-winning author who’s been called “one of the best” writers of romance today by Romantic Times Magazine, Caroline believes in writing from the heart—and having a good brainstorming partner. She loves hearing from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 47375, Seattle, Washington, 98146.


“What’s Happening in Royal?”

NEWS FLASH, September 1999—Royal, Texas, is reeling from the news that illustrious business tycoon Mr. Sterling Churchill, CEO of Churchill Enterprises, has recently married Miss Susan Wilkins, librarian of the Royal Public Library, in a private ceremony at the city courthouse. Obviously, this was a whirlwind courtship!

Miss Wilkins was seen a number of times entering the Buddy Clinic—local lingo for the Buddy Williams Clinic for Reproductive Technology. Could it be a baby is the reason for the Churchills’ surprise nuptials?

And just who is that regal blonde suddenly spotted waitressing at the Royal Diner? Do our Texas Cattleman’s Club members have anything to do with her mysterious appearance from no one knows where? Our sources will tell you soon....


One

The telephone was ringing.

Head down, arms braced against the slick white shower tile, Sterling Churchill tensed at the shrill sound, the muscles in his back tightening reflexively beneath the pounding spray.

Why the hell doesn’t Maxine get that? he wondered irritably a second before he remembered he was alone in the house. His return from Obersbourg earlier than planned had sent his housekeeper rushing off to the grocery store, muttering crossly under her breath about a certain person’s lack of consideration.

Sterling snorted. After ten years in his employ, Max damn well ought to know he would have called if it had been feasible. As it was, he was just glad to be home, in one piece, the mission successfully completed. To the relief of everyone involved, Princess Anna and young William were now here safely in Royal, Texas.

He yawned. While the first part of the rescue had mostly involved a lot of time-consuming research and planning, once they’d put their plan into motion, things had happened fast. As a consequence, for the past week he’d operated on too little sleep and too much adrenaline, and it was finally taking its toll. As he’d unsuccessfully tried to tell Maxine when he’d gotten in that morning, he didn’t care about food. All he wanted was a long hot shower and sleep.

Not that he was complaining. Lately his life had seemed increasingly empty, and he’d welcomed the break in his routine. He wasn’t sure what it said about his character, but he’d relished the challenge of getting the princess out of Obersbourg, the small, elite country in Europe that was her homeland. And he had to admit that, despite the potential danger, he’d also enjoyed the adrenaline rush of eluding the Palace Guard as their small group—he, Greg Hunt and Forrest Cunningham, the princess and her little boy—made their way to the small, private airfield where their plane had been waiting.

Of course, the point was they had gotten away, he acknowledged with a grim smile. And it was a damn good thing. He didn’t have a doubt that their involvement would have sparked an international incident had they been intercepted. Or that Prince Ivan of Asterland—the man determined to marry Princess Anna—would have pressed to see them jailed and prosecuted. It was just too bad for Ivan that they’d succeeded...

The phone continued to ring. Five, six, seven times—

Abruptly out of patience, Sterling straightened, turned off the water and shoved open the door. His feet barely touched the thick white throw rug as he launched himself across the marble floor. Snatching a burgundy bath sheet off the heated rack, he wrapped it around his waist and stormed into his oversize bedroom, stopping before the inlaid table next to the bed. He snatched up the receiver. “What?”

Dead silence was his answer. Thoroughly disgusted, he began to hang up, only to hesitate as a voice suddenly squawked, “Hello? Mr. Churchill?”

He brought the receiver back to his ear. “That’s right. Who’s this?”

“It’s Mike Tarlick. Margaret’s son?”

Some of his tension drained away. Margaret Tarlick had worked as a secretary in Sterling’s main office at Churchill Enterprises until a car accident had left her seriously injured two years earlier. Tempering his voice, he said a trace more cordially, “Of course. Hey, Mike. How’s your mother?”

“She’s doing fine. She loves the new job, and it sounds as if she’s even going to get a promotion.”

Sterling stifled a yawn and glanced longingly at the vast expanse of his king-size bed. “That’s great.”

“We really can’t thank you enough. If you hadn’t continued to pay her salary and kept up her insurance and found her this new position—”

“It was no big deal,” Sterling said uncomfortably. If there was one thing he hated, it was being thanked for doing the right thing. “Your mama’s a real nice lady and a real hard worker. I just gave her a little head start. What can I do for you?”

“Actually it’s what I can do for you, Mr. Churchill. I’m working as a tech at the Buddy Clinic these days, and I overheard something I think you ought to know.”

Sterling scowled, his mood instantly deteriorating. The Buddy Clinic was local lingo for the Buddy Williams’ Clinic for Reproductive Technology. Ever since Sterling’s marriage had gone bust, he’d done his level best to put the fertility clinic’s existence out of his mind, associating it as he did with his most bitter personal failure.

“You understand, I could lose my job if Mrs. Richey ever finds out I called you,” Mike went on, his voice growing anxious as he mentioned the clinic’s director. “But I just thought...after what you did for Mom... this is something you have a right to know.”

Sterling seriously doubted there was anything Margaret’s son could tell him that he didn’t already know. He and Teresa had undergone every test known to mankind, and the clinic still had been unable to come up with a reason why they couldn’t conceive. Nevertheless... “You’ve got my word that I won’t tell anyone I talked to you.” Despite his level tone, he had a hard time stifling his impatience. After the past few weeks, he’d had all the intrigue he could handle.

“Good.” Mike’s relief was audible. “Because the thing is, I’m breaking all the rules of confidentiality...”

“Just tell me,” Sterling said tiredly.

Mike took a deep breath. “Okay. I overheard two of the nurses talking. It seems there was a mix-up. A patient came in to be artificially inseminated and somehow the lab misread the code on the storage vial. The donor specimen that was used was...yours.”

“What?” Sterling’s head snapped up; his exhaustion suddenly forgotten.

“I don’t know what happened, Mr. Churchill, honest. Everyone here is always so careful. Normally everything is checked and double-checked, but that day the regular lab manager was out sick and they had some temporary help filling in and—” he took a deep breath “—I I wouldn’t have bothered you, except that I pulled the chart and the test came back positive and I thought you ought to know.”

Sterling forced himself to concentrate as he tried to sort through the avalanche of information. Finally he said carefully, “What test came back positive?”

“The pregnancy test,” the young man said matter-of-factly.

For a second Sterling couldn’t seem to breathe. “The woman is pregnant?”

“Yeah. That’s why I thought you ought to know. I mean, I’m sure Mrs. Richey intends to tell you, but first she’ll want to meet with the lawyers and—”

“Mike?” Damn. Dammit all to hell. Some stranger was going to have his baby? And he wasn’t even supposed to know? Sterling took a deep breath, deliberately loosened the death grip he had on the phone and tried to sound calm. “What’s the pregnant woman’s name, Mike?”

“Oh, I don’t think...that is, I’m sure Mrs. Richey will want to be the one to tell you...”

Sterling squeezed his eyes shut. “Please. I’d consider it a personal favor.”

There was another silence, the longest so far, and then Mike Tarlick said with obvious reluctance, “I really shouldn’t do this, but I guess...I mean, I suppose you have the right to know. It’s Wilkins. Susan Wilkins.”

The name seemed vaguely familiar. Sterling struggled to put a face with it. For a moment nothing surfaced, and then it came to him. Susan Wilkins was that nondescript little redhead who worked at the library, the one who was a friend of Callie Langley’s.

“Mr. Churchill? Are you there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I am. I appreciate the call, Mike. I won’t forget it. Thanks.”

“You’re wel—”

Sterling dropped the receiver into the cradle, uncaring that he’d cut the young man off. Ripping the towel free of his waist, he strode toward the huge walk-in closet, his mind whirling.

Like it or not, sleep would have to wait. Not only did he have a call to make at the fertility clinic, but—more important—he had urgent business with a certain redheaded librarian.

Susan Wilkins strolled slowly along the sidewalk.

Stopping briefly before Cachet, the most exclusive of the many chic boutiques that lined Royal’s Main Street, she took a moment to admire a sleek, pricey lilac-colored sheath on display in the window.

It was going on six o’clock. And despite a sluggish breeze that halfheartedly rattled the leaves on the big oak tree that stood sentinel down the street by Claire’s, the town’s best French restaurant, it was hot. The heat seemed to rise right off the concrete, burning through the soles of her worn leather flats and causing a trickle of perspiration to roll down her back. She could hardly wait to get home, take off her shoes, strip off her panty hose and exchange her work clothes for a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt.

Yet she didn’t hurry. And not because of the heat or her aching feet, which were courtesy of the two hours of overtime she’d put in at the Royal Public Library. Nor even because of the bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to weigh at her like an invisible anchor. And certainly not because of the dress. As pretty as it was, she had far more important things to spend her hard-earned money on.

Instead she stayed where she was a little longer simply to savor the day. She admired the dress and basked in the brightness of the vast blue sky overhead. She drank in the sounds of the people coming and going around her and inhaled the faint scent of freshly cut grass coming from Royalty Park a few blocks away.

When she finally did resume walking, she couldn’t help smiling a little at her uncharacteristic dreaminess. Or reflecting that lately she seemed to be floating on a secret sea of happiness. She’d felt this way for the past three weeks, ever since her pregnancy test had turned out to be positive. Finally, finally, her dream was coming true. She was going to have a baby.

She didn’t kid herself that it was going to be easy. Money would be tight, and although the library allowed for an adequate maternity leave, she already dreaded the thought of leaving her child when the time came to go back to work. Still, it would be all right. Money wasn’t everything, and she was rich in what mattered most: She had an abundance of love to share.

Besides, it wasn’t as if this was a decision she’d come to lightly. She’d been considering it for years. And, as she’d told Mrs. Richey at the clinic, not only wasn’t there a man in her life, but at twenty-eight, she wasn’t getting any younger. Now that she’d finally been promoted to assistant head librarian, paid off the last of her college loans and managed to put aside a modest nest egg, the timing seemed right.

Thinking of Mrs. Richey made her remember that she’d forgotten to return the woman’s phone call. It had come right at closing, when she’d been busy checking out last-minute patrons, and had simply gone right out of her head. She couldn’t contain a smile. So far, a tendency toward forgetfulness and this constant exhaustion seemed to be the chief symptoms of her condition. Telling herself it could be worse—at least she didn’t have morning sickness—she made a note to call the clinic director first thing in the morning.

Catching sight of her tiny rental house, she finally picked up her pace, only to falter as she caught sight of the man planted on her small front stoop.

Her stomach did a flip-flop. It was Sterling Churchill. Although she didn’t know him personally—she didn’t exactly move in the same social circles as powerful, self-made millionaires and men like him didn’t patronize the public library—she knew who he was. How could she not? Not only was he a civic leader and a member of the prestigious Texas Cattleman’s Club, like her friend Callie’s new husband, Hank, but in a town the size of Royal, he was hard to overlook. She knew that he was in his mid-thirties, that as the CEO of Churchill Enterprises he had holdings in everything from cattle futures to oil wells, that he’d been married and was now divorced.

She also knew that he was big, dark and...compelling.

A wave of heat that had nothing to do with the weather rolled through her. She recalled the questionnaire she’d been required to fill out for the clinic, listing the qualities she wanted in her baby’s father. The personality part had been the most important, of course. On it she’d stated that she wanted somebody kind, gentle and honorable, like her own father.

But there’d also been a section for physical attributes. She shifted uncomfortably on the hot pavement as she acknowledged that when she’d requested someone tall, lean and imposing, with dark hair, light eyes, chiseled features and a graceful way of moving, she might have been describing Sterling.

Yet there was no way he could know about that. Could he? No, of course not. Nobody but the people at the clinic even knew she was expecting. And though she’d told Callie what she’d done, she trusted her friend to have kept her secret.

So what could he possibly want?

Before she had time to venture a guess he turned and caught sight of her. His gaze flicked over her, and something in his expression made her self-conscious. She glanced down at her mauve jumper, acknowledging that perhaps the calf-length hem and voluminous skirt weren’t the most fashionable, and that the color might not have been the wisest choice for someone with her pale skin and auburn hair. And it probably didn’t help that the hair in question was escaping its careful coil. Raising a hand, she wasn’t surprised to find that the slippery mass was listing sharply to one side, while wisps snaked down her neck and tickled her temples and ears.

Still, that was hardly a reason for her visitor’s jaw to suddenly bunch the way it did. Nor did it explain the decidedly cool note coloring his Texas drawl—so much more melodic than her own Northern diction—as he said gruffly, “Ms. Wilkins?”

As so often happened, shyness stole her tongue. Embarrassed, she ducked her head, and tried desperately to relax. After all, in roughly seven months she was going to be somebody’s mother. How could she hope to take care of a child, if she couldn’t handle a simple conversation?

Swallowing, she lifted her chin. “Hello, Mr. Churchill. May I help you?” Oh, brilliant, Susan. You sound like the order taker at a fast-food restaurant.

“We need to talk.”

“We do?”

He gave her a don’t-waste-my-time look. “We do.”

Biting her lip, she crossed the sun-burned lawn and stopped before the single step to look up at him. Casually dressed in boots, jeans, a navy polo shirt and the Stetson that Susan sometimes thought was required dress for every man in Texas, he had an innate elegance that made her more aware than ever of her own woeful state. Clearing her throat, she said, “Is this about Callie and Hank? Are they okay?”

He stared at her blankly, then gave an impatient shrug. “As far as I know. Last I heard, they were still on their honeymoon.”

“Thank goodness.” She gave a sigh of relief and tried to explain the reason for her question. “I just thought, since we both know them, that you must be here because something had happened.”

“It has. But not to them.” He motioned toward the door with an abrupt jerk of his head. “Why don’t we go inside?”

It was more an order than a request. Yet staring up into his cool gray eyes, she couldn’t find the nerve to refuse. “All right.” Glad for an excuse to look away, she fumbled in her purse for her house key.

She stepped up onto the stoop, sidled past him and unlocked her door. He was so close she could smell him, and the unfamiliar combination of aftershave, freshly laundered clothes and something else that was uniquely male made her hand tremble on the doorknob.

She walked gratefully into her dim little living room. It felt reassuringly familiar, not to mention refreshingly cool after the outside heat. Setting her purse on the small table next to the couch, she turned to face her guest, taking a surprised step back as she found he was standing right behind her, hat in hand. She sent him a tremulous smile. “Can I—can I get you something to drink?”

He didn’t smile back. “No.”

Suddenly desperate for a glass of water—her throat was so dry it was hard to swallow, and she really could use a moment to herself—she backed toward the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind if I get something for myself—”

“I understand you’re not married,” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“Do you have a boyfriend? Someone you care about?”

She. stopped in her tracks and gawked at him. “I hardly think that’s your concern,” she said faintly.

“It is if you’re having a baby. Are you?” He spoke as if he had every right to ask such a question.

“Mr. Churchill. Really!”

He took a step toward her. “Are you?”

Although she cautiously took a step back, his very intensity compelled her to answer. “Yes. Yes, I am. But how did you...that is where did you...” How could he possibly know? After all, Mrs. Richey had assured her of the clinic’s strict rules of confidentiality, unless—oh! The phone call! That must be it. There must have been some sort of security breach and—

“It’s mine.”

She stared at him, certain she hadn’t heard right. “What?”

“The baby. It’s mine,” he said flatly.

For half a second the room seemed to constrict, and then her common sense kicked in. She shook her head. “No. It most certainly is not. You—you—you’re—” Crazy.

Of course! She felt overwhelming relief, followed by a rush of compassion and a smidgen of regret as the harmless romantic fantasy she’d woven about him completely unraveled. Nevertheless, his being “confused” was the only rational explanation. Drawing a deep breath to steady herself, she said gently but firmly, “You’re mistaken, Mr. Churchill. I don’t know where you got this idea, but I assure you you’re wrong.”

“You’re not pregnant?”

“Well, yes, I am, but—”

“Then it’s mine.”

“No,” she said more sharply than she intended. “I mean—how could it be? I’ve never... And you and I most certainly have never...” Out of the blue, her imagination served up a brief but steamy vision of the two of them creating a baby the old-fashioned way. Mortified, she felt a betraying flush of heat rise in her cheeks. “That is, we’ve never even spoken before today,” she said hastily.

“There was a mix-up at the clinic. My semen was used in your procedure.”

She shook her head. “No—”

“Yes,” he contradicted, his voice suddenly harsh. “How the hell do you think I know about this? About you?”

His vehemence silenced her. The truth was there, not only in what he said but in his grim face. “Oh, dear. Oh, my. It can’t be. There must be a mistake. This is my baby. Mine...”

“Not anymore. Now it’s ours.”

Whether it was the shock, the heat or his alarming words, she suddenly felt faint. Black spots danced before her eyes and the room began to whirl around her. She must have swayed, because the next thing she knew he was at her side. Ignoring her cry of protest, he slid one big muscular arm around her back, slipped the other under her knees and lifted her into his arms.

If Susan hadn’t already felt faint, his sudden proximity would have done it. Cradled against his broad chest, she was bombarded by foreign sensations. There was his warmth, the steely strength of his body, the solid beat of his heart against her breast. She squeezed her eyes shut, awash in contradictory feelings. Part of her wanted him to put her down this instant. But another part, shameless and unfamiliar, had an awful desire to snuggle closer. Confused, she gave a grateful sigh as he leaned over and she felt the nubby surface of her couch against the backs of her legs.

Without a word, he sat beside her and forced her head toward her knees. “Breathe,” he ordered.

She nodded, doing as he said until the world quit spinning. “I’m sorry,” she murmured finally, shrugging off his hand and sitting upright. “I’m not usually a fainter. It’s just... I can’t seem to take it in...” Swallowing, she turned to look at him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Positive. I just spent an hour with Margaret Richey. There’s no question. The child you’re carrying is mine.”

A dozen questions immediately popped into her mind. Like, why had the clinic told him before they’d told her? Wasn’t there some sort of rule that she had to be notified first? As far as that went, shouldn’t Mrs. Richey have come in person to tell her, instead of allowing Sterling to deliver the news?

Yet those things could all be answered later. Right now, the only question that mattered was the one she was most terrified to have answered. “Why—” she had to stop and clear her throat “—why are you here? What do you want?”

“I told you. We need to talk.”

As an answer, that was hardly illuminating. She considered him, trying to read his emotions and drawing a blank. Whatever he felt, he didn’t let it show on his face. He simply looked...remote. And very formidable. “I—I won’t make any claim on you,” she said slowly, wondering if that was at the heart of his reserve. “I mean, I know you have money, but this doesn’t really have anything to do with you. It was entirely my decision and I’m more than prepared to take full responsibility—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, no. Biologically this child is half mine. Not only do I expect to take my share of the responsibility, but—” for the first time he hesitated, if only for a second “—I’m willing to take all the responsibility.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you’ll give me the child, I’ll see to it that it has everything it could possibly need.”

She could feel her eyes widen as his meaning sank in. She jumped to her feet. “No!” Agitation stripped away the last trace of her normal reserve. “I could never do that. This is my baby! I’ve waited and planned and dreamed about having it, and I’m not giving it up. Not to you or anybody!”

He stared stonily at her, then leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms. “All right. We’ll get married.”

“What?”

“We’ll get married,” he repeated. “It’s probably better, anyway. Kids ought to have two parents.”

She’d been right earlier. He was crazy. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even know you!”

He climbed to his feet, once again towering over her. “Then it’s time you start. And what you’d better understand is, that’s my kid you’re carrying, most likely my son, and I’m not going to stand on the sidelines, with no say in his upbringing, while he spends most of his life either alone or with a baby-sitter while you struggle to support him. So you can either marry me—or I’ll sue you for custody. Your choice. Although—” he took a pointed look around, his gray eyes unreadable as he examined her minuscule living room with its worn furnishings “—I think it’s only fair to point out that you’d have a mighty slim chance of winning.”

Susan stared at him. It was clear from his implacable expression that he meant every word he said. Still, the whole idea was crazy. Marriage was meant to be the kind of loving, trusting relationship her parents had enjoyed, not an alternative to being sued, for heaven’s sake.

Still, he was right about one thing. In the best of all possible worlds, a child should have two parents to love it. Not that she agreed with his crazy proposal. She couldn’t possibly marry him. The whole idea was preposterous.

Yet his expression made it clear that he expected her to acquiesce. “I—I’ll need some time to think about it,” she hedged instead, trying to buy herself some time until she could come up with a better solution.

His eyes narrowed. “No. Nothing is going to change, and I don’t want people counting on their fingers when our child is born. It’s going to be touch and go as it is.”

“But what if something happens? It’s still early in the pregnancy yet. Something could go wrong...”

“We’ll deal with that if it happens.”

“Oh, but—”

“Look, I’m not exactly wild about this myself.” For half a second, a bleak look came over his face. Then his expression hardened. “But it is the best solution. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’m not some sort of wife beater or anything. I promise I’ll take good care of you and the baby. You won’t have to worry about anything.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but still...”

“Yes or no?” he said intractably.

“I...”

“Choose.”

Oh! What should she do? Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to envision marriage to Sterling—and failed. She had no trouble, however, picturing the two of them in court. In her mind, she could see him surrounded by high-priced lawyers as some faceless judge banged a gavel down and awarded him custody of her baby. “I...I—yes,” she whispered.

“Good.” He was suddenly brusque. “How does tomorrow sound to you?”

Her eyes popped open. “For what?”

“The ceremony. Judge Lester’s a friend of mine. I’m sure he’ll be glad to do it.”

“But I have to work!”

“Call in and tell them you quit,” he commanded. “I’ve got more than enough money for the both of us, and in your condition you shouldn’t be on your feet anyway.”

She gazed at him in shock, stunned by how casually he was rearranging her entire life. “But—but—I can’t!”

“You have family you need to call? Just tell me who it is, and I’ll have them flown in.”

“No,” she said faintly. “There’s nobody.”

He crossed his arms. “Then what’s the holdup?”

“It’s...” She tried desperately to think of an answer other than it’s too soon, pretty certain it would get her nowhere. “I don’t have anything to wear,” she said lamely.

“Huh.” Without another word, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a money clip, peeled off some bills and thrust them at her. “Here.”

“Oh; no. I can’t—”

“Take it.” His gaze touched briefly on her dress, then came back to her face. “Go out and buy yourself something pretty.”

“Oh, but—”

“Unless something changes, I’ll come by tomorrow at twelve forty-five to pick you up.”

She thought of all the things she had to do. She’d have to call her landlord, her boss and the clinic. Luckily the house had come furnished, but the refrigerator and the cupboards would still have to be cleaned out. She’d have to call to turn off her utilities. And find time to shop for a new dress. And, of course she’d have to pack...

She fought off a fresh wave of exhaustion. Taken all together, it was close to overwhelming. She was going to need every minute she had. “No. Please. I’ll—I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “One o’clock, the county courthouse. The judge’s chambers are on the second floor.” He searched her face. He must have seen her uncertainty, because he said abruptly, “Give me your word you’ll be there, Susan.”

She stared back at him, stung as she saw the distrust in his eyes. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

“All right.” With a stiff nod, he settled his hat on his head and strode toward the door, where he smacked the screen open with his palm and was gone.

Susan stared dazedly after him. Oh, dear. It appeared she was getting married.

Whether she wanted to or not.


Two

She wasn’t coming.

Sterling paced restlessly along the courthouse hallway. Although the air was cool thanks to the air-conditioning, he’d managed to work up a sweat. As a result, he’d loosened his tie and tossed his navy suit coat over a corridor chair a while ago. Now, stripped down to his shirtsleeves and vest, he glanced at his wristwatch for what felt like the umpteenth time, then stalked over to glare out the bank of windows that overlooked the building’s main entrance.

It was 1:10 and there wasn’t a redhead in sight.

“Mr. Churchill?”

He swiveled around, recognizing the voice of Judge Lester’s clerk. “Yes?”

The young man hesitated. “I don’t mean to worry you, but I thought I’d better mention that His Honor is due back in court at two. If your fiancée is delayed much longer, I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule.”

“No problem. She should be here any minute.”

Apparently he sounded more confident than he felt, because the clerk readily nodded. “Good. But as soon as she arrives, if you could come straight inside, we’ll get started.”

“Fine.” The instant the younger man disappeared back through the door into the judge’s chambers, Sterling whipped around to once more scan the sidewalk down below.

Nothing. He swore under his breath. Susan Wilkins wasn’t coming and it was his own damn fault. He never should have agreed to let her get to the courthouse on her own. For that matter, he never should have let her out of his sight. His instinct—the one that had lifted him out of a childhood of near-poverty and made him a millionaire before he turned thirty—had urged him to close this deal while he could. He should have listened to it, should have heeded the inner voice of experience that had warned him that speed was of the essence.

Because, while there was no way for Ms. Wilkins to know that he would never take a child away from its mother, by now she might have figured out that a court was far more likely to order him to pay support than grant him custody.

Then again, why would she settle for half the pie when she could have it all? She’d made it clear yesterday that she knew he had money. And, though he knew his attorney was going to have a coronary when he found out, Sterling had deliberately chosen not to ask for a prenup so that by marrying him, she’d have a direct claim on his wealth—a fact he’d counted on to work in his favor.

He grimaced. It appeared he’d thought wrong. It appeared that if he had the brains God gave a Hereford, he would have called the judge from her dingy little living room yesterday and taken care of everything then and there.

Of course, he had been practically out on his feet. And there was no guarantee that the judge would’ve been available. Or that he could have arranged things on such short notice. Hell, he’d had to pull strings to make this happen today.

Besides, Susan had given him her word she’d be here—

Aw, come on, Churchill, get real. Teresa promised to love, honor and cherish you for the rest of your life and you know how that turned out. When are you going to learn?

His face tightened at the reminder of his ex-wife. Bracing his hands against the windowsill, he hunched his shoulders and stared blindly out into the bright September sun, remembering the day she’d packed up and left him. He’d spent most of their marriage trying to make up to her for the child they couldn’t have. But it hadn’t been until that winter afternoon four years ago that he’d finally accepted that no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be enough to fill the void in her life. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, and he’d vowed, as he stood there and watched her drive away, that he would never again open himself up to such heartbreak.

So it wasn’t as if he wanted to get married. If it weren’t for the child, there wasn’t a tinker’s chance in hell he’d even consider it. But there was a child on the way. And not only did he want it with every fiber of his being, but he was damned if he was going to let it grow up the way he had, with no father and a mother who was too busy putting food on the table to bother with anything else.

A flurry of motion caught his attention. Glancing to his left, Sterling watched a woman hurriedly cross the street at the far corner and head in his direction. For a second his heart sped up as he saw that she had red hair, but it only took him an instant to realize it wasn’t his intended.

For one thing, instead of a dowdy auburn bun, this woman had a rich sorrel mane streaked with fiery strands of copper and chestnut that tumbled in sexy disarray past her slender shoulders.

For another, she was a real head-turner as she dashed along in a stylish lavender dress that skimmed her delicately curved body and strappy high heels that made her long, slim legs appear to go on forever.

He felt an unwanted tightening in his groin. In the next instant, he told himself firmly he was glad the woman wasn’t Susan, who, if yesterday was any indication, seemed to favor clothes that would make her a contender in a Frump of the Month competition.

Not that she was repulsive or anything. She had nice enough features. And good teeth. And what he’d been able to see of her body—arms, neck, ankles and feet—had been okay. Yet she was also totally forgettable, the sort of plain, unassuming female who would fade quietly into any background.

And Sterling was grateful. Hell, he was more than grateful, he was relieved. Having to get married was bad enough. While he meant every word he’d said when he told Susan he’d take good care of her, the last thing he wanted was to have feelings for her. When it came to women, he was done with any sort of tender emotions.

“Mr. Churchill?”

It was the clerk again. With an inner sigh, he turned. “What?”

“I really am afraid that we’re running out of time. We need to either get started or—”

Down the hall, the bell on the elevator pinged and the door slid open. Sterling glanced over, his attention momentarily arrested as the woman from the street stepped out. Clutching a small silver bag in delicate fingers, she took a hurried look around, her hair swinging around her like a fiery cloak.

Damned if something about her didn’t seem faintly familiar, he thought uneasily. He shifted his gaze back to the court clerk, determined to focus on what the man was saying—

“Sterling?”

That voice. It couldn’t be... He turned, his whole body going tight with disbelief.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” the vision in lavender said breathlessly, hurrying toward him. “Usually I’m right on time, but things took longer than they said at the salon, and then I couldn’t get a cab, and I walked as fast as I could, but I’m not used to wearing heels...” Coming to a halt before him, she bit her full lower lip, looking uncertain as their gazes met.

He stared at her in shock. “Susan?” Thanks to a subtle application of makeup, the same features that yesterday had seemed faded and nondescript, today were anything but Her dark brown eyes seemed huge, while the mouth that she was nervously nibbling the lipstick off appeared achingly erotic.

Judge Lester’s clerk clapped his hands together, his expression relieved. “You must be Miss Wilkins.” He gave Susan an approving once-over as she stood there looking both sexy and classy, a jacket that matched her dress draped stylishly over one slim, milky arm. “I’m so glad you made it. As I was just telling Mr. Churchill, we need to get started. If you’d both follow me, please?” He marched importantly toward the door.

Susan glanced uncertainly after him, then turned back to Sterling. “I truly am sorry I’m late. I hope you’re not angry.”

“Me? Angry? Hell, no.” He reached over, snagged his coat off the chair and yanked it on. “I just figured you weren’t coming.”

“What?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “But I promised.”

For some reason, the discovery that her word meant something to her was almost as unsettling as her incredible—and totally unwelcome—transformation. “Forget it. At least you’re here now. Shall we go in?”

“Oh, but—that is, if you could give me just one second—” Her movements hurried, she handed him her ridiculously little purse, then quickly slipped on her jacket, flipped her hair free of the collar and smoothed it back with her fingers.

A faint whiff of perfume enveloped him at her movement. The scent was as soft and evocative as she looked. To his horror, it was all he could do not to lean forward, press his lips to some silky patch of her and see if she tasted as good as she looked. Wondering what the hell was wrong with him, he impatiently yanked the knot on his tie into place—and nearly strangled himself.

“There.” Oblivious to his rapidly deteriorating mood, she carefully retrieved her purse from his rigid hands, took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

It’s about time. He took a step, then stopped. Reaching over he snatched his hat and the small gardenia bouquet he’d brought off the chair, thrusting the latter at her. “Here. These are for you.”

She looked at him in surprise, then slowly took the flowers and lifted them to her face. “Oh, Sterling, they’re lovely,” she breathed, her face lighting up in a way that was anything but plain. “Thank you.”

“It’s no big deal,” he said stiffly, motioning her to precede him down the hall. She gazed up at him, her lips parting as if she were going to say something, and then she seemed to lose her nerve. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and started toward the judge’s chambers.

Stubbornly resisting an unacceptable urge to check out the sway of her slender hips, Sterling took a fortifying breath and followed, his face grim.

Just for a second, he couldn’t remember why this had seemed like such a good idea ten minutes ago.

“...and so, by the power vested in me by the great state of Texas, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

His official duties fulfilled, Judge Lester rocked back on his heels, clapped Sterling on the back with one beefy hand and said jovially, “You know what that means, doncha, boy? That means you can finally pucker up and kiss your pretty little bride.” The jovial judge winked conspiratorially at Susan, then shifted his gaze to her husband. “Go on, now. This is no time to be shy.” Eyes twinkling, he waited expectantly.

Gathering her courage, Susan snuck an apprehensive glance at Sterling. Just as she feared, his good-looking face held a complete lack of enthusiasm for the judge’s suggestion.

Her spirits sank. For all his insistence that she marry him, he’d spent the past twenty minutes acting like the reluctant groom at a shotgun wedding. Curt and unsmiling, he’d suffered through introductions to the court reporter who was acting as a witness along with the clerk, and had only reluctantly made small talk with the judge. And though he’d said his vows in a clear voice without hesitation, he’d done it with all the warmth of a man reciting an arrest warrant.

It hadn’t exactly been the wedding of her dreams, either, Susan acknowledged wistfully. But then, it wasn’t supposed to be, she reminded herself, absently twisting the gleaming gold band on her ring finger. She was doing this for the baby. Hadn’t she been awake all night, considering her options? And hadn’t she decided that she wanted more for her child than a life on the run or a childhood shaped by a series of court battles?

Yes, absolutely. What’s more, there were genuine benefits to marrying Sterling. As he’d pointed out, two parents were better than one. Not only would her child have two people to love it, but it would also have someone else to depend on should anything happen to her.

She also realized that Sterling’s wealth was a plus. While she didn’t care about the money for herself, she realized he could provide numerous advantages for their child that she couldn’t—as much as it humbled her to admit it. And she couldn’t deny that she was thrilled at the prospect of actually getting to stay home and be a full-time mother.

So she supposed it also shouldn’t matter how Sterling felt about her.

But it did.

While she knew it was probably rather foolish of her, deep down she’d cherished the hope that he would be pleased she’d made an effort to look nice for him.

Of course, she hadn’t intended to do anything quite this drastic, she acknowledged, self-consciously pressing her lipsticked lips together. When she’d hesitantly walked into Cachet first thing this morning, she’d simply hoped to find something on sale that didn’t look too bad on her. She’d certainly never intended to confide to the elegant saleslady that she was getting married later that day. Or confess that her intended was everything she was not—attractive, important, self-confident—and that she wished, for his sake, that she was just a little bit pretty. And she’d most definitely never expected the saleslady to take her statement as a personal challenge.

But the woman had. Before Susan had known it, the saleslady had whisked her into a dressing room, ordered her to strip down to her undies, then studied her with a critical eye. Murmuring to herself about delicate lines, fabulous coloring and absolutely no fashion sense, she’d disappeared, then returned with an armful of beautiful clothing. In no time at all, Susan had found herself the owner of the lilac sheath she’d admired only the day before, a matching coat, some slacks, two pair of shorts, a trio of incredibly expensive little T-shirts—and some racy new lingerie that she hadn’t had the nerve to admit she probably wouldn’t be needing.

She’d also found herself escorted next door to the beauty salon. Refusing to take no for an answer, the saleslady—whom by then Susan had been calling Jeannette—had consulted with the stylist, explained what she wanted done and voilà! Two hours later, Susan had emerged several hundred dollars poorer, looking quite unlike her previous self.

She had to admit that she’d been quietly thrilled with her new look as she’d hurried along Royal’s streets toward the courthouse. At least now Sterling won’t have to be ashamed of me, she’d told herself as she recalled the pointedly reserved way he’d looked at her the previous day.

Not that she’d done it for him. She hadn’t. She’d done it for herself, because she was starting a whole new chapter in her life and she wanted to put her best foot forward.

And it was good that she felt the way she did, she thought ruefully, since Sterling hadn’t even seemed to notice her changed appearance.

“Susan?”

“Yes?” She glanced up, then froze as Sterling reached out, cupped her shoulders in his hands and lowered his head. Even though his intention was obvious, she was still unprepared for the foreign feel of his lips as they brushed against her cheek. Startled, she gave a little jerk of surprise and tipped her head.

Just like that they were mouth-to-mouth.

Susan drew in her breath. The last person to kiss her had been a fellow student her first year of college. He’d been no more than a boy, and it was a toss-up which of them had been more nervous and inexperienced.

But there was nothing boyish or inexperienced about her new husband. On the contrary, his lips were warm and firm, his hands were strong and steady, and his scent—the same clean, masculine one that had made her tremble on her front porch yesterday—was heavenly. The second she relaxed, she found that being kissed...by him...like this...was really quite lovely.

With an instinct she didn’t question, she raised her arms and slid her hands around Sterling’s neck. Her fingertips slid over the fine fabric of his suit coat, encountered the smooth cotton of his crisp white collar, then finally found the soft thickness of his hair. She hesitantly stroked it, startled as the kiss became fractionally more urgent. Intrigued, she caressed him again, feeling a shameless little thrill when he pulled her closer.

Oh, my. Who would have thought that just kissing could cause this explosion of warmth to spread through her? Or that somebody who -acted as forbidding as Sterling would turn out to be such a terrific kisser?

Not her, she thought foggily. Based on their meeting yesterday, she would have sworn he was all brusque unsentimentality. Yet that didn’t explain the money he’d given her to buy a dress, or the bouquet of flowers he’d brought her, or that he’d remembered a wedding ring. Much less how he’d wound up being such a champion kisser—

Without warning, he pulled away. Caught off guard, her eyes flew open. She stared up at him, her instinctive cry of protest silenced by the chilly glitter in his gray eyes.

Susan had seen pictures of icebergs that looked warmer. Except of course for that odd flush high on his cheekbones...

“Woowee!” the judge exclaimed happily. “I surely do love a wedding! Don’t you, Jimmy Lee?” he asked his clerk.

“Yes, I do, Judge,” the young man agreed. “However—” he glanced pointedly at his watch “—I’m afraid that we’re running shy on time. The noon recess will be over in a few minutes.”

The judge sighed good-naturedly. “Then I suppose it’s time I get back to work,” he agreed. “Although I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. That dadburn fool Rooster Roberts is back on the docket, causing trouble again...” Shaking his head, he reached out, shook Sterling’s hand, then winked at Susan. “You make sure this ole boy takes good care of you, okay, darlin’? And if he doesn’t, you just haul him back in here and I’ll slap his butt in jail, I promise.”

Clasping her hands to keep from pressing her fingers to her tingling lips, Susan managed a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

The clerk waited as they signed the marriage certificate, handed it to Sterling, then efficiently hustled the two of them toward the door.

The next thing Susan knew, she and Sterling were alone in the hall. There was an awkward silence. For a moment she felt an attack of shyness coming on, but she forced it away. After all, she reminded herself, this was the start of a whole new life. If nothing else, she had to try. She forced herself to look squarely up at Sterling’s handsome face. “Well,” she said lightly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Nope.” He abruptly settled his hat on his head and nodded at the elevator. “Come on. I’m parked out front.”

Okay, so he wasn’t big on small talk. That was okay. She obviously wasn’t, either. Things would get better as they got to know each other.

Still, she couldn’t help but notice the care he took not to touch her as they stepped into the enclosed space of the elevator. And even though she knew she wasn’t being fair, as the doors slid shut and the car began to drop, she couldn’t deny she felt an undeniable twinge of disappointment.

Arms crossed, Sterling stood looking out Susan’s screen door, his back to her small living room.

Outside, the day had turned still and hot, the sort of hazy, lazy afternoon that felt like summer except for an indefinable hint of fall in the air.

Inside, he could hear Susan moving around in the other room, putting the finishing touches on her packing. In no time at all, she was going to be done. And then she was going to walk in here and expect to go home with him.

And why not? He’d given her that right when he’d said “I do.” In return, he now had exactly what he wanted—a chance to be a full-time father, to make sure that when the time came his kid would have the complete benefit of his protection.

It was a fair exchange. So why didn’t he feel better?

Well, hell, that was easy. It was her. Susan. In the course of twenty-four hours, she’d gone from being so unassuming she was practically invisible, to being the sort of woman who could get under your skin if you let her.

Not that he was going to let her. Sure, the kiss they’d shared earlier in the judge’s chambers may have gotten a little out of hand. But then, she’d caught him totally off guard. The last thing he’d expected was for her to respond to an obligatory buss on the cheek by twining herself around him like some fragrant clinging vine. Much less that she’d practically melt with pleasure from something as basic as an everyday, elementary, closedmouth kiss.

But she had. And he’d been so nonplussed that for a few seconds there he’d had an inexplicable urge to clear off the judge’s desk, lay her down on top of it and see what happened next

Dammit.

Sterling shoved a hand through his hair, frustrated and a little embarrassed at the memory of his heated response. Okay. So maybe she had gotten to him just a little. It didn’t mean a darned thing. He’d simply been knocked temporarily off balance by the startling change in her appearance and things had gone downhill from there.

But that was over. Done. In the past. He now had himself well in hand and he wasn’t about to let a brief lapse in judgment ruin a perfectly good marriage of convenience. All he wanted out of this union was the right to his child. He did not want to be attracted to that child’s mother. And the sooner the new Mrs. Churchill understood that, the better off they’d both be.

“Sterling?”

He turned. Susan stood just inside the interior doorway, awkwardly clutching a large Cachet box under one arm, while she held an old, mismatched suitcase in each hand. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair slightly mussed, her skin glowing from her recent exertion. It was a damn good thing he wasn’t letting her get to him, he thought sourly. Because if he was he’d be forced to admit she looked good. Real good.

He indicated the bags. “That it?”

“Yes. Except for my books. And some household items, towels, linens, knickknacks, that sort of thing.”

“Like I told you,” he said as he closed the distance between them, took the suitcases from her and set them by the door. “I’ll send one of my men over with a pickup tomorrow to get the rest of your stuff. Once you’ve seen my place, you’ll have a better idea what you want to keep.”

She nodded. “Yes. I know. Thank you.”

There was a brief pause as Sterling gathered his thoughts. “There’s something we need to discuss,” he began.

“Oh! I almost forgot—” Susan said simultaneously.

They both fell silent. Sterling managed a terse smile. “Ladies first.”

“It’s nothing really,” she said quickly. “That is, it is to me, but it may not be to you. It’s just...about my job...”

He frowned. “I thought we agreed you were going to quit.”

Inexplicably the faintest flicker of disbelief came and went on her face before she said, “Well... yes. But you see, it’ll take some time for them to replace me, and I can’t just leave them in the lurch that way, so I’ve agreed to work part-time. It’ll just be for a while,” she was quick to assure him. “And I did arrange to take the rest of this week off.”

He supposed he couldn’t fault her for being conscientious. “Okay. Is that it?”

“Actually, there is one other thing...” Her voice trailed off as she walked over and picked up her purse off the sofa. She opened it and pulled out a roll of bills. “Here.” She offered the money to him.

He frowned. “What’s that for?”

“It’s yours. You gave it to me yesterday. Remember?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So it was very kind of you, but as it turned out, I didn’t need it. I took care of things myself.”

He gave her lavender dress a quick glance, staunchly trying not to notice the way it clung in strategic places to the slim body that shaped it. He might not be an expert on women’s clothing, but he knew it hadn’t come from the Bargain Mart. Just as a single glance around the rather shabby living room was proof enough that his bride was hardly rolling in money. Wondering what her game was, he said carefully, “Look, I expect to pay your way. Even though this isn’t a conventional marriage—” it couldn’t hurt to lay a little groundwork “—you’re still my wife. Legally at least.”

“But I wasn’t yesterday,” she countered earnestly. “And it just doesn’t feel right to take your money. Not that I’m not grateful. It—it was very sweet and very generous of you to give it to me. But I think it’s important that we start out on the right foot and I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of gold digger.” When he still didn’t make a move to take the cash, she carefully reached out and slipped it into his coat pocket.

His lips involuntarily compressed at the jolt of awareness that shot through him at her innocent touch.

Oblivious to his discomfort, she took a few steps back, linked her hands together and smiled tentatively up at him. “Now. What did you want to tell me?”

He stared back at her. Well, shoot. What was he supposed to do now? Tell her to hell with starting off on the right foot, it would make things a whole lot easier if she was just a tad bit less ethical?

Then, at least, they could have a nice, straightforward business arrangement. Instead she was complicating everything by her insistence on being so...nice. Not that he wasn’t pleased that the mother of his child appeared to have some standards, he was quick to assure himself. He was. But still...between the way she looked, the way she kissed, and now this, nothing was going the way he expected. And he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

On the other hand, they did have to live together. And it was sort of flattering—in a totally annoying way—how she’d gone to such lengths to spruce herself up for him. More important, given her delicate condition, he sure as hell didn’t want to take a chance on upsetting her. Which was a distinct possibility, he realized uneasily as he gazed into her concerned brown eyes.

Damn. What if he said the wrong thing and she got hysterical and fainted or something and hurt herself or the baby?

His stomach hollowed and he came to a sudden decision. He’d lay down the law in a few days, after she’d settled in at his place. And in the interim he’d keep to himself until she got the picture. Then, when she’d had some time to accept how things stood, they’d talk.

“Sterling?” Susan said. “Did you want to say something?”

“No,” he said decisively.

She worried her lower lip, then released it. “Are you sure?”

With a start of disgust, he realized his eyes were riveted on the full, soft curve of her mouth. Jerking his gaze away, he wheeled, picked up the suitcases and nudged open the screen, holding it open for her. “I’m sure. I think we ought to get going.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.” Taking a deep breath, she drew herself up and took one last look around the room. Then she picked up the Cachet box and her bridal bouquet and walked resolutely toward him and the door.

Stopping as she drew abreast of him, she caught him by surprise as she lightly laid a hand on his forearm. “I realize this isn’t an easy situation for either of us,” she said softly. “But I want you to know, I’ll do my best to be a good mother to the baby and a good wife to you.”

Great. Just what he wanted to hear. “Yeah. Me, too,” he mumbled in return. Since he didn’t mean a word of it, for a second he felt like the biggest heel on earth.

Then she nodded, glanced shyly away and set off for the car—but not before her hip brushed against his thigh as she passed by.

His body instantly tightened.

So did his resolve. For whatever reason, there was something about her that seemed to have a disastrous effect on his self-control. And he. liked that the least of all.

The quicker he established some distance between them, the better off they’d both be.


Three

“Oh, my,” Susan said softly.

Standing beside the car, she stared at the house before her. Like everybody in the area, she’d heard about Sterling’s place. She’d even driven past the ornate entrance gate once with Callie to see for herself the emerald green pastures, man-made lake and graceful groves of trees that made the lush estate such a novelty in the arid scrubland of West Texas. Not surprisingly, the locals had taken to calling it the Oasis and the name had stuck.

The house couldn’t be seen from the road, however, set back as it was in a screen of trees at the end of the long, straight driveway. Secretly she’d been worried that it was going to be so imposing she’d never feel comfortable in it.

Now, some of her tension melted away. Instead of the formal, white-pillared mansion she’d expected, the structure rising before her was a big, sprawling two-story surrounded by a wild profusion of bushes and flowers. From what she could see, it was warm rather than palatial, charming rather than impressive, welcoming rather than intimidating.

It didn’t seem to suit Sterling at all, she thought ruefully, watching him from under her lashes as he got her suitcases from the trunk.

So far, he’d been anything but warm and welcoming. Not only had he barely spoken a word on the drive over, but it had almost seemed as if he’d been trying to avoid looking at her. And though she’d told herself that it didn’t mean a thing, that he was just being a conscientious driver, she had to admit that his aloofness was starting to get to her.

Waiting until he looked up, she bravely met his cool gray gaze. “This is lovely, Sterling.”

His expression lightened for a moment. “Yeah. It’s okay.” Closing the trunk, he picked up her suitcases and led the way across the paved circular driveway and up the wide, shallow stairs to a trellised entryway. Overhead, a leafy vine abloom in white flowers gave off a faintly spicy perfume.

Captivated, Susan again tried to start up a conversation. “Oh, how pretty. Is that a clematis?”

He set down the suitcases and reached to open the door. “Beats me. You’ll have to ask Maxine.”

“Maxine?”

“My housekeeper.” His voice took on a distinctly sardonic tone. “She likes to think she knows everything.”

“Oh.” Susan felt a pang of dismay. While she was relieved to discover that they weren’t going to be all alone in the house, she didn’t know a thing about having hired help. Heavens, she’d never even had a cleaning lady. What if this Maxine didn’t like her?

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. She’d barely crossed the threshold before a tall, energetic woman dressed in trim white slacks and a bright turquoise blouse materialized at the end of the hall. “Well, I declare, it’s about time you two got here,” the newcomer drawled with a pronounced Texas twang as she marched purposefully closer. “I was startin’ to worry. I put the last touch on the cake half an hour ago.”

Sterling’s eyes narrowed. “What cake?”

The woman, who appeared to be in her fifties, and who had shrewd brown eyes, a weathered face and improbable blond hair swept up in the sort of elegant chignon that Susan could never achieve, smiled at him blandly. “Why, your weddin’ cake, boss. You didn’t think I’d let something as important as your gettin’ hitched pass without at least fixin’ you a special dinner, did you?”

Blithely ignoring his obvious lack of enthusiasm, she shifted her focus. “You must be Susan,” she said warmly. “Why, aren’t you a pretty little thing! The boss never said a word about that, but then, he wouldn’t.” She flashed her employer a brief, reproachful look, then brightened. “But I guess I’m gettin’ the cart before the horse. I’m Maxine, and I take care of most of the important things around here. I’m sure this must all seem a tad overwhelmin’ at the moment, what with the baby and this quickie marriage, but you just wait and see, you’ll be settled in no time.

“Now, why don’t you let me show you your room, and then you can see the rest of the house. I’ll get one of the boys to bring up your suitcases later, unless you need something right away.”

Susan glanced at Sterling, feeling a bit dazed. Unless she’d missed something, it appeared he’d explained their situation to his housekeeper. While she didn’t mind exactly—when she stopped to think about it she could see that anything else would have raised all sorts of awkward questions—he could at least have warned her.

Yet conversing with her was clearly not high on his list of priorities. “You go ahead,” he said, his expression once again impossible to read. “I need to call my office.”

“Yeah, and you need to call your lawyer,” Max informed him tartly. She made a sour face. “I’m tellin’ you, for such a supposed hotshot, that man is plenty excitable. He’s called here three times, babblin’ about some message you left on his answering machine and insistin’ he has to talk to you.”

“Great,” Sterling murmured. “Anything else?”

“As a matter of fact, yessir there is. Greg Hunt called. Said he had some information for you about that immigrant you and some of the other gentlemen from the Cattleman’s Club are sponsoring and that he’d appreciate it if you’d give him a call.”

“Terrific.” With a stiff nod, he walked down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

Susan stared after him, telling herself to give him the benefit of the doubt. Rather than being deliberately rude, he probably just hadn’t adjusted his thinking yet to include a wife. Once he did, he’d no doubt be appalled at his thoughtlessness in practically abandoning her at the front door.

As if reading her mind, Maxine laid a hand on her shoulder and urged her toward the sweeping staircase that curved up to the second floor. “Don’t mind him, darlin’,” she said breezily. “The first thing you gotta know about the boss is that beneath all that growl, the man’s a cupcake. Not—” she rolled her eyes “—that he’d ever admit it, you understand.”




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