Книга - Back In Fortune’s Bed

Back In Fortune's Bed
Bronwyn Jameson


Years ago, Max Fortune had a sizzling summer affair with Diana Fielding-Young that she'd ended without warning.Now the embittered Australian millionaire was tormented by memories when he returned to South Dakota and locked eyes with Diana at a high-society soiree. Realizing his hunger for his former flame had never truly been satisfied, he vowed to get her back into his bed and make her rue the day she'd played him for a fool.But as their spellbinding reunion was reduced to gossip-column fodder, would Diana's shocking confession force this ruthless heartbreaker to change tactics?









Back in Fortune’s Bed

Bronwyn Jameson







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


For my research helpers, Marilyn, Heather, Laurie, Lisa, Sarah. I couldn’t have written this one without your help.

Thank you.


Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Bronwyn Jameson for her contribution to DAKOTA FORTUNES miniseries.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Coming Next Month










Prologue


“It is her.”

Max Fortune’s muttered words went unheard, swallowed by the chatter that rose and fell in waves around him. Not that Max noticed. His focus remained riveted on the woman who’d captured his attention the instant he walked into the party at his Dakota cousins’ grand estate home.

There’d been something about her posture and the way she tilted her head to listen intently to her companion’s conversation that had jangled at deeply buried memories. When she’d turned enough to reveal her face in profile, kick-gut recognition had shocked the words loose from his mind.

It was Diana Fielding.

Ten years older but there was no mistaking the distinctive dip in her nose or the low-set eyebrows that gave her face a somberness at odds with her smile. There was no mistaking that high-octane smile, either, or the startling contrast between her milky skin and night-dark hair. Still long, he presumed, although tonight she wore it up, drawing attention to the smooth line of her throat.

There’d been a time when Max had kissed every inch of that long, slender column…when he’d kissed every inch of her long, slender body.

What the hell was that body doing in South Dakota?

Max had only arrived himself that afternoon. Despite the lengthy series of flights from his home in Australia via New Zealand and L.A., he’d accepted his hosts’ party invitation without hesitation. It provided the perfect opportunity to meet all of Nash Fortune’s family—Case, Creed, Eliza, Blake and Skylar, his cousins several-times-removed—in the one place. Max appreciated that kind of efficiency. In fact, he’d accepted Nash and his wife Patricia’s invitation to base this business trip here because Sioux Falls provided efficient access to all the horse breeding farms he aimed to visit.

Visiting with this branch of his extended family for the first time was an added bonus.

Revisiting the worst moment in his life—now that was an add-on he could do without.

“What’s up, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Max turned to find Zack Manning, his New Zealand based friend, business partner and traveling companion, eyeing him closely. “Not a ghost,” he said with a casual shrug that belied the tension in his gut. “Just a woman I thought I knew once.”

His friend’s breath whistled out between his teeth as he studied the object of Max’s distraction. “Y’know, I think you’d remember meeting her.”

No kidding.

“Looks European,” Zack decided. “Like a Russian princess.”

She wasn’t, although speech lessons had edged her voice with an accent as regal as her show-biz-royalty blood. She’d hated him drawing attention to that; she’d determinedly played it down…until he’d mentioned how it turned him on. Then she’d employed it with impressive effect.

“Looks as though you’re about to make the princess’s acquaintance,” Zack said.

Everything inside him twanged like high tensile wire as his gaze swung across the room. There, at Diana Fielding’s side, his cousin Eliza was trying to catch his attention. Suddenly her presence here made sense. She was visiting with Eliza—the two of them had been friends at college. He should have remembered the connection since it had led, indirectly, to their meeting.

Eliza waved her hand harder and, curse it, he couldn’t ignore that summons. Or the elbow his friend used to nudge him into motion. “Geez, Fortune. I’ve never known you so reluctant to meet a beautiful woman.”

“I’m not here to meet women.”

“A good thing,” Zack quipped, “given that scowl you’re wearing would send ’em screaming from the room.”

In deference to his hosts and their guests, Max made an effort to wipe his mind and his expression clear of dark memories. Lord knew he’d had enough practice over the years.

Ten years, seven months, two weeks, to be precise.

When Eliza caught his hand and pulled him into the small group, he managed a stiff smile. “You know Case,” she said, indicating the eldest of her brothers, whom he’d met that afternoon. “This is his date, Gina Reynolds. And this is Diana Young.”

Not Diana Fielding. Not any more.

“Hello, Max.”

His smile faded. He remembered the first time they’d met and the same warm I-am-pleased-to-meet-you look in her grey-green eyes as they looked into his. And he remembered the last time he’d seen her, the day he traveled to New York with a diamond ring in his pocket.

The day he’d stood undetected in the shadows watching her walk through a petal-strewn garden to marry another man.

“Diana…Young, is it?”

He saw the confusion in her eyes, then the slight recoil as she absorbed the cool cut of his question.

But that was nothing compared to the knife of betrayal she’d driven into him ten years before. At the time he’d thought that wound had pierced his heart. Later he’d decided it was only damage to his pride, his male ego, his crushed plans. The scar shouldn’t still hurt. It wouldn’t, he declared with absolute conviction, if this meeting hadn’t come as such a god-sudden out-of-the-blue shock.

Turning his gaze to Eliza and Case and Gina, he detected a weight of curiosity in their silence and knew he couldn’t play nice for the sake of etiquette. He couldn’t fake small talk. And he was in no mood to explain his previous relationship with Diana Fielding Young.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to pay my respects to Patricia and Nash. I haven’t caught up with them yet.” He knew his words sounded stiff, but he managed a smile for Case’s date. “Nice to meet you, Gina.”

He had nothing to say to Diana. Nothing he could say in this polite company. He nodded curtly and walked away.




One


Over the past two weeks Diana had done upset, disappointed, annoyed, indignant and a dozen other emotions too confusing and complex and maddening to label. Right now, walking through the breezeway in Skylar Fortune’s barn, she would have chosen any one of them over her current state of jittery, heart-jumping nerves.

Fitting, she supposed, since Sky’s stables were filled with similarly high-strung thoroughbreds.

Not that she could blame her current state on either the location or her semi-fear of horses. Nor could she blame the purpose of her early morning visit to the Fortune estate, which was to shoot her first professional we-pay-you photos. Ever. That caused her nerves to hum with barely suppressed excitement not to wail with trepidation.

The wailing and the jittering were all down to one thing.

Here, in the stables that were his domain, she risked running into Max Fortune again.

She hated that his snub at Case’s party had tied her in knots for the two weeks since. Had he not recognized her? Did he not remember her? Or had he left so abruptly after their short exchange because he didn’t want to acknowledge their history?

Eventually she’d admonished herself for wasting too much emotional energy on an old love affair. After three years of widowhood she’d finally found her feet. Since moving to Sioux Falls she’d lucked upon an occupation she loved and had recently taken up a position at her mentor’s studio/gallery.

The last thing she needed was a force of nature like Max Fortune messing with her newly discovered contentment.

For the duration of the twenty-mile drive from Sioux Falls to the Fortune estate, she’d reprised that lecture. Today was crucial to her aspirations. She needed to remain focused and professional.

But all the self-talk in the world didn’t stop her heart from leaping into her throat when she heard the crunch of hooves on aged brick cobblestones. Pivoting on her heels, she looked back over her shoulder at the approaching horse being led by…Skylar.

Thank you, God.

She released a long breath and smiled as the youngest of Nash Fortune’s five children came to an abrupt halt, her brows knit in a frown. “Diana. You’re here. Already.”

“I know I’m a little early.” On her first job she’d thought that infinitely better than tardiness. “I can wait until you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m pretty sure Max has your model all gussied up and ready for the camera.”

The impatient horse at Sky’s side stamped its feet in unison with the lurch of Diana’s heart. She took a half-step back from its large feet, just to be on the safe side. “Max?”

“Max Fortune. Our Aussie cousin. Didn’t you meet him at Case’s party?” Without waiting for an answer, Sky hurried on. “Not to worry, you’ll meet him now. Max and his friend Zack Manning are starting up a stud farm back home and they’re over here inspecting the setups and buying stock. Your subject is one of Max’s first acquisitions and she’s a real beauty. He bought her in Kentucky last week.”

“Do you mean that this job is shooting Max Fortune’s horse?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Diana wished them back. Not the question itself—that was perfectly valid since Sky had made the booking without one mention of a third party—but her horror-struck tone.

Sky’s frown deepened. “I didn’t realize that would be a problem.”

“Oh, no, it’s not a problem,” Diana lied.

“Really? Because you said poor Max’s name as if you’d just as soon shoot him. And I don’t mean with your camera!”

Oh, joy. That’s exactly what she’d feared. The perfect nonprofessional start when Sky had paid her a huge compliment by booking her instead of an equine specialist.

“Would you prefer if I got someone else?”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” Diana said quickly. She’d come here as a photographer, not as a woman bruised by a past breakup or a recent snub. She could do this. She could be polite, businesslike, friendly even. “I’m here to shoot whatever you point me at…and only with my camera.”

“Sure?”

Diana smiled with what she hoped passed for cheerful assurance while her chest tightened with uncheerful apprehension. “Absolutely. Now, where will I find your Aussie cousin?”



Following Sky’s directions, Diana turned from the wide central breezeway into one of two wings added to the original barn when Sky expanded her horse breeding enterprise. Barn hardly described the giant U-shaped dwelling now. The place was five star accommodation, meticulously clean and toasty warm despite the frigid winter’s morning outside.

Diana dispensed with her gloves and loosened the scarf she’d wrapped around her neck. So she’d be ready to start work. And because her fluttery fingers needed something further to do, she hitched her camera bag more securely on her shoulder and increased her pace to a confident stride.

One thing she’d learned from her stage-star mother was how to exude presence, even when her insides were trembling up a storm.

At the second to last stable, she stopped and gathered her well-learned poise. Over the high Dutch door all she could see was the tail end of a large horse. The Kentucky beauty, she presumed, although not from her best angle.

Trepidation caused her heart to drum harder as she approached the door. For a second she thought the animal was unattended but then she heard his voice. Too low to make out the words, but she recognized the deep crooning tone.

Unfortunately her hormones recognized it, too, not from the days spent at his outback stables but from the nights spent in his bed. They stretched and yawned and shimmied to life before she could do a dashed thing to control their recollections.

This was not the response she needed right now, not when the rustling of straw announced him moving around beyond the horse’s substantial frame.

She took a rapid step backward and drew a deep breath just as he came into view, looking exactly like the Max she’d tried so hard, for so long, to forget.

His suede western jacket and wide-brimmed hat were pure cowboy, although that label had amused the heck out of him whenever she’d used it. Cattleman was the term they used in Australia. And although Max worked his family’s outback cattle ranches, he spent equal time running the business side of the operation from behind an office desk.

Or he had.

Past tense, Diana reminded herself. Max Fortune might still wear his tan Akubra low to shade his deep green eyes. He might still wear his hair long enough to curl beneath the broad brim of that trademark hat, but a lot can change in ten years.

A lot had changed, but not her body’s elemental response to the man.

Everything tightened and warmed and raced as she watched one large hand smooth a path over the horse’s gleaming rump. “You’ll do just fine, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice as languid as that slow-moving hand.

Diana felt a shivery pang in the pit of her stomach, a reaction and an anticipation as he started to turn toward the stable door. She caught the edge of his easy grin and her stomach went into free-fall.

This wasn’t the grim stranger from the party but the lover she remembered, quick to smile, to tease, to laugh.

Then he caught sight of her and the smile faded from his mouth and his eyes, leaving his expression as cold as a Dakota February dawn.

Diana resisted the urge to rub at her arms or rewrap her scarf. She searched for the right opening line but all she could find was the same simple greeting as two weeks earlier at the party. “Hello, Max.”

“Diana.”

No hello, just her name spoken in a tone as flat and dry as the outback plains of his home.

That short greeting did, however, answer her earlier unspoken question. He recognized her all right, which meant she hadn’t imagined his snub at the party. She couldn’t pretend that the knowledge didn’t hurt, but today he was her client. She had to forget their past encounters, both recent and distant, and focus on the job.

“Is this the mare you want photographed?” she asked.

“You’re the horse photographer?”

She bit back the instant response—is that so hard to believe?—because the answer was written all over his face. Way back when he’d teased her about her degree in arts and the classics, about her society-girl lifestyle and lack of a work résumé of any description. This was her opportunity to show that she could do something practical, and that she could do it well.

“That is what I’m here for,” she said crisply, reaching for the clip on her camera bag.

“Is it?”

Alerted by the skepticism in his tone, she looked up and found him eyeing her, head to toe and back again.

“Why else would I be here?” she asked.

“Beats me. From what I remember, horses scare the living daylights out of you.”

“That was a long time ago, Max. I’m not that girl any more.”

Something shifted in his expression, and Diana stiffened in expectation of what he might say about the past and the hours he’d spent coaxing the horse-shy New Yorker into the saddle on one of his Australian stock horses.

But perhaps all she’d seen was a wall going up, because he said nothing about the past, returning instead to their present situation.

“You don’t look like you’ve come here to work with horses,” he pointed out. “You’re wearing a skirt.”

A frown pinched her brows together as she glanced down at her clothes. Had she broken an unwritten dress code for equine photographers? Yes, she wore a skirt but it was a conservative A-line, teamed with a cable-knit sweater and practical low-heeled boots. The outfit would take her from this job to a charity committee meeting Eliza had roped her into, without needing to go home to change.

“I understood Sky booked me,” she said, cool, polite, restrained, “to take a simple portrait of a horse. She didn’t mention it was your horse. Believe me, I am as surprised as you about that! But I am here to do that job and if that requires me to get down and dirty for artistic angles or special effects, just say the word. I’m sure Sky will loan me some jeans.”

Although his jaw flexed, he remained blessedly silent. Diana decided to take that as a positive sign, but only because this job meant too much to blithely toss it away. Establishing herself as a photographer was the first goal she’d been passionate about in a long, long while. There was a certain cruel irony in the fact that her start involved working with the last object of her total passion. But she wouldn’t allow that joke-of-fate to drive her away. She might have set out this morning with the aim of proving herself to herself, but in the last few minutes it had become equally important to prove herself to Max.

With a brisk and businesslike nod of her head, she indicated the horse now prowling the stable at his back. “So, this is the job?”

“Yes.”

Diana met his eyes and there, behind the flat, guarded admission, she read acceptance—albeit reluctant—of her role. Silently she breathed a sigh of relief. “Then let’s talk about the photos you require.”

“What do you suggest?” he asked after a measured pause. “You’re the expert.”

It was a test, she knew, since Max Fortune always knew exactly what he wanted. He’d told her as much the night they met. The night he decided he wanted her in his bed.

He’d been the expert then, but today it was her turn.

Nerves flapped vulture-sized wings in her stomach as she considered the challenge he’d set. She had photographed horses once—Sky’s horses, as it happened. That had been a class assignment back before Christmas and she’d spent long hours alternatively perched on a railing fence and prone in the frozen meadow capturing the vibrant spirit, the athleticism, and the individual personalities of a group of colts in a field beyond Sky’s barn.

The results had impressed her teacher so much that he’d included them in a winter exhibition in his gallery and then offered her a job there. They’d impressed Sky so much that she’d offered her this job.

Which left one person still to impress….

He was leaning on the half-door, watching her watch his horse. That silent observation fed more adrenaline into her system and she had to fight a momentary attack of who-am-I-fooling panic. Throwing up her breakfast would not look expert, capable or professional.

Forcing her focus to the horse as it paced the roomy stable, she framed a series of shots through an imaginary viewfinder. What she saw settled and excited her nerves in equal measures. Could she capture that ripple of muscles beneath the horse’s burnished copper coat? Could she depict all that latent power in a single flat dimension?

“I’ll have to take her moving,” she decided, “in order to do her justice.”

“Not a portrait?”

“That would be too static, don’t you think?” He looked dubious, but the longer Diana watched the animal’s graceful stride, the more confident she became in her first instinctive call. She tried another angle. “I gather she’s a racehorse?”

“A retired one.”

“Was she a fast one?”

“Fast and strong,” he supplied, and the softened note of respect in his voice drew Diana’s gaze back to his profile. Still the same square jaw that framed his face in steely strength.

Or, when he wanted his own way, in stubborn determination.

But the years had sculpted change in the hollowed planes beneath his cheekbones, in the fretted lines radiating from the corners of his narrowed gaze, in the straight set of his unsmiling mouth.

Diana longed to ask what had turned him so stern and disapproving, and why he was directing that acrimony toward her. But in talking about his horse she sensed the first easing in the tension between them and she wanted to prolong that mood. It wasn’t exactly harmonious but it was a start.

“I would like to depict her as that fast, strong athlete you described. In motion. With the sun on her coat.” She paused, watching his face, trying to gauge his reaction. “That’s what I see when I look at her, but you’re the client.”

“And the client is always right?”

“No, but the client pays the bill so he always has the final say.”

As if she wanted the final word, the horse extended her neck over the door and whinnied softly. Aware of Max’s watchfulness, of being under his judgment, she forced herself to hold her ground. The horse seemed friendly enough. It was sniffing at her hair. No teeth were visible, which had to be a good thing. Diana took a steadying breath.

“Hello,” she said softly, and was pleased that her voice didn’t betray her horse-getting-far-too-close jeebies. “What is your name, beautiful?”

Max might have cleared his throat. Or it could have been a throaty horse noise from a neighboring stable. Diana lifted a hand—it hardly shook at all—and stroked the horse’s face. A brass plate attached to the leather halter she wore was engraved with a single word.

“Bootylicious,” she read. Brows lifted in surprise and amusement, she turned to Max. “Is that her name?”

“Don’t blame me.” He held up both hands defensively. “The name came with her.”

And it was so not a name he would have chosen. Diana couldn’t help smiling. “I think it is a very fitting name. Unique and distinctive,” she said, pleased that the tension had eased enough that she could joke and smile without it feeling like her face might split with the effort. “Perfect for a foundation mare for your new stud farm,” she continued, tongue-in-cheek. “You could name all her offspring Booty-something.”

He shot her a disgusted look. “Luckily she’s not part of the new operation.”

“She’s not? From what Sky said, I thought you and Zack were over here buying breeding stock.”

“We are.” He shifted his position, allowing the bootylicious one room to move off, before he leaned back against the door. Almost relaxed, Diana noted, with rich satisfaction. And finally he’d stopped glowering. “This mare was a champion miler but she’s got too much sprinter’s blood in her pedigree.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not for some studs, but we’re looking to breed champion stayers…for long distance races,” he clarified, when she looked askance. “This one’s bloodlines don’t fit the bill.”

“But you bought her anyway?”

“A gift for my parents. I’m leaving her here with Sky until she’s safely in foal. That’s why I want the photos, to send them in lieu of the real thing.”

“Easier to gift wrap.”

“Much,” he agreed, and a hint of the lopsided grin she loved lurked around the corners of his mouth.

Loved? Diana gave herself a quick mental shake. What they’d shared was not love, no matter what she’d thought during those blissful months. Mention of his parents whom she had never met acted as the perfect reminder.

“How is your family?” she asked out of politeness.

“They’re all well.”

“And you, Max?” Not out of politeness, but because she couldn’t help herself. She had to know. “How have you been?”

“Fine.”

On the surface it sounded liked a stock answer, the kind you pay no heed to. But all traces of that near-smile had vanished from his face and, as he pushed off the door and started toward the horse, Diana detected a stiffening in his posture.

Alarm fluttered in her chest. “Are you?” she asked, before she could think better of it.

“Why would you assume otherwise?”

“Because you seem so different, so—” she let her hands rise and fall as she struggled to describe the vibes he’d been giving off “—uptight.”

“You said you’re not the same person. Same goes.”

Okay, but now he sounded downright hostile and Diana couldn’t let it go. Not now that she’d started. “We’ve both changed, as people tend to do, but at Case’s party you were unfriendly to the point of rudeness. I thought you might have been too travel-lagged to recognize me, or that you simply may not have remembered. But that’s not the problem, is it?”

He clipped a lead rope onto the horse’s halter before he turned. The hat shaded his eyes but the line of his mouth definitely fit her description. Uptight and unfriendly. “You were introduced as Diana Young. Do I know you?”

“After my husband died it was easier to keep his name. Plus there are advantages to not carrying the Fielding name around…not that it matters. I’m still me.”

“Well, there’s the thing,” he said in his deep, down-under drawl. “I don’t know that I ever knew you.”

That shocked a short, astonished laugh from Diana. Never in her thirty-one years had she been as honest, as open, as herself, as in the time she’d spent as Max’s lover. “How can you say that? I shared everything with you!”

“Yeah, you shared. That’s what I don’t appreciate, Mrs. Young. That’s why I’m not feeling as friendly toward you as I used to.”

“What do you mean?” Diana shook her head slowly. “What on earth do you think I shared?”

“Your body, mostly. How did Mr. Young like that?”

“Are you implying that I was already married?” she asked with rising incredulity.

“Not married, but you must have been engaged.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You expect me to believe you met and married this Young character less than three weeks after leaving me? I guess it must have been love at first sight, then.”

Diana reared back, stung by the bitter irony of his accusation. Love at first sight had been Max. Her marriage to David Young, a big, inescapable, back-firing disaster. She’d always guarded the details closely because she knew what the gossip media would make of it. And because she didn’t enjoy admitting to the naivety and weakness that had opened her up to emotional blackmail, to the power she’d allowed her father and David Young to exert over her.

At one time she would have shared those details with Max—she’d called him, Lord knows, she’d tried. But not now. Not after those coldly delivered accusations.

Instead she fastened on the other untruth in his argument. “I didn’t leave you, Max. I went home because I had to…and only after we agreed that we saw our relationship somewhat differently. You wanted sex, I wanted more.”

He stared at her a moment, no sign of giving in the hard set of his face. It was the same uncompromising expression as the night they’d quarreled, when she’d realized how woefully she’d misconstrued their relationship. “You wanted to get married that bad?” he asked now. “That you said yes to the first batter up after I walked away from the plate?”

“It wasn’t like that,” she fired back. “David was my father’s business partner. I didn’t agree to marry him for the sake of a wedding band, okay?”

His lips compressed into a straight line of condemnation, and Diana realized that her angry outburst added weight to his belief she’d been involved with David all along. She thought about rephrasing but what did it matter? Driving here today she’d cautioned herself about getting involved again. She did not need this old heartache.

“My relationship with you was over when I returned to New York and you didn’t bother to acknowledge my calls,” she said, mustering some dignity and wrapping it around her like a protective cloak. “It’s been ten years. Why are we rehashing old quarrels?”

“You brought it up.”

“And, frankly, I’m sorry I did.”

“Seems we agree on one thing.”

For a long moment Diana couldn’t find any comeback, and to her horror she felt the ache of tears building at the back of her throat. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t pretend emotional detachment any more than she’d been able to ten years before.

“It seems that I’ve come to agree with you on another point.” She swallowed against the painful lump that was making it so dashed difficult to maintain her dignity. “I don’t believe I’m the right photographer for this job after all.”

“Suit yourself.” He gave a curt shrug. “You’re not indispensable, Diana. I can find a replacement.”

Glutton for punishment, she had to ask. “Is that what you did after I left Australia? Is that why you never returned my calls?”

He paused in opening the stable door, close enough now that she could see the wintry chill of his eyes and beneath the green patina a hint of some deeper emotion. Pain? Regret? Frustration? He shut the door behind him with a thud of finality and whatever she’d thought she’d seen was gone.

“Something like that,” he said in answer to her question. Then he touched his hat in a cowboy’s salute of farewell and walked away.




Two


“Is there something wrong with your lunch?”

Diana blinked until the chicken breast she’d been worrying around her plate came into focus. “No, it’s fine.”

“And you know this,” Eliza asked, “because…?”

Trust her friend to point out the obvious. Diana gave up on her untouched meal and put down her silverware. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

This happened to be a late lunch in the atrium restaurant at the Fortune’s Seven Hotel. The hotel’s ballroom was the scene of next month’s Historical Society Auction to raise funds for reparations to the city’s Old West Museum. The fundraising committee, chaired by Eliza, had met earlier to discuss the function with hotel staff, and Eliza had used her gently persuasive charm to cajole Diana into lunch and a shopping expedition afterward.

“I’m not good company today,” Diana added.

“You don’t say.”

Diana pulled a face at her friend’s dry comment and watched her eyes turn serious as she, too, abandoned her entrée and leaned back in her chair. Eliza waited for the wait-staff to remove their plates before skewering her with the million-dollar question.

“I don’t suppose this would have anything to do with my Aussie cousin?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“No. At Case’s party I could have cut the tension between you two with a butter knife, and I get the feeling you’ve been sidestepping me ever since. You know I’m dying to hear details. Come on,” Eliza coaxed, leaning forward in her chair again. “Spill.”

As usual, Eliza was right. Diana had been avoiding her friend’s curiosity and now she wished she hadn’t been such a coward. After this morning’s altercation with Max, today had to be the worst possible time for the explanation she owed her best friend. But she did owe Eliza the details she begged, so she might as well get it over and done.

“We met at a party in Australia,” she began, jumping into the deep end. “On the trip I took after we graduated from Wellesley.”

Eliza digested this for a moment, shock evident in her blue eyes. “I gave you the contact number for my Aussie relations. You met them and you didn’t say a word?”

“I’m sorry, Eliza, truly I am. I didn’t meet any of your family except Max, and I didn’t mean to keep him a secret. I just didn’t know how to tell you I was having a hot and heavy affair with your cousin. I knew you’d want details and I couldn’t talk about something I didn’t understand. I don’t even know that I can explain what happened between us now! Then I came home and married David…”

“And your life fell to pieces,” Eliza finished softly after Diana’s attempted explanation trailed off.

Their gazes met for a second, remembering the anguish of those years after her forced marriage, when Diana had cut herself off from all her friends. Yet Eliza, her roommate at Wellesley, had continued to send Christmas gifts and birthday cards, and when she’d read about David’s death in a newspaper, she’d flown out to California for the funeral.

After the service she’d learned the whole sorry story of Diana’s marriage. She met David’s sons, too, and when their attempts to prevent Diana taking anything from her marriage grew vindictive, she’d invited Diana to visit her in Sioux Falls. Diana had only returned to California to pack her things. Her move to Sioux Falls and all the good, confidence-building, independence-gaining things that ensued were all due to Eliza’s friendship.

“I’m sorry.” Diana’s second apology vibrated with regret and the threat of tears. “I should have told you about Max.”

“That the hound dog hit on you at a party? Perhaps it’s better you didn’t!”

Diana managed to smile at Eliza’s teasing remark despite the ache in her chest. That was the thing about her friend—she had a gift of measuring the mood and choosing the perfect moment to lighten the tone. “I think it’s fair to say that the hitting-on was a mutual thing. Remember when we studied French? Remember how we mocked the drama of the coup de foudre?”

“The stroke of lightning,” Eliza murmured. “Love at first sight.”

“I know it’s a romantic cliché, but when I met Max I actually experienced that lightning strike. The ground shifted. Time stood still then raced through six and a half weeks. I didn’t know how to explain that to anyone, Eliza, and I had this self-centered desire to hug it to myself.”

“Do I gather it ended badly?” Eliza asked.

“However did you guess?”

“The day Max arrived, he was so laidback and charming. I knew you had to meet him, which is why I called and made sure you were coming to the party. I had a notion you two would get along. But then I introduced you and he couldn’t raise a smile. It was so unlike him.” Eliza’s reached across the table and put her hand over Diana’s, perhaps because she’d noticed the wobble in her composure. “You know I was only teasing about spilling details. You don’t have to tell me anything that’s too upsetting.”

“I have no reason to be upset,” Diana replied quickly. “Except seeing him again has me all churned up with the bad part of the memories more than the good.” But after taking a deep breath, she wanted to share, to ease the angst that had been building ever since he’d walked away from her that morning in the barn. “I had extended my holiday once and Father was making noises about needing me at home. I didn’t know what was going on and selfishly I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to leave Australia—I didn’t want to leave Max—and so I pushed him for a reason to stay.”

“He didn’t want you to stay?”

“Let’s just say he didn’t appreciate me pressuring him for commitment or acting shrewish over the number of ex-girlfriends who called. I should have read the signs right there, but I didn’t.”

Eliza winced in sympathy. “No one wants to be one of many.”

“I suppose not and with Max there was quite the backlist. Apparently he’d been sized up as marriage material once too often and I made the same mistake. So we quarreled and he left on a business trip and while he was away everything hit the fan with my sister. I had to catch a flight home that day and I didn’t even know where Max had gone. I left a note and a message on his service and I called again from New York.”

Her shrug said the rest and Eliza’s clasp on her hand tightened. “He didn’t return your calls?”

“I ended up contacting his neighbor, who I’d met in passing. He told me Max had gone to this big outback race-meeting that lasted all week—not work, but a party! Oh, and he knew because Max had taken his sister, Eva.” Diana smiled gamely but the bitter ache of that discovery, of that whole horrendous week, squeezed like a fisted hand around her heart. “Can you believe I expected we had more from a holiday fling? Can you believe I was that naive?”

“Coup de foudre.”

“Oh, I thought so at the time, but who believes in love at first sight?”

“It happens,” Eliza surprised her by saying. Her expression had turned somber, and Diana had the feeling she was thinking of something else. Or someone else. But a moment later she shed that introspective look and smiled brightly. “You know, I think this discussion needs uplifting with something decadent.”

“Crème brûlée?”

“Cheesecake.”

Diana wasn’t convinced she could force even dessert past the tightness in her throat and chest, but she pretended to study the menu while that morning’s conversation with Max replayed through her mind. “You know what is upsetting me?” she asked after several minutes of stewing. “This morning he accused me of playing around with him while I was engaged to David.”

Eliza put down her menu. “Why on earth would he think that?”

“Because I married so quickly.”

“Did you tell him why?”

Diana shook her head. “I couldn’t see any point. He was so rude and presumptive. He assumed the wedding was all set before I went to Australia.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Eliza asked, “How did he know when you actually married David? If he never contacted you after you returned home….”

“I suppose he must have read about the wedding—it was in a lot of magazines. David made sure of that. Not that it matters how Max knew. I just don’t understand why he’s so antagonistic. Especially after so much time.”

“Perhaps he’s suffering from dog-in-manger syndrome. He didn’t want to marry you himself, but that didn’t mean he wanted someone else to.”

“That’s crazy!”

“That’s men.” Eliza gave a rueful shrug. “I grew up with three brothers. Believe me, the competitiveness extends into all kinds of craziness.”

The waiter returned to take their orders and Diana laid her menu on the table. “I’m going to pass,” she said. “I have some prints to make this afternoon.”

“You’re not coming shopping? I was relying on you to help me choose an outfit for Case and Gina’s wedding.” Eliza gave the menu one last look of longing then handed it to their waiter. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass, as well, or I’ll never find anything to fit.” She turned back to Diana. “You haven’t forgotten the wedding is this weekend?”

“No.”

“No…but?” Eliza asked, astutely reading the hint of more in her answer.

“Will your visitors from ‘down under’ be there?”

“I believe so. Zack is heading home to New Zealand the next day but Max is staying on for another week or so. Surely you’re not letting this spat with him change your plans?”

“Not seeing him again would prevent any more spats.”

“Didn’t you decide when you moved here,” her friend pointed out with quiet gravity, “that this new start was about taking control of your life? That you wouldn’t allow yourself to be manipulated or managed any more?”

“This isn’t the same thing.”

“As the games your father and husband played? No. But is staying home and hiding from your past the best way to move forward? I think you should go to the wedding. And I think you should come shopping.” A devilish smile sparked Eliza’s eyes. “We’ll find a knockout dress that makes you feel fabulous and—bonus points—makes my dog-in-manger cousin sit up and howl at the moon!”

Diana laughed at the image, even as she shook her head. “I don’t need a new outfit.”

On a roll, Eliza didn’t listen. “It would be even better if you took a date.”

“There’s no one I—”

Eliza snapped her fingers. “Jeffrey!”

“My boss, Jeffrey? Oh, no. We don’t date.”

“Not strictly, but you do have those dinner nondates.”

“As friends and colleagues,” Diana pointed out.

“So invite him as your friend and colleague. You know how Jeffrey adores any opportunity to promote his gallery. This is the perfect opportunity. And since he’s good-looking, single and a terrific dancer, he is also the perfect date.” Satisfied with her logic, Eliza picked up her purse and signaled the waiter. “Now that’s decided, let’s go find us both the perfect dress!”



It wasn’t the dress that made Max sit up and take notice, although it had taken him a decent slice of the wedding reception to work that out. At first he thought it was the color, a rich sapphire blue that provided the ideal foil for her dark hair and creamy skin. Then he saw her walking and decided it was the way the layers of fabric faithfully flowed with the sway of her hips. And when she danced the subtle sprinkling of sequins only glinted beneath the ballroom chandeliers when others around her dazzled.

This wasn’t a dress that screamed look-at-me. Oh no, it whispered in a sultry midnight voice to check out the body inside. That’s what had made him sit up and take notice.

“Some dress, isn’t it?”

Max blinked his focus away from the dancers to frown at his companion. What the hell was Zack doing checking out Diana’s dress? Except it wasn’t Diana who’d nailed his mate’s attention, he realized belatedly, but a woman standing nearby. Until she turned her laughing face their way he didn’t recognize the feminine figure in green as his cousin Skylar, but that’s who it was all right. The down-to-earth tomboy he’d teasingly nick-named Freckles was all glammed up and, yes, even wearing a dress.

No wonder Zack had noticed…although he wasn’t sure he liked the way his mate was eyeing her. “I think it’s time to hit the dance-floor,” Zack murmured.

“Good idea. Here, hold this.” Max pressed his empty champagne flute into Zack’s hand. Ignoring the indignant protest, he winked and clapped his friend on the back. “It’s every man for himself. See you out there.”



“You’re not such a bad dancer, cuzz,” Sky teased. “For an Aussie cowhand.”

“It became a lot easier when you gave up fighting me for the lead, Freckles.”

She laughed and punched his arm lightly before resuming their comfortable two-step. “What do you think of our wedding, South Dakota style?”

“I’m amazed they put this shindig together so quickly.” Only three weeks ago Case had stunned everyone by announcing his engagement to Gina Reynolds, yet they’d managed to pull off a smoothly run and stylish event with a seeming lack of effort.

“When Case sets his mind to something, there’s no stopping him,” Sky remarked. “Plus it helps that he owns the venue.”

Max grinned at that wry observation. “No doubt.”

The venue was the spectacular ballroom of the Fortune’s Seven Hotel, part of the diverse portfolio of businesses put together by Nash Fortune and his father before him and his father before him. Since Nash’s early retirement, Dakota Fortune had been run from an impressive downtown office complex by Case and his brother Creed, who’d continued to build the company’s considerable assets.

Creed, Max noted, had stood up as best man for his elder brother while Blake, the third of Nash’s sons, had been a conspicuous absentee from the wedding ceremony.

In the weeks since their arrival Max and Zack had spent a lot of time jetting to and fro—sometimes with Skylar along to provide local expertise—inspecting stud complexes from Nebraska to Kentucky to Florida. In between trips Max had met all his cousins. He’d dined with them, shared early breakfasts and late suppers with those who lived at the big estate house, but until this evening he hadn’t picked up on all the underlying family tensions.

Point in question, the current heated discussion between Creed and Blake, who had just arrived at the hotel. Creed’s date was attempting to conciliate. Max hoped her evening dress was flame retardant.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Sky said. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Let’s say I’m being entertained.”

Noticing what had prompted his dry remark, she clicked her tongue in admonishment. “For Gina’s sake, I hope they don’t come to blows.”

“Do they often?”

“Not since Blake moved out of the house. He has some issues with the way Case and Creed cut him out of the family business.”

“I hear he’s done very well on his own.”

“Extremely well. His casinos are worth a bomb, which is all the more reason he should let this stuff go.” The frown puckering Sky’s brow deepened to a scowl.

“Perhaps I should go and crack their stubborn male heads together.”

“You’ll only draw more attention. Besides, Creed’s girlfriend looks like she has them in hand.”

“Would you look at that? They’re walking off in separate directions, and I don’t think Case and Gina even noticed!” She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed again.

“I heard Sasha was very good at her job. Have you met her? She’s a public relations assistant at Dakota Fortune.”

“I haven’t, but after that display I’d like to.”

“I heard you had a rep as a lady’s man. ‘The Playboy Cowboy’, isn’t it?”

Heard from Zack, no doubt. His friend thought the society columnist’s ridiculous tag was a real hoot. Max shook his head in mock disillusionment. “I can’t believe you’d take the word of that silver-tongued Kiwi over your own flesh-and-blood relation.”

Oddly, she didn’t fire back her usual smart mouth response. Max noticed the slight flush creeping into her face. Uh-oh. “I should warn you about Zack….”

“I should warn you about Sasha,” Sky retorted.

“She’s with Creed.”

“My interest is only in her PR skills.”

“Sure it is.”

Max chuckled and didn’t bother defending himself further. He did like women but his teasing banter with Sky was only that. A bit of fun that helped divert his attention from the only woman who had captured his interest tonight.

That woman wasn’t Creed’s auburn-haired date, despite her impressive peacemaking performance.

A tap on his shoulder brought their dance to a halt and he turned to find Maya Blackstone apologizing for the interruption. Maya was the daughter of Nash Fortune’s third and current wife, Patricia, with striking looks that affirmed her Native American heritage. From what he’d gathered while living at the Fortune estate, Maya was a close friend of Skylar’s but maintained a cool distance from the rest of her step-siblings.

Maya turned a worried face to Sky. “Have you seen my mother? I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find her. She was so quiet earlier—I’m worried she may be ill.”

“She wasn’t feeling well,” Sky confirmed. “A headache, I think. She said she was going home before it got any worse, but she didn’t want anyone to fuss.”

“But that’s so unlike her,” Maya fussed regardless. “You know she hates missing any part of a family celebration.”

“Well, at least she missed Creed and Blake’s latest altercation. That wouldn’t have helped her headache any!”

“Oh, please, tell me you’re joking.”

“Problem?”

They all turned at Zack’s intrusion, and Max lost interest in Maya and Sky’s exchange about the warring half-brothers when he saw Diana at his friend’s side. Her hand remained in Zack’s, as if they’d paused in dancing to join the little huddle at the edge of the dance-floor.

That niggled at him a cursed sight more than all the dances she’d shared with her date.

Max had observed her interaction with that smooth customer all evening without detecting any spark of heat. The bloke was attentive as a lapdog and they seemed comfortable together. Obviously they were friends but he’d bet London to a brick they weren’t lovers.

His New Zealand buddy, however, had to be watched. Zack pulled women with a scary lack of effort—that’s what he’d wanted to warn Sky about. Perhaps he should have warned Zack to keep his hands off both his cousin and Diana!

A third man joined their group and Maya introduced him as her boyfriend Brad McKenzie, before filling him in on Patricia’s whereabouts. Apparently he’d been helping Maya in her search and now he took her hand and towed her onto the dance-floor. During the round of introductions and explanations, Zack had struck up a conversation with Sky and they, too, took to the floor.

Zack didn’t miss the chance to wink and mouth every man for himself as he departed.

Max reminded himself that Sky was capable of holding her own in any company. She also had a father and three big brothers to watch out for her. Besides, he’d been left alone with Diana and that realization brought an edgy satisfaction that overrode everything else.

All evening she’d managed to evade his company. Not that he blamed her. He’d had just enough champagne to admit that he could have handled their last encounter with more finesse. He hoped he’d had enough champagne to manage an apology.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked with cool politeness, still avoiding eye contact.

“It’s been…interesting.”

“In what way?”

“Keeping up with all the crosscurrents has been an exercise,” he admitted. “I can understand Patricia’s headache.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Fortune parties are never dull.”

“This one hasn’t been,” he said softly. “And that smile of yours just made it even brighter.”

He heard the little hitch in her breath, saw the flutter of pulse in her throat, and finally her gaze swung up to connect with his. In that instant there was no pretense, no anger, just the intense familiarity of this woman, of that look in her eyes, of how she’d fit in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

All the years they’d spent apart fell away like a tumbling house of cards. Whether it was the moment, the setting, the champagne, it didn’t matter. He knew that he still wanted her and chance had delivered the perfect opportunity to have her in his arms again.

When he took her hand, the kick of contact resonated through his body and hummed in his blood. He felt the slight tremble in her fingertips a split second before she tried to pull away, but he fastened his grip and tugged her nearer.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she puffed out a gasp of indignation. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Resuming the dance Maya interrupted,” he said, pulling her resistive body into the traditional waltz hold. “Since your partner abandoned you, looks like you’re stuck with me.”




Three


Finding herself so unexpectedly alone with Max—with a Max who traded quips and flattering charm rather than backhanded swipes about her marriage—had thrown Diana for a loop before he took her hand and set her fingertips alive with sensation. It took two seconds of that skin-to-skin contact to admit that she’d never responded so instantly and intensely to any other man.

Not before Max, not since Max.

She was still off balance and struggling for composure when he attempted to lead her into the waltz steps that matched an old orchestral standard. His hand on her back seared through the filmy fabric to imprint the skin beneath. Hormones that had perked to life with the first glimpse of his smile now soared to their own melody. Yet her feet dragged, heavy with I-can’t-do-this-all-over-again fear and reluctance.

Around them other couples took evasive action, and her obvious resistance was drawing curious glances. To stand her ground and demand he let her go would only bring more attention to herself, something she’d loathed since childhood. With a stage diva mother and Broadway director father, she and her sisters had been expected to not only share their parents’ limelight but to revel in it.

Somehow Diana had missed out on those particular genes.

One of the reasons she’d fallen in love with photography was because it placed her on the other side of the spotlight; one of the talents she brought to her craft was her understanding of stage fright. She worked hard to devise settings that put her subjects at ease, and she helped them by using the same disassociation and relaxation techniques that had pulled her through an unhappy adolescence and even unhappier marriage.

Now seemed a perfect time to apply those skills.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the music, letting the rhythm flow through her limbs and into the dance steps. After several minutes and a complete circle of the spacious ballroom floor, she had almost blocked out her partner. And then he spoke.

“Not so hard, is it, once you relax and go with the flow.”

“I started lessons when I was three.” Following a strong male lead had never been an issue for her. Allowing herself to be pushed and pulled had been her strong—or weak—suit. “Dancing isn’t the problem.”

Max had always been sharp; she didn’t need to state out loud that he was the problem. His mouth kicked into a rueful half-smile. “I guess I deserved that.”

“For railroading me into dancing with you? Yes.”

“If I’d gone the formal route and asked you for the pleasure of this dance, would you have accepted?”

“No.”

“It’s only a dance,” he pointed out.

“Is it?”

He regarded her silently for a moment. “What do you think it is, Diana?”

Not Mrs. Young. In fact he was being altogether too affable. She didn’t trust him or the lingering traces of his smile any more than she trusted her body’s extravagant responses to his nearness. She didn’t need her breasts pointing out their acute craving; she didn’t want these touch-me flutters suffusing her skin. “I have no idea what this is,” she said archly. “Given your antagonism the last two occasions we’ve met, I can’t help but wonder what this civility is all about.”

“You think I have an agenda?”

“I think you have a nerve, expecting me to take pleasure in your company.”

“Would an apology help?”

“For the other morning? Oh, I think it would take a lot more than ‘sorry’ to make up for that outlandish allegation!”

Diana had set out for the late afternoon wedding determined on three fronts. To enjoy herself, no matter how many bad memories the ceremony evoked. To ignore Max, no matter how fine he looked in a formal suit. And if the second failed, to not get involved in another altercation.

So much for good intentions.

She’d been so focused on blocking out the impact of his touch, his scent, his sexy drawl—and that damn lopsided smile!—that she’d allowed herself to be sucked into this dialogue with less resistance than she’d given his request for a dance.

Now she waltzed on with her heart in her throat, dreading an offhand and meaningless apology as much as she feared further harsh words. But he didn’t reply for a long while, during which he turned her expertly to avoid another couple—Zack and Skylar, she noticed, absorbed in their own conversation—and in the process he managed to shift his grip and ease her closer into the protective shield of his body.

For a moment she forgot herself and her resistance in the smooth slide of his jacket beneath her fingers and the memory of his smooth, hot skin beneath. Then he spoke, so close to her ear that the deep timbre of his voice took on a life of its own in her blood. Battling her way back from those sensory depths, it took a little while for the ambiguity of his response to register.

I’ll keep that in mind.

That’s what he’d said. But what did he mean? That an apology wouldn’t be worth the effort…or that he’d need to put in more effort?

Diana wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer, yet not knowing left her feeling off-kilter and dissatisfied, like when a movie ended too suddenly without tying up all the threads. For a while she fostered that resentment of a story left unfinished. Would it have hurt him to explain himself and his changed attitude? Would it have been too much for him to attempt an apology?

Honestly? Yes. She knew him well enough to answer her own questions. Max Fortune had never been one for fake sentiments or for long-winded explanations. He made decisions, he acted, and those actions did the speaking for him.

Perhaps he didn’t have an agenda.

Perhaps, because of their errant partners, he’d simply found himself in a situation where he felt he should ask her to dance. Except asking would have resulted in a rebuff so he’d acted….

“It’s only a dance,” she murmured, repeating his earlier words to close the conversation in her own mind.

But he’d heard, apparently, because he leaned back a little, enough that he could look down into her face. “I’ve changed my mind about that,” he said. “It’s not only a dance. It’s our first dance.”

“Is it?” she asked, as if she hadn’t known, as if that hadn’t registered the instant he’d swung her into his arms.

“Yeah.” The same crooked smile as earlier touched his lips, but there was a dark gravity in his expression that caused her heartbeat to slow and deepen. “Seems we never got around to actual dates. Maybe that’s something else I need to apologize for.”

“That’s not necessary,” she told him.

Dating hadn’t been necessary, either, she thought with a bittersweet jab of memory. She’d fallen straight into his bed the night they’d met. Sure, they’d gone out for plenty of meals but those had always ended in a giddy rush home when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other any longer.

It was only after her return to New York, when she’d waited anxiously for a call that never came, that she’d taken an unblinkered look at her status in his life. No visits to meet his family. No double dates with his friends. Dancing with Zack earlier, she’d been stunned to learn that he and Max had been friends since university. As entrepreneurial partners they’d started up a range of ventures from the time they graduated, and yet she’d never met Zack and he knew nothing of her.





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