Книга - Convenient Cinderella Bride

Convenient Cinderella Bride
Joss Wood


Prince Charming – With Strings Attached Billionaire playboy Jonas Halstead has exactly ninety days to marry – or be cut off from his family's hotel dynasty. What he needs is a practical, like-minded woman who isn't looking to be swept off her feet.Jonah's seductive offer could save Katrina Morrison from financial ruin. But how can she be his wife in name only with desire tempting them to break the rules of their strictly hands-off arrangement? As passion complicates the journey to "I do," will Kat lose her heart to the man she's agreed to honor and cherish for however long their temporary marriage may last?







Prince Charming—With Strings Attached

Billionaire playboy Jonas Halstead has exactly ninety days to marry—or be cut off from his family’s hotel dynasty. What he needs is a practical, like-minded woman who isn’t looking to be swept off her feet.

Jonah’s seductive offer could save Katrina Morrison from financial ruin. But how can she be his wife in name only with desire tempting them to break the rules of their strictly hands-off arrangement? As passion complicates the journey to “I do,” will Kat lose her heart to the man she’s agreed to honor and cherish for however long their temporary marriage may last?


Jonas was impeccably dressed.

Kat’s eyes traveled over a broad chest and wide shoulders, up a tanned neck, to a strong jaw covered with two-day-old stubble. A mouth that was slow to smile but still sexy. Rich, successful and hot.

He had a rep for being a bit of a bastard, in business and in bed. That fact only dropped his sexy factor by a quarter of a percent.

“Mr. Halstead, welcome back to El Acantilado,” Kat murmured, ignoring her jumping heart.

“Call me Jonas.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d made the offer, but Kat had no intention of accepting. It wasn’t professional, and formality kept a healthy distance between her and guys in fancy suits. Like her ex-husband, and sadly, just like her father, those kinds of men were not to be trusted.

But it really annoyed Kat that a thousand sparks danced on her skin as Jonas’s smile turned his face from remote-but-still-hot to oh-my-God-I want-to-rip-his-clothes-off.

No. Sexy billionaires were not her type. She’d married, and divorced, a ruthless and merciless rich guy.

But it sure felt like she had the screaming hots for a man she shouldn’t.

And it was all Jonas Halstead’s fault.

* * *

Convenient Cinderella Bride is part of the Secrets of the A-List series: When you have it all, you’ll do anything to keep it.


Convenient Cinderella Bride

Joss Wood






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


JOSS WOOD loves books and traveling—especially to the wild places of southern Africa. She has the domestic skills of a potted plant and drinks far too much coffee.

Joss has written for Mills & Boon Modern Tempted, Mills & Boon Modern and, most recently, the Mills & Boon Desire line. After a career in business, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of the Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.


Contents

Cover (#u8bdaa009-8359-5b49-8a8d-ba28a63ecd43)

Back Cover Text (#uf0345976-dc7f-56e5-8860-dca2d59b69ac)

Introduction (#u3a622c06-79fc-536f-b51a-c48bf95efebd)

Title Page (#u75b9c296-7d8d-506f-bbfe-abffd690fe4e)

About the Author (#u133a3d96-71b9-5237-b33f-e3732ae4955f)

One (#u4e8d61a0-a23e-5a3e-a789-491ae194826b)

Two (#u5f2694da-fc7b-510e-8248-d3873070e4ea)

Three (#uc6997c94-4b95-54d8-a594-9f420d66cd03)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ue8dff959-bbb1-5414-9fdf-7bd11d5d8930)

Another month, another breakfast. How many of these business breakfasts had they shared? Jonas Halstead had been the CEO of Halstead & Sons for five years... He did the calculation. Sixty Wednesday breakfasts.

Sixty three-hour meetings with the man commonly known as “The White Shark of the West Coast.” Jack was reputed to be the most ruthless, occasionally morally ambiguous, businessman on this side of the country. He was also Jonas’s grandfather, and Jonas would rather be water-boarded than sit through this monthly meeting.

When he’d first started as CEO he’d banned his staff from dealing directly with the chairman of the board because few people could deal with Jack’s harsh manner, his interrogations and his dire warnings about possible disaster situations. Few, even those who were corporate animals, could handle Jack’s aggression and his pursuit of perfection. Jonas had long ago realized that if he wanted to keep his key staff then he had to shield them from Jack.

But that meant it was his ass in the hot seat.

Jonas was a big boy, being paid the big bucks. He could deal with Jack. But, hell, he could not wait for the day when he could run Halstead & Sons without Jack’s constant input and criticism. Thanks to Jack’s ruthlessness and Jonas’s father’s reputation for cutting corners, the Halstead name was not one to be trusted, and while that didn’t bother Jack in the least—Let the bastards fear us, it’s good for business!—Jonas hated having his word doubted, his integrity questioned. He was a hard, tough businessman. He drove a hard bargain. But when he gave his word, he kept it. Always.

His family had a reputation for doing legal but morally dodgy deals, for losing their integrity in pursuit of the mighty dollar. Promises were broken; lies were told. Seeing the instinctual mistrust on the faces of his investors, suppliers and competitors burned a hole in his stomach and still, quietly and secretly, embarrassed the hell out of him. He was determined to rehabilitate the company’s reputation and was just as committed to establishing his own reputation as a man whose word could be trusted.

He thought, maybe, that he was making progress, but it was taking a hell of a long time.

Having Jack still serving as chairman of the board didn’t help. But, dammit, it was Jack’s company, and until he decided to release the reins, Jonas could only manage the old man. And keep his treasured staff away from him.

Jonas walked up the steps to Jack’s palatial, beachside home on the prestigious Palisade Beach Road in Santa Monica. The house had been in the Halstead family for many generations, long before Hollywood’s elite had discovered the area. Jonas had grown up here. Well, in this house and the one next door, spending his time between his father’s and grandfather’s mansions, a motherless boy looking for attention from his disinterested father and demanding grandfather.

Jonas entered the spacious hallway and greeted Henry, his grandfather’s man-about-the-house. Wanting to get this meeting over with, Jonas made his way through the Spanish Colonial Revival mansion to the outside entertainment area with its one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the beach and the ocean. The wind was up and the waves were high, perfect conditions for a bit of surfing or kitesurfing. Jonas jogged down the steps from the entertainment area to the tiled patio at the edge of the property, which held comfortable chairs and expensive outdoor furniture. Despite the distance from the kitchen, this tree-shaded spot was Jack’s favorite place to dine.

His grandfather sat at the head of the table, his hand wrapped around a coffee cup, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, reading the business section of the paper, a daily habit of his. Jack liked his habits, in business and in his personal life. He wasn’t fond of people—sons, grandsons, colleagues and staff—coloring outside the lines. Jonas’s fluid, going-with-his-gut way of managing Halstead & Sons was a constant source of irritation to his grandfather. Jack could be as disapproving as he liked, but he couldn’t argue with the numbers; since taking over as CEO of Halstead five years ago, cash flow and profits had steadily increased.

Jonas noticed Preston McIntyre. Why was Jack’s lawyer eating with them? Jonas shook Preston’s hand and slid a glance in Jack’s direction. He immediately recognized the stubborn I’ll-get-to-it-when-I’m-ready expression. There was no point in pushing; the old man was as stubborn as a mule. Which grated, since Jonas was a get-it-done-now type of guy.

Jonas pulled out a chair from the table. “Morning, Jack.”

He’d been Grandpa Jack when Jonas had been younger, but it had been a while since he’d called his grandfather anything but his given name. Jack wasn’t the sentimental type. “Jonas. Have some breakfast.”

Jonas reached for the fruit salad.

“How is Cliff House coming along?” Jack demanded, his eyes flashing.

The Cliff House was their newest project, a rambling, neglected property that had once been the most luxurious hotel in Santa Barbara. That had been in the 1920s and it was now just a mess and a money pit. But it had awesome views and potential, and, best of all, Jonas had bought the property out from under Harrison Marshall’s nose. Harrison might be a world-renowned chef, restaurateur and family friend, but going onto his turf and snagging a property he’d desperately wanted had been fun. And it had been a clean snatch; a simple offer of more money that the owner had quickly accepted.

“On time and on budget,” Jonas replied, knowing that was all Jack wanted to hear. And it was the truth. He ran a tight ship.

“That’s the least I expect,” Jack snapped, eyes flashing. “Elaborate.”

Jonas gave Jack his verbal report, his eyes flicking to the smaller but still impressive house next door. The windows were locked and the drapes were closed. That meant his father was in Europe looking for art that could be added to his already extensive collection.

Such wealth, Jonas thought, was attached to his surname. The houses, the cars...the option not to work another day in his life—that’s the choice his father had made.

Jonas shuddered. Work was what gave his life meaning, how he filled his days. It provided the context of his life, the framework that kept him sane. For him, having nothing to do would be a nightmare.

He was too driven, too intense, too ambitious. In that way, he was like his grandfather. A focused workaholic determined to grow the family company under his stewardship. Besides, what else would he do with his time? He didn’t have—didn’t want—a wife and kids, and he didn’t play golf.

Jonas wondered, as he often did, if he would be as driven if he’d had a gentler upbringing, if he hadn’t had his father and grandfather riding him to do better, to be better. They’d both assumed he would be the future of the company, the fifth Halstead to run their multigenerational empire. A lot of emphasis had been placed on his performance; success was praised, failure was disparaged and a perceived lack of effort ignited tempers. Jack had encouraged independence of thought and deed, and winning at all costs. Lane, his father, didn’t believe in expressing any emotion. As a child, Jonas had learned to suppress his feelings. They were tools his father used to mock or denigrate him. It was easier, he’d discovered, to avoid emotional neediness in both himself and others.

Jack asked him another series of questions and Jonas concentrated on the here and now. There was no point in looking back, it didn’t achieve anything. And since Jack was, technically, Jonas’s boss, he needed to concentrate. His position was reasonably secure. He’d pulled the company into the twenty-first century and both stocks and profit margins were up. He had the Halstead name, but he didn’t own the company. Yet.

Jack leaned back in his chair, asked Jonas to pour coffee and Jonas complied. Preston had said nothing for the past half hour and Jonas wondered, again, why he was there. Preston gave him an uneasy look, and Jonas knew he was about to find out. And he wasn’t going to like it.

What was his wily grandfather plotting?

Jonas watched his grandfather, who was looking down the beach.

Jack’s deep green eyes, the same color as Jonas’s, eventually settled on his grandson’s face. “I am rewriting my will.”

Jonas felt his stomach knot. Dammit, again? They went through this every five years or so. As far as Jonas knew, he would inherit Jack’s shares in the company and his father would inherit a massive life insurance policy and most of Jack’s personal properties, excluding this house.

“This property and my shares in the company will all be yours.”

Good. He’d be pissed if he’d worked sixteen hours a day for more than a decade for nothing. “Thank you,” he said, knowing that was the only response Jack wanted or would tolerate.

“But...”

Oh, crap.

“...only if you marry within the next ninety days.”

What the hell?

It took every iota of Jonas’s self-control not to react. He wanted to leap to his feet, slam his hands on the table and demand that Jack explain his crazy statement. He wanted to ask his grandfather if he’d lost his marbles. But the only gesture of annoyance he allowed himself was the tightening of his grip around his coffee cup.

“That’s a hell of a demand, Jack,” Jonas said, danger creeping into his tone. “Does it come with an explanation?”

“You’re pissed,” Jack said, and Jonas caught the note of amusement in his voice.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Jonas countered, straining to keep his tone even.

“Sure,” Jack agreed. “You can be as pissed as you like, but I’m not changing my mind. You’re going to marry or you lose it all.”

Jonas rubbed his forehead, not quite believing how Jack had flipped Jonas’s life on its head in the space of five minutes. Jonas turned to Preston. “Is this legal?”

Preston sent him a sympathetic look. “They are his assets. He’s allowed to disperse them any way he likes. It’s blackmail but its legal blackmail.”

Preston narrowed his eyes at his client and Jonas’s respect for the lawyer increased.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Jack said, ignoring his lawyer’s comment. “Marry in ninety days and I will sign over everything to you, giving you complete control of the company and ownership of this house. That way we’ll avoid paying the state a ridiculous amount of money in estate tax. All you have to do is marry.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Your father will inherit my shares. He wants them and feels they’re his right as the next in line.” Jack’s voice was as hard as nails. “He has expressed his wish to return to the company.”

Jonas struggled to look through the red mist in front of his eyes. He hastily bit back the words over my dead body.

“He is a Halstead, Jonas. He says he’s bored, that it’s time for him to come back and take his place as the next Halstead to run our company.”

But Lane stole from the company to support his gambling habit! The words were on the tip of Jonas’s tongue but he couldn’t voice them. Who was he protecting by keeping Lane’s secret? Jack? His father? Himself?

“He walked away, Jack.” It was all he could say in protest.

“He’s still a talented businessman. And my son.”

“And all the work I’ve done in the years since he left has meant nothing? You’d do this without my consent?” Jonas saw the answer on Jack’s face and shook his head. “You’re a piece of work.”

Jack just shrugged. “My first priority will always be what I think is best for Halstead.”

Of course it was, God forbid that he put his grandson’s wishes before his company. “You have done a reasonable job with the company,” Jack continued, “but what, or who, comes after you? In your twenties, you dated extensively and I wasn’t worried. I believed you needed time to sow your wild oats. But you’re about to turn thirty-five, you’ve never brought a girl home to meet me and I’m concerned you will never settle down.”

“You’ve been single for more than fifty years, so I think it’s a bit hypocritical for you to judge my lifestyle,” Jonas pointed out.

“I was married. I produced a Halstead heir and Lane did the same. You have not. You should be married. You should have had a child or two by now.”

“These days, people are marrying and having children later in life, Jack!”

Jack glared at him. “I want to see you married. I want to see your child. I want to be assured that the Halstead fortune will not pass out of our bloodline.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t demand that I produce a child in three months, as well,” Jonas snapped.

“I’m not that demanding. That being said, if you marry, then there’s a good chance children will come from the union,” Jack said, stubbornness in every word he spoke. “Eventually. And I know you well enough to know that you’d hate, as much as I do, the idea of Halstead money, generations of effort and hard work, benefiting someone not of our bloodline.”

Bloodline? Jack sounded like a medieval lord talking about his estates. “This isn’t sixteenth century England, Jack. And I do not appreciate you meddling in my private life!”

“Pffft! Arranged marriages have worked for hundreds of years before love clouded the issue. It’s simple, Jonas. Marry and I will give you Halstead. Do not and deal with your father.”

Jonas muttered a low curse. Jack knew exactly what buttons to push; he knew Jonas would do anything to keep his father out of the company and that he wanted complete control of Halstead & Sons.

But there was a price to that freedom and the price was marriage. The one thing he’d planned to avoid for as long as possible.

But Jack had left him without a choice. It was Jack’s way or the highway.

Jonas pushed his chair back, tossed his linen napkin onto the table and leaned across to shake Preston’s hand. He ignored his grandfather, too angry with him to speak. He started to walk away but Jack’s voice followed him.

“Well, what are you going to do?” he demanded.

Jonas relished the note of uncertainty in his voice.

He slowly turned and eyed his elderly relative, his smile cold. “I’ll guess you’ll find out in three months. You can wait until then.”

* * *

Katrina Morrison slid her hand beneath her hair and, discreetly, pushed her finger under the seam of her dress, moving the still attached price tag in the hope that it would stop scratching her skin. How she wished she was in the position to yank the tag off and be done with it. But Tess, her best friend, who happened to be the manager of The Hanger—a downtown Santa Barbara boutique selling designer dresses—would slap her silly if she did that. Tess still had to sell the dresses Kat had “borrowed.”

God knew what Tess would do if she ripped the dress or spilled wine or food on it. Katrina would probably be tarred and feathered at dawn.

Or, worse, she’d have to pay for the dress. And she didn’t have a thousand-plus dollars to spare. Even if she did have that sort of cash lying around, Kat doubted she’d spend it on a mid-thigh, sleeveless, pleated dress that was so understated it screamed “expensive.” But appearances, especially when you were the host at El Acantilado, the award-winning and flagship restaurant owned by America’s favorite chef and entrepreneur, Harrison Marshall, were everything. El Acantilado’s patrons expected a unique and expensive dining experience. Kat was the first person to welcome them into the restaurant, and her first impression had to be favorable. Hence the designer dress, expertly applied makeup, glossy lips and black suede three-inch heels.

She was happiest in a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt, her nearly waist-length hair in a ponytail or a braid and her face makeup-free, but this job paid the bills. If dressing up like a fashion model was what was required, she’d do it.

Kat tapped her pen against her leather-bound reservations book and looked into the wood-and-steel restaurant to watch the waitstaff. The newest waiter, Fred, seemed stressed, his hand wobbling as he placed Harrison’s iconic roasted duck between the solid silver cutlery in front of Senator Cordell. Thank goodness he wasn’t serving Elana Marshall, Harrison’s daughter, who was sitting at the best table in the house with Jarrod Jones.

Hmm, Elana wasn’t dining with her long-term boyfriend Thom. Jarrod’s wife, the feted Irish actress Finola, was also missing.

God, Kat could make a fortune selling celebrity gossip to tabloid newspapers. They’d made her offers before, promised her anonymity, and she’d desperately needed the money.

Kat sighed. Selling gossip would be an easy solution to her financial woes. Damn her integrity and self-respect.

Kat smiled as Fred walked passed Elana’s table, his gaze sliding sideways. The waitstaff was expected to turn a blind eye, to not notice a damn thing, but Fred was young and a little starstruck. And, really, since Elana Marshall looked like the millions of bucks she was reputed to be worth in that barely there dress highlighting her cleavage, how could Fred not notice that impressive rack, that fabulous face and those pouty lips?

Hadn’t Kat, when she’d first started as a waitress years ago, been equally impressed by the star power that lit up the room? She’d stuttered when she’d first spoken to Angel Morales, the hottest and most talented celebrity around. She’d blushed when the younger Windsor brother had thanked her, very nicely, for a wonderful dining experience. She’d nearly fainted when a table of Oscar nominees had left her a two-thousand-dollar tip.

After serving so many wealthy and famous people, she was no longer easily impressed, and that was why she’d been promoted to the position of hostess a year or so ago. Harrison Marshall had personally promoted her, his decision based, he’d told her, on her popularity with his well-heeled clients. She was polite and personable, but she didn’t fawn or simper. His clients, Harrison had said, liked that. They, apparently, liked her.

Kat looked down at her book and then at her watch. The Henleys were late, but then, they always were. Jonas Halstead and guest would be arriving within five minutes, and he was always on time.

Kat idly wondered who Jonas would be with tonight. By her calculations, the blond pop sensation he’d been dating for the past three months had reached her sell-by date, and there would be another girl on his arm tonight. Jonas, the billionaire property developer specializing in hotels and casinos, was a repeat visitor to El Acantilado over the past year. He’d recently bought Cliff House and was renovating the iconic Santa Barbara hotel. Rumor had it that he’d out-negotiated Harrison Marshall for the property, which suggested that Halstead was a hell of a businessman...or a shark.

Kat sighed. Tough businessman or not, his was the world she wanted to be in. The one she’d been destined for. The one that still beckoned to her. But, at twenty-eight years old, she was still working here and the closest she’d come to the world of finance was to show billionaire businessmen like Jonas Halstead to his table.

God. How sad.

“Katrina.”

Kat’s head snapped up and she silently cursed when she realized Jonas was standing in front of her, impeccably dressed in a black designer suit worn over a rain-gray, open-necked shirt. Her eyes traveled up, across a broad chest and wide shoulders, along a tanned neck, to a strong jaw covered with two-day-old stubble and a mouth that was slow to smile but still sexy. He had a long, straight nose and deep green eyes under strong brows. Rich, successful and hot.

He had the reputation for being a bit of a bastard, in business and in bed. That fact only dropped his sexy factor by a quarter of a percent.

“Mr. Halstead, welcome back to El Acantilado,” Kat murmured, ignoring her jumping heart and squirrelly stomach. Yeah, he was built and so damn handsome, but geez, she wasn’t a twenty-two-year-old waitress anymore.

“Call me Jonas.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d made the offer, but Kat had no intention of accepting. It wasn’t professional to call him by his first name, and not doing so kept a very healthy distance between her and the Jonas Halsteads of the world. Like her ex-husband and like her father, rich guys in fancy suits were not to be trusted.

Then again, what man could be?

But it really annoyed Kat that Jonas did funny things to her stomach and made her heart jump.

Fast, furious sexual attraction had led to her falling in love with and marrying Wes, and since he’d ended up using her heart as a Ping-Pong ball, she didn’t trust her pheromones’ ability to pick men wisely.

But every time she saw Jonas, her libido loudly reminded her that she hadn’t had sex in a very long time. Jonas Halstead would be damn good at sex. He’d had, it was said, a lot of practice.

But tonight he was here alone. “Is your guest not joining you tonight?”

Jonas placed his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “Rowan will be joining me shortly.”

Kat widened her eyes in surprise. He was dating Rowan Greenly? The actress had just separated from her very volatile husband after a domestic abuse charge, and the hot-tempered rock star had threatened to kill anyone who made a move on his wife.

“You’re brave. I suggest you wear a bulletproof vest,” Kat couldn’t help murmuring, even though she knew she was being indiscreet. “Rock likes his guns.”

Jonas frowned, confused. Then his austere face softened as he released a low chuckle.

A thousand sparks danced on her skin as his smile turned his face from remote-but-still-hot to oh-my-God-I-want-to-rip-his-clothes-off. Kat placed her fist under her sternum and resisted the urge to scrunch her eyes shut.

No. God, no. She couldn’t have the screaming hots for Jonas Halstead. She’d married, and divorced, a ruthless and merciless man. A competitive and cutthroat billionaire should be the last person to interest her. She was avoiding the male species in general, and the hot and sexy ones in particular.

Jonas was not her type.

The front door to the restaurant pulled open and all six feet and five inches of the best basketball talent in the country stepped into the restaurant. Rowan Brady. God, of course it was.

Kat glanced at Jonas, who lifted one dark eyebrow. “My date.”

Rowan joined them, clasping Jonas’s shoulder as he did. “Joe, we’ve known each other since we were kids and I keep telling you you’re not my type.”

Kat heard the teasing note in Rowan’s deep voice and blushed as his dark eyes settled on her face. “And I’m curious as to why you’d want this gorgeous creature to think that I am.”

Jonas slid Rowan a droll look. “Katrina thought I was meeting Rowan Greenly.”

Rowan shuddered. “You have more sense than that. She’s hot but her husband is psycho.”

Jonas pulled his hands from his pockets and placed his forearms on her counter, the fabric of his suit bunching around impressive biceps. Kat lifted an eyebrow of her own, annoyed that she could easily imagine pushing that jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, ripping that shirt apart to find out whether his skin was as hot as she imagined.

She swallowed a moan. It was time to do her job. “Let me take you to your table, Mr. Halstead.”

“Since you felt comfortable enough to make assumptions about my love life, you should be comfortable enough to call me Jonas. Or Joe.”

Kat walked around the podium and gestured to the already full dining room. She deliberately ignored his provoking statement and his friend’s amused expression. “I’ve placed you by the window. It has the most wonderful view of the beach below. This way, gentlemen.” Kat started the familiar walk into the restaurant, forcing her expression into one of calm serenity.

Please don’t look at my ass, Kat thought as Jonas fell into step behind her. Or, if you do, please like it.

For God’s sake, Katrina! What is wrong with you?

“You have a—”

Thankful they were at his table, Kat turned and waited for his cocky comment.

But Jonas said nothing. He just moved to stand behind her, his height and width dwarfing her. He lifted his hand to her neck and Kat felt the tips of his fingers graze her skin. He barely made contact but suddenly her feet were glued to the floor and every cell in her body was set to vibrate. If he kissed her she’d spontaneously combust. She was sure of it.

Jonas twisted his hand and quickly snapped off the tag to her dress and held it up. “You obviously forgot to take it off. Here you go.”

Kat’s eyes bounced between the tag in his hand and his eyes, horror smothering the burning attraction she felt for the man.

Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap. He’d ripped the tag when he pulled it off and she wouldn’t be able to reattach it.

Oh, God, Tess had made it very clear that the bar code had to remain intact, that it could not be reproduced. Kat wouldn’t be able to return the dress.

Her stomach climbed up her throat and lodged behind her tonsils. She was quite certain the air in the room was fast disappearing.

“Are you okay?” Jonas asked from a place far away. “Katrina?”

His voice pulled her back from the abyss, just a foot or so, enough for her to get some air into her lungs and oxygen to her brain.

You can’t faint. You can’t yell at him. You can’t even react.

You need this damn job.

But she couldn’t speak. She was unable to command her tongue to form even the smallest response. Intellectually she knew he thought he’d been doing her a favor, but his assumption had just piled another suitcase of stress onto the load she was already struggling to carry. Was this the straw that would break her back?

Kat suspected it might be. She snatched the tag from Jonas’s hand and spun on her heel, praying she made it to the staff restroom without throwing up.

She now owed more than a thousand dollars on a dress she couldn’t afford and it was Jonas Halstead’s fault.

God, sexy man or not, if he had been eating with Rowan Greenly, Kat would have called Rowan’s psycho husband and told him where to find Jonas.

And she would have suggested he bring his biggest gun.


Two (#ue8dff959-bbb1-5414-9fdf-7bd11d5d8930)

Kat, reaching her desk at the entrance of the restaurant and its adjoining bar, looked at the rows of liquor above the bartender’s head and wished she could order something long, strong and alcoholic. Her eyes danced across a group in the corner, a girl and four guys, all pierced and tattooed. They were drinking the Mariella, the world-famous cocktail named after Harrison’s wife. She could do with a Mariella, or three, right now. Actually she could really do with one of Mariella Santiago-Marshall’s limitless, solid black credit cards or access to her bank account.

Crap. What the hell was she going to do?

“Please, please tell me you’d left the tag on the dress as a mistake—that you weren’t planning on returning it in the morning.”

Kat spun around and blinked at the multicolored creature standing in front of her. Her dress was a slinky cocktail number with a plunging neck and spaghetti straps the color of lemon sorbet. It was the perfect foil for the ink on her body. Pulling her eyes up from the amazing artwork, Kat looked into an elfin face dominated by a pair of warm brown eyes. The woman had a series of piercings in her lower lip and along her eyebrow; she had a tiny butterfly tattoo on her temple.

“You look amazing,” Kat said. She sighed. It was obviously her night for allowing her mouth to run away with her.

“Thank you. But you didn’t answer my question. Were you returning the dress?”

Kat looked into the restaurant and scowled in Halstead’s direction. She never discussed one customer with another, but this woman would join her equally inked friends in the bar—birds of a feather—and she didn’t see the harm in answering her question. Kat could spot a trust-fund baby at sixty paces and this woman was not one of them.

She lowered her voice. “Yes, it’s borrowed. I was returning it in the morning. Now I’m going to have to pay for it, which was never the damned plan.” Not sure what it was about this painted fairy that had her spilling her secrets, Kat continued, “God, I could just kill him. I don’t have a thousand dollars to spend on a dress! I don’t have a thousand dollars, full stop!”

“Thirteen hundred.” The girl bit her lip. “It’s a Callisto. Thirteen ninety-five, including tax.”

Kat resisted the urge to bang her head against her desk. She swore, softly. “Dammit. I swear, I don’t care that he’s as sexy as sin and hotter than the sun, he’s a stupid, idiot man!”

Before the painted fairy could reply, Elana Marshall interrupted their conversation by placing a hand on Kat’s shoulder.

Kat spun around and smiled at the youngest Marshall and prayed that Elana hadn’t heard her last emphatic statement. “Hi, Elana, did you have a nice evening?”

The dimple in Elana’s cheek flashed. “I did. Thanks, Kat.”

Elana looked at Pixie Girl, her eyes bouncing from tat to tat, her mouth curving upward. “Love the angel on your arm.” Without waiting for a response, Elana turned her attention back to Kat. “So who is the idiot man?”

Kat wanted to scrunch her eyes shut in mortification. She and Elana were friends, sort of, in a “hey, how are you” sort of way. Elana was an heiress and Kat was Elana’s father’s employee. Kat’s eyes darted to Pixie Girl, silently begging her not to answer. She didn’t want Elana Marshall, who was the ultimate trust-fund baby, to know that her dress was on loan.

Pixie Girl smiled. “Aren’t they all, at one time or another?”

Elana nodded. “Pretty much. And here is one of mine.” Kat smiled at Elana’s date and thought that Elana could do a lot better than the married casting director. She could also do better than her fiancé, Thom, who was really nice but...not for Elana. She needed someone with a personality as strong as hers.

But Kat had bigger problems to worry about than her boss’s daughter’s complicated love life. She had a job to do...a job she needed now more than ever.

Kat said good-night to Elana and turned back to the vision standing in front of her. “I am so sorry, you’ve been standing here forever. Let me walk you to the bar.”

Pixie Girl grinned. “Actually, I’m joining Jonas Halstead’s table.”

Kat groaned and wondered if there was any way this night could get worse.

“Yeah,” said Pixie Girl. “I’m meeting my boss and his friend for dinner.”

“Please tell me that you work for Rowan Brady,” Kat begged her.

She smiled, giving Kat a flash of her tongue stud. “Nope. I’m Sian and I work for Jonas Halstead.”

Well, she had wondered whether this evening could get any worse.

Yep, Life answered her, challenge accepted.

* * *

The next morning, after a night long on worry and light on sleep, Kat heard the sound of a key in a lock. She brushed her hands across her wet cheekbones and rubbed her hands over her thighs, transferring her tears onto her old yoga pants. She heard the familiar thump of Tess’s heavy bag hitting the floor and then her friend, with copper hair and freckles, stepped into Kat’s small sitting area, holding—bless her—two cups of coffee.

“Yay, you’re awake. I didn’t know if you would be,” Tess said, handing Kat a cup. “I got your text message this morning so I thought I’d pop in and see what the ‘catastrophe’ was.” Tess sat next to Kat and peered into her face. “God, have you slept? At all?”

“I got home after midnight and I was too wound up for sleep.” Not wanting to delay the bad news, she nodded at the designer dress lying over the chair. “I need to pay for the dress.”

Tess’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, crap, why?”

“Last night a guest, thinking he was being helpful, pulled the tag off,” Kat told her, her voice flat. “The tag is toast.”

Tess softly swore and wrinkled her nose. “Dammit, Kat, if you’d spilled something on it we could’ve had it cleaned. If it ripped, I would’ve had it mended, but I can’t give a reasonable explanation as to why the label was ripped off.”

Kat held up her hand. “I get it, Tess, I do. Stupid Jonas Halstead.”

“The property mogul and one of California’s hottest bachelors?” Tess’s eyes widened. “He’s an idiot for pulling the label off but, oh, my God, he’s so sexy.”

“He might be but he’s put me in a hell of a position,” Kat grumbled. “How soon do you need the money?”

Tess thought for a minute. “Miranda is away on vacation in Cancun for a month. So, basically, you have that long. And if you give me the money, I’ll buy it and that way you’ll get the staff discount. It’s not much, only ten percent off, but it’ll help.”

Kat squeezed her knee. “Thanks, Tess.” She rested her head on the back of her couch and closed her eyes.

“Or I can pay for it from my savings and you can pay me back,” Tess added.

“Ah, Tess.” It was a sweet offer. It didn’t matter that Tess was her oldest friend. She couldn’t accept her help. Thanks to her father and her ex-husband, Kat had massive issues around money. And trust.

It was easier, safer, cleaner, to go it alone.

Tess placed her coffee cup on the battered table with a thump. “You can’t keep this up, Kat. You can’t keep trying to do it all. You’ve even dropped weight. Are you eating?”

She ate at the restaurant most nights, with the chefs at the end of a shift. In between she lived on coffee and fresh air.

“Kat, something has got to change,” Tess insisted, sitting on the edge of the seat.

“But what, Tess?” Kat demanded, resting her elbows on her knees. “The house June lives in is mine but my evil stepmom has the right to use it for the rest of her life and, in the terms of the will, I have to pay for the utilities and the upkeep. I have to carry the costs on a property I can’t sell or use to get a loan.”

“Why the hell didn’t your dad leave you any cash?”

“Because he thought that, by the time he died, I’d have a kick-ass, high-paying job. He also knew I had a rich husband to take care of me. He thought that if I couldn’t pay for the house, Wes would pay for what I needed. I had someone to look after me. June did not.”

“Your ex was such a psycho,” Tess muttered, her expression dark.

Yep, beneath that charming all-American-boy exterior lived a sardonic, selfish narcissist who thought the sun disappeared when he sat.

“Okay, there’s nothing you can do about the house but I don’t understand why you are taking on the burden of Cath’s medical bills,” Tess stated, taking a sip of her coffee. She waved her hand. “I understand why you feel obliged to—when your mom died and your dad remarried Cruella, your aunt was there for you—but Cath is financially stable.”

Kat pushed her hands into her hair. “She’s really not, Tess. She has insurance but it’s limited. Her cancer is rare and complicated and requires treatments her insurance doesn’t cover. She’s also paying for a full-time caregiver, which has wiped out the little disposable income she has.” Kat shrugged. “So, between June’s demands on the repairs to the house and sending cash Cath’s way, I’m flat broke.”

“Is she getting better?”

Kat felt her heart spasm as she shook her head. “I need her to see a specialist, but even if there wasn’t a ridiculously long waiting list, they always seem to want money up front to cover the cost of her tests.”

Kat rubbed the back of her neck and looked around her small but cozy apartment. It was her favorite place in the world, a haven of color, the place where she could relax. After leaving the restaurant last night she’d returned home and spent a few hours crunching numbers on a spreadsheet.

One column held a list of expenses: rent, utility bills and food for herself; the repairs, maintenance and utility bills for the home her stepmom occupied; projected figures for Cath’s medical expenses.

The other column, woefully small, held her income. There was a massive shortfall between the two amounts and she’d had yet to include paying for the damn dress.

God, how she wished she could roll back the years. She wished she hadn’t taken a gap year between school and college to travel Europe. She wished she hadn’t met and—in a haze of lust—married Wes. She’d managed to complete her degree in business administration, but there were lots of people with the same degree. She needed her MBA to earn the big bucks that would keep her head above water.

Over the past four years she’d managed to scrape together enough money to earn some credits toward her postgrad degree, but she still had a few courses to do. And she had to write her Leadership and Corporate Accountability exam in a few months. God knew when she was going to get time to study for that.

Yesterday she’d been treading water financially, but with a designer dress to pay for, she was now sinking below the surface. Tess was right. Something had to change, and fast. But what?

“I’m going to have to move,” Kat reluctantly stated. “I’d save some money if I did. I can move back in with Cath.”

Cath would love to have her and would refuse to charge her rent. If she did move back in, she could keep a better eye on Cath and monitor her health. But...damn, this apartment was her bolt-hole, her escape, the only place that was completely hers.

“This apartment block is owned by Harrison Marshall. Can’t you ask the company to give you a break, to carry you for a month or two?” Tess asked.

Not possible. “They already give me a subsidy on my rent as part of my salary. I can’t ask for more.”

“So, essentially, you have a month to find the money to pay for the dress and to try to keep this apartment.”

A month? God. “When you put it like that I want to bang my head against the wall,” Kat muttered.

“Maybe something will come up. You never know.”

“And I believe in unicorns and fairies...” Kat murmured, feeling utterly defeated. “God, Tess, for the first time ever, I’m totally out of ideas. What the hell am I going to do?”

Tess’s eyes were full of compassion. “You’re going to keep on believing that something amazing will happen. You’re going to use your big brain and find a way because you are the smartest woman I know.” Tess stood, took Kat’s coffee from her hand and placed it on the coffee table. Pulling a throw off the single chair and then patting a pillow she placed against the arm of the sofa, she said, “But right now, you’re going to sleep for a couple of hours.”

“I’ve got stuff to do,” Kat protested, her eyes heavy at just the mention of sleep.

“You need to decompress and you really need sleep,” Tess insisted and watched as Kat curled her legs up onto the sofa and rested her head on the cushion. “You can’t think straight without sleep, my darling. When you wake up, you’ll feel so much better and you’ll think of a solution.”

God, she hoped so, Kat thought, closing her eyes. She was just about to drift off when she heard, once again, Tess’s footsteps on her floor. “What did you lose, Tess?”

“Uh...it’s not what I lost but what I found on your doorstep.”

Hearing a note in Tess’s voice that was a curious combination of both surprise and confusion, Kat forced her eyes open. She saw his feet first, trendy navy sneakers worn without socks. Indigo denim slacks covered muscular, long legs and a leather belt encircled a trim waist and what she suspected might be a washboard stomach. A striped blue-and-white shirt was tucked in and made his chest seem wider, his shoulders broader. The cuffs of his expensive shirt were rolled up to reveal tanned forearms and a Rolex encircling a strong wrist. His cotton shirt pulled tight across his big biceps and the collar of his shirt opened in a V to reveal a hint of his chest covered in a light dusting of hair.

Green, green eyes, messy hair, that sexy stubble on his strong jaw. Man, what had she done to deserve Jonas Halstead standing in her apartment at 8:05 a.m.?

Kat slowly sat upright and frowned when she saw Tess backing away. Huh, so Tess wasn’t sticking around for moral support. She frowned at her friend, who shrugged. “I have to get to work. I’m late as it is. Sorry,” Tess explained, walking backward into the hall.

Sorry? She didn’t look sorry at all. Kat slapped her bare feet onto the floor and stood, wishing she didn’t look like a bag lady on a bad day. She ran her tongue over her teeth and pushed her hand into her hair, sighing when her hand snagged on a knot. Really? This was now her life?

Kat forced herself to meet Jonas Halstead’s amused eyes. “What on earth are you doing here? How did you find me?”

He reached into the back pocket of his pants and tossed a check onto her coffee table. “Fourteen hundred dollars. It’s to pay for the dress I ruined.”

Bloody Sian. Kat had thought she’d keep her mouth shut! Dammit. Kat looked at the check, sighed and decided to lie her ass off. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Jonas jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants and narrowed his eyes at her. “The hell you don’t. You borrowed a designer dress. You were going to return it. I pulled the tag off, which, as Sian told me, was a stupid ass thing to do. You are now on the hook for fourteen hundred dollars. I’m taking you off the hook.”

Kat looked at the check, back up to his determined face and back down to the check again. God, it was so tempting to take his money. It had been his fault. He had pulled the tag off and it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford the donation. He was Jonas Halstead, billionaire.

But it was still a donation and she didn’t accept charity, ever. She especially didn’t take handouts from sexy men who threw cash around like it was confetti. Nothing was simple when it came to money and motives should always be questioned. Nobody, especially hard-assed businessmen, handed out money without wanting something in return.

Between her ex and her father, she was sick of men and the games they played with money. Kat folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “I’m not going to cash your check.”

Shock ran across his face, through his eyes. “What?”

“I’m not taking your money.” Kat spoke slowly, as if she were her explaining her position to a three-year-old. “I chose to wear the dress, even knowing that I couldn’t afford to pay for it if something went wrong. Something did go wrong, but it’s my problem, not yours.”

“The hell it is!” Jonas snapped back, his green eyes flashing with frustration. “I should not have been presumptuous enough to take the tag off.”

“Maybe not, but I’m still not taking your money,” Kat told him, feeling stubborn.

“Consider it a tip,” Jonas suggested, matching her bullishness with a healthy dose of his own.

“Too late for that,” Kat said. “Thanks for the offer but...no.”

“You are the most infuriating, annoying, frustrating, sexy...”

Kat hauled in a breath when he said the last word and their eyes clashed and held. One little word and something hot and crazy buzzed between them. The air around them seemed to thicken and tighten, filling with electricity. God, he was as attracted to her as she was to him. She saw it in the way he clenched and unclenched his fists, in the green fire in his eyes. If she took one step toward him she’d be in his arms. She’d feel the heat and strength of him. She would know whether his sexy lips felt as good as they looked, whether sparks would jump from her skin under the warmth of his hands.

She wanted him. Annoying, cash-on-the-table cretin that he was, she wanted to taste him, feel him, make love to him. She was losing her mind; she was sure of it. Too much stress and not enough sleep...this craziness was the result.

Kat heard Jonas snap out a swear word, heard his “This is insane” mutter. Then his hand breached the space between them and his fingers encircled her wrist. He held her lightly, giving her the opportunity to pull out of his grip if she so wanted.

She didn’t.

Instead Kat allowed him to pull her in. She didn’t step away when his hand rested on her lower back and jerked her hips into his, allowing her to feel the hard length of his erection pushing into her stomach. His other hand covered her right breast; his thumb finding her nipple with deadly accuracy. He hadn’t even kissed her yet and her panties were damp.

If he didn’t kiss her she would die. From want, need, sheer frustration. Kat stood on her tiptoes, her mouth aligned with his. Not bothering to be coy, she slammed her lips onto his, her tongue darting out to trace the seam, to tempt him to open up.

This wasn’t her, Kat thought from a place far away. She waited for men to make the first move, to kiss her, to lead. She followed. But not today.

Jonas swiped her nipple with his thumb, held her tight against him and let her kiss him. When he didn’t open his mouth or kiss her back, Kat, unsure of what she was doing or whether she should be doing this at all, started to pull away. Jonas growled a harsh no against her mouth and moved his hand from her breast to the back of her head to keep her in place. She wasn’t going anywhere, Kat realized, and when his mouth started to move, she also realized she didn’t want to.

Jonas Halstead was kissing her. It was candy floss and crack, sunshine and sin, pleasure and pain. He took command of her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers in a sexy dance. Kat, senseless, pulled his shirt from the back of his pants and put her hands on his hot, masculine skin. Jonas groaned his pleasure and she ran her palms over his gorgeous ass, annoyed at the barrier of clothes between her fingers and his flesh.

Jonas kissed the corner of her mouth and trailed his lips over her jaw, down her neck. It had been a long time since a man had kissed her liked this, touched her like she was something infinitely precious and incandescently gorgeous. She’d missed this. His teeth scraped across her collarbone. The tiny sting and the wave of pleasure made Kat’s eyes fly open. Her gaze landed on the dress.

The one he’d just offered to pay for.

Kat stiffened in his arms as dismay swamped desire. Oh, God, did he think she was taking the money and this was her way of showing her gratitude? Did he think she was so easily manipulated? Did he think she was desperate, so eager to be with a man who was supposed to be brilliant at business? And in bed?

What the hell was wrong with her?

Kat jerked away from him and wrapped her hands around her waist.

“What did I do?”

Cynicism returned and Kat snorted, convinced he’d practiced that expression of puzzled surprise. “I’m not taking your check and, to be very clear, I’m not sleeping with you.”

Jonas’s eyes turned frosty. “I didn’t make that assumption,” he said, his soft voice holding an edge of danger. “And sex is not what I came for.”

“Really?” Kat whipped out the words. “You didn’t take very long to kiss me.”

Jonas jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, those clever lips now thin with anger. “I’d like to point out that you didn’t fight me off.” He pulled on the tail of his shirt before tucking it back into his pants. “This shirt didn’t pull itself loose.”

Kat blushed, dropped her eyes and released an irritated sigh.

“Why are you mad, Katrina? Because I kissed you or because you liked it and wanted me to do more?”

Neither. Both. Crap.

Kat, feeling thoroughly off balance, brushed past him, deliberately connecting her shoulder with the top of his bicep before storming toward the hallway. Her attempt at intimidation had as much impact as a fly trying to move a cow.

When she reached her front door, she pulled it open and, when Jonas reached her, she gestured for him to keep on walking. “Just go.”

“No. You’re obviously upset and I want to know why.”

She could never explain. For the first time in four years, for a few minutes in his arms, she’d felt protected, not so alone. She’d felt like the world wasn’t conspiring against her, that life would get better, that things would eventually be okay. It had nothing to do with the check but everything to do with his strength, the power that radiated from him. He made her feel stronger...

God, he made her want to lean, to ask for help, to think that maybe, someday, she could trust someone again. Love someone again. He made her remember what attraction and pleasure and, dammit, what affection felt like. She’d deliberately pushed all of that away, locked all those emotions and memories in a box, refusing to look at them. Memories hurt, dammit.

But one kiss from Halstead had snapped that lock like it was made of spun sugar. She couldn’t allow herself to look back; she couldn’t afford to remember. It hurt too damn much. And, worse, it might tempt her to make the same mistakes she had before.

“Please go.”

“Katrina...”

Kat was quite convinced that her head was one minute away from exploding. Anger rolled in—so much easier to deal with than fear. “My name,” she yelled, “is Kat! I’m twenty-eight years old. I haven’t had sex in four years. I’m flat broke and I’ve done no work to prepare for my LCA final! I’m exhausted and I don’t need this! I have exactly one nerve left and you’re friggin’ standing on it. Go away!”

Kat felt her lungs pumping, heard the buzzing in her head and knew that if he attempted to speak again, she would kill him. Slowly. With her bare hands. It didn’t matter that he was twice her size, she had so much adrenaline and unused sexual energy pumping around her system that she could take on a herd of angry hippos and win. Jonas Halstead didn’t have a chance in hell.

Jonas sent her a you’re-bat-crap-crazy look and walked into the hallway.

Kat slammed the door closed behind him and stomped through her living room into her bedroom. Climbing into bed, she pulled the covers over her head and wished she could just stay there for the rest of her life.

Because, dammit, Jonas Halstead’s check was still on her coffee table. And because she was now, more than ever, tempted to cash it.


Three (#ue8dff959-bbb1-5414-9fdf-7bd11d5d8930)

Jonas looked up when Sian walked into his office and slammed the door behind her. He lifted his eyebrows, leaned back in his chair and waited for her to offload. He knew, from experience, that it wouldn’t take long.

She went into all they had to do in their temporary office in Santa Barbara. The builders at Cliff House had found mold in the basement, the masons rebuilding the stone walkways were behind schedule and the anchor tenant destined for their new mall in Austin, Texas, now had cold feet. The investors for a ski resort in Whistler were uneasy—global downturn, less disposable income, global warming—and their head of human resources was moving to the East Coast.

Yet all Jonas could think about was the hot kiss he’d shared with Katrina—Kat—and the fact that she had yet to cash his check. Damned stubborn woman.

Walking away from her instead of taking her where they’d stood had required every bit of self-control he’d possessed. He’d never become so lost in a kiss, so carried away in a woman’s arms. He’d loved kissing her, touching her, and would have loved to have done more.

So much more.

That was all well and good but he didn’t like the fact that Kat Morrison, hostess at the best restaurant in Santa Barbara—flat broke and currently celibate—had the ability to make him forget his own name.

He didn’t like that at all.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about her, remembering how soft her skin had felt under his hands, the spice of her mouth, those breathy sounds she’d made in the back of her throat. And her smell, something clean and natural, seemed lodged in his nose. He was also—and this was worrying—curious and, worse, concerned about her. She had a good job, why was she broke? Why didn’t she have a boyfriend? She’d mentioned an LCA final and, as he remembered from his college days, that stood for Leadership and Corporate Accountability—part of the MBA program. He could handle her beauty and her sex appeal but if she was as bright as he suspected, he was in big trouble.

There was nothing more dangerous than a gorgeous, brainy woman.

Sian’s small hand slapped his desk and he snapped back to the present. Talking about brainy, sexy women, this one was looking vastly irritated. “Will you please concentrate?”

Jonas nodded and quickly issued a list of instructions to, hopefully, address all the issues she’d raised. “Did I get them all?” he asked.

Sian nodded. “That is so annoying, especially since I didn’t have your full attention.”

“I can multitask.”

Sian threw her pen down and linked her hands around her knee. “Want to tell me what’s going on with you? And don’t tell me nothing—you’ve been acting like a bear for the last two weeks.”

“Jack,” Jonas stated, making his grandfather’s name sound like a curse.

“Oh, dear.” Sian stood, walked over to the small fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out two ice waters. She handed one to Jonas, who cracked the lid for her before taking the unopened bottle for himself.

“So, what did the old buzzard do this time?”

“He told me I have three months—two and three-quarter months now—to marry or else he is disinheriting me.”

Sian smiled, thinking he was joking. When he held her gaze, her mouth opened in shock. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“I so wish I was,” Jonas replied. He’d spent the past week trying to convince himself that Jack wasn’t being serious, that he was jerking Jonas around, but then Preston had sent him an official letter stating his client’s position and assuring Jonas that his grandfather was deadly serious about him finding a wife.

Jonas had to marry or he’d lose everything he’d worked for, everything that made sense to him. He felt the burn of a rumbling ulcer and took another sip of water.

And even if he hadn’t received a letter from Preston, he would’ve sensed Jack’s displeasure from the cold telephone conversations they’d shared since that breakfast, Jack’s terse and snappy emails. When circumstances went his way, his grandfather was congenial and charming, occasionally affectionate. When he was thwarted, he grew arctic cold and withdrew. Trying to stay on Jack’s good side was like trying to herd cats, futile and exhausting.

After five minutes of thoughtful silence, Sian lifted a shoulder and the scales of the inked dragon covering her skin rippled. “Well, it seems like you don’t have a hell of a lot of choice,” Sian said. “Marry someone.”

“Okay, pencil it in my diary and I’ll meet you at the courthouse.”

Sian’s laughter danced on the sunlight. “Ha, ha, funny man. Garth has been asking me to marry him for a year and I keep telling him hell, no! So the chances of me marrying someone I don’t love, even you, are less than zero. Besides, if you married me, Jack would definitely disinherit you.”

Jack, narrow-minded as he was, couldn’t look past the tattoos to see the razor-sharp brain Sian possessed. “Crap, Si, what the hell am I going to do? I need a wife. Where will I find someone to marry before the deadline? Maybe if I grovel, Gigi would take me back.”

Sian shuddered. “You wouldn’t need to grovel, you’d just need to crook your finger in her direction and she’d come skipping back. No! I absolutely refuse to let you do that. You’ll be divorced within six months.”

And why would that be a problem? If he went through with this crazy scheme, he intended to be married to his temporary bride for the least amount of time possible.

Sian stood and walked around so that she sat on the corner of his desk, facing him. “C’mon, Joe, there’s got to be someone else you’ve met lately who would be a better bet than that whiny, vain actress.”

Katrina’s face immediately popped into his head.

“You’re thinking of someone.” Sian pushed a finger into his chest. “Tell me! Who?”

Jonas shook his head, sending a glance at his monitor. “Nobody. C’mon, Si, back to work.”

Sian crossed her arms and glared at him. “No. Tell me who you are thinking of.”

He felt like he was ten years old and had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It wouldn’t work. We’re too different.”

“Jonas! Who?”

“Kat. Katrina Morrison,” Jonas finally admitted, meeting her eyes and daring her to laugh at him. Hell, he wouldn’t blame her if she did. If he wasn’t feeling so damn morose and confused and terrified, he’d be laughing, too.

But Sian just cocked her head and slowly nodded. “Yeah, I could see you marrying her. She’s really nice and, despite only meeting her once, I really like her. You’d also, might I point this out, make spectacular babies.”

Jonas felt like she was gripping his windpipe and squeezing. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight, I am not looking for a wife.”

Sian lifted a thin, cocky eyebrow. “I’m sorry, did I misunderstand you? Didn’t you just say... ‘I need a wife’?”

“A temporary wife. A pretend wife. Not a wife wife,” Jonas snapped.

“Wife wife?”

This conversation was getting ridiculous. Jonas gripped the bridge of his nose, trying to control his temper. Sian was treading on dangerous ground, teasing him about this. “I plan on keeping her around long enough to satisfy my grandfather. As soon as I get the company shares transferred to me, she’s out of my life.”

A small frown appeared between Sian’s eyebrows. “Isn’t that a bit calculating?”

“Hey, I didn’t make the rules. I’m just playing the game!” Jonas retorted. “I want a woman I can stand being around for less than a year, someone who doesn’t think this is forever. But I don’t want a gold digger.”

“Talking of...did you see the three-page spread in People? Sara is divorcing husband number five—”

“Remind me, husband number five is the Hollywood director?” The tabloid press was how he kept tabs on his mother, and Jonas liked it that way. Actually, he’d prefer it if Sian didn’t even tell him what she read, but she liked to torture him.

“Yep. Apparently she’s having an affair with Mervin Kline.”

Sara, so faithful.

“Kline is said to be the tenth richest man in the country...”

“Ah.” Now Sara’s actions made sense. Her main ambition, Jonas was sure, was to be the wife of the richest man in the world. His father, Sara’s first husband, had just been a practice run. She hadn’t even stuck around long enough for him to be a practice child. She’d just bailed, saying that motherhood wasn’t her thing. Seducing and then marrying rich men—that’s where her talents lay.

It shouldn’t hurt that the last time he’d spoken to her was when he’d turned thirty, five years ago. He’d called her on his birthday, not the other way around. Jonas was pretty sure she’d wiped the memory of giving birth from her mind. After all, you couldn’t say you were in your early forties when you had a son in his midthirties.

“We need to get back to work, Sian, so get off my desk.”

“Oh, touchy.” Sian saw something in his face and she winced. She held up her hand, her expression requesting his patience. “Why don’t you ask Kat out to dinner, see if you like her enough to temporarily marry her?”

He couldn’t get Kat to cash his check. She’d yelled at him after they’d kissed. She was a basket of complicated. She had issues, and Jonas tried, whenever possible, to avoid issues. He needed this search for a wife to be complication-free, easy, businesslike. An emotion-free zone.

Kat was independent, mouthy, annoying—sheer hard work. She was trouble. He should be running from her as fast as he could. She was the last person he should marry.

But he thought that, probably, he was going to anyway.

Sian, reading his mind, patted his arm. “Good luck, boss.”

He was going to need it. Jonas rose and bent to drop a kiss on her cheek, grateful that he had her in his life, standing in his corner. He rested his forehead on hers. “Are you sure you won’t marry me?”

Sian patted his cheek. “Darling, not even for you.”

* * *

Kat was glad for the madness of Friday lunch service. It kept her from worrying about Cath, from thinking about her money problems and the fact that she was going to have to leave her beloved apartment.

But mostly, being busy kept her from thinking about Jonas Halstead and how she’d felt in his arms. Kat stared down at her reservations book and tried to concentrate on who she would seat where. She had reservations for both the current and ex-wife of a famous producer, former best friends, and, in the interest of peace, she needed to keep them on opposite sides of the restaurant and out of each other’s sight...

Kat’s thoughts wandered back to Jonas.

He knew exactly how to kiss her, how much pressure to apply to her nipple with his thumb. His kisses had been pure magic... He was all heat and power. Six foot two of pure masculinity. Broad-shouldered, muscled, powerful, he just had to look at her with heat in those smoky green eyes and she felt the urge to strip and climb all over him.

What the hell was wrong with her? Okay, sure, she’d been celibate for a while, but she wasn’t the type to go all dizzy over a man. With the few lovers she’d had and even with Wes, getting naked had required a mental shift, a deliberate decision. With Halstead, her much-neglected libido had been calling the shots. Her body wanted to be against his, skin to skin.

Why him? Why now?

And why couldn’t she get him out of her head?

Kat glanced at her watch, saw that she had another ten minutes before the restaurant was due to open and mentally allocated clients to tables, trying to keep her mind on her much-needed job. It wasn’t as if she would see him again anytime soon!

Unless he came back here.

Crap! Kat bit her lip and quickly flipped through the reservations book. She hadn’t booked a table for Jonas, but she was one of four hosts and he could’ve spoken to any of the others. Kat ran through the reservations for the next month and didn’t see his name, but she knew there were many women who’d booked a table for themselves and a “guest.” It wasn’t an impossibility that Halstead could be a dinner companion. A model, an actress, the lead singer of an indie pop group—these women were his type. Actually, Kat suspected that any woman breathing was his type. Halstead made no bones about his disinterest in settling down.

On that score, Kat couldn’t fault him. Marriage and commitment were games for fools and she’d never play again. Wes had ruined vows for her and ruined them well. She’d gone into their marriage in a starry-eyed haze, flying on a magic carpet of attention and compliments. The sex hadn’t been great, but having someone so solidly in her corner, so deeply supportive, had more than made up for the infrequent, fumbling, lets-do-it-with-the-lights-off sex.

Their sex life would get better after they were married, she’d told herself. She’d been wrong. Nothing improved. In fact, everything had started sliding downhill a scant week after they’d returned from their two-week honeymoon. They might be married, Wes had informed her, but he had no intention of carrying her, financially or emotionally, anymore. He expected her to pull her weight.

Since she was now living with him, he’d said, all expenses were to be split equally. The fact that she was a full-time student and he had a corporate position held no bearing on the situation. She believed in women’s rights, didn’t she? Well, it was time to stand by her principles.

Not recognizing the man she’d married, and determined to keep up the pretense of being happy, Kat had taken two part-time jobs to cover her financial obligations, thinking that one day soon things would improve. They were getting used to each other, she’d thought. Everyone said the first year of marriage was the hardest.

Then her father had died. Six months later she was divorced and one month after that Cath was diagnosed. Kat’s world fell to pieces.

Her dysfunctional marriage—and her father ignoring her in his will—created a pit inside where cynicism flourished. Kat was unable to trust a person’s words, knowing actions were what counted. No, it was better to be independent, to sort out her own problems, to do it herself. That way no one could disappoint her and no one could hurt her.

But, damn, Jonas reminded her that she could really do with some hot, messy sex. A man’s hard body on hers, strong fingers pressing into her flesh, masculine lips kissing her lips and throat and heading lower to suck her nipples, to make tracks over her stomach, to—

“Hey, Kat, are you going to open? It’s time.”

Kat jerked her head up and snapped out of her daydream, embarrassed that she was fantasizing about Jonas Halstead at work. God, this had to stop, she thought, walking over to the front door to slide it open. Jonas was out of her league. He was a billionaire and she was a restaurant hostess, someone who was only noticed when things went wrong.

Besides, he’d forgotten about her already. He’d handed her a check, appeased his conscience and moved on to his next blonde. It was time she moved on, too...

Kat put her shoulder to the heavy wood-and-glass door and frowned when it easily slid on its track. She felt the heat of a masculine body behind her, inhaled the scent of lime and sandalwood from an expensive cologne and looked up to see a strong hand on the frame above her head, cuffs rolled back and a Rolex watch she immediately recognized.

“Hello, Kat.”

Kat leaned her forehead against the wooden frame of the door and counted to ten and then to twenty. Jonas was back. He didn’t have a reservation, so the only reason he could be there was to see her.

What could he want? Kat stood straight, turned around and looked at the man who’d invaded her dreams over the last ten days or so.

“What do you want, Mr. Halstead?”

The corners of this mouth tipped up at her formal tone. “God, I love that prissy voice of yours.”

Kat didn’t know how to respond so she just folded her arms and tapped her foot.

“Are you working tonight? Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I’m not working,” Kat replied, walking back to her hostess’s desk. Scooting behind it, she reached into the narrow cupboard and yanked out her bag. Opening the zip, she removed an envelope.

“Okay, so I’ll collect you at seven thirty,” Jonas said, supremely confident.

“I might be free, but I’m not going to dinner with you,” Kat told him, wishing she was brave enough, bold enough, to tell him she didn’t want food but she wouldn’t say no to a night of no-strings, blow-her-socks-off sex. But she’d never been a girl who could so frankly state what she wanted.

Besides, as hot as that fantasy was, she wasn’t really the one-night-stand type.

“Why not?” Jonas demanded, frowning.

Kat looked at him, amused by the confusion on his face. Obviously he didn’t hear the word no very often, and why would he? He was good-looking, rich, successful and smart. When he asked a woman out, the default response was probably “Yes, yes, God, yes.”

But for Kat, there were so many reasons to say no. I don’t have time to date. You’re so out of my league. We have nothing in common. But, mostly, I hate that I’m so crazy attracted to you that there’s a good chance I’ll jump you as soon as we’re alone.





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