Книга - The Mighty Quinns: Jamie

The Mighty Quinns: Jamie
Kate Hoffmann


This wolf is seeing red…At first, Regan Macintosh was certain that the hot—and shirtless—stranger in the woods was harmless. That is, until he sweet-talks his way into her grandmother's lodge and gets her to sell him cherished family land. Yes, now Regan sees past Jamie Quinn's roguish charm to the wicked wolf she knows he really is.Jamie has no idea what he's done to earn Regan's suspicion, or her efforts to block his project. His motives are purely altruistic—well, aside from wanting to kiss her until she's breathless with want. But Jamie never expected to experience the intensity of desire he feels for Regan. And if they're not careful, their hungry passion could make them both lose control…







This wolf is seeing red...

At first, Regan Macintosh was certain that the hot—and shirtless—stranger in the woods was harmless. That is, until he sweet-talks his way into her grandmother’s lodge and gets her to sell him cherished family land. Yes, now Regan sees past Jamie Quinn’s roguish charm to the wicked wolf she knows he really is.

Jamie has no idea what he’s done to earn Regan’s suspicion, or her efforts to block his project. His motives are purely altruistic—well, aside from wanting to kiss her until she’s breathless with want. But Jamie never expected to experience the intensity of desire he feels for Regan. And if they’re not careful, their hungry passion could make them both lose control...


Praise for Kate Hoffmann’s The Mighty Quinns (#ulink_cca63fe7-bf92-52ae-96c9-5916b13749ab)

“The Mighty Quinns: Thom does a great job of showing the characters’ flaws, and their redemptive journey makes the love story that much more potent.”

—RT Book Reviews

“[Kate] Hoffmann always brings a strong story to the table with The Mighty Quinns, and this is one of her best.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Eli

“[Hoffmann’s] characters are well written and real. The Mighty Quinns: Eli is a recommended read for lovers of the Quinn family, lovers of the outdoors and lovers of a sensitive man.”

—Harlequin Junkie

“The [Aileen Quinn storyline] ends as it began: with strong storytelling and compelling, tender characters who make for a deeply satisfying read.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Mac

“A winning combination of exciting adventure and romance... This is a sweet and sexy read that kept me entertained from start to finish.”

—Harlequin Junkie on The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm

“This is a fast read that is hard to tear the eyes from. Once I picked it up I couldn’t put it down.”

—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Dermot


Dear Reader (#ulink_e5d3cc15-e9a2-547f-9b0d-bec41a5fb391),

It’s hard to believe, but this title, The Mighty Quinns: Jamie, is my 90th story for Harlequin. I’ve come such a long way from that first novel.

I’ve worked with many different editors on books for many Harlequin series, including Temptation, Love & Laughter and Blaze, as well as various miniseries and novellas. I’ve scoured the world for Quinns, creating a family saga that is currently thirty-seven books long.

Is this the last of the Quinns? It’s hard to say. But I will be working on some exciting new projects in the future, so be sure to stay tuned.

Happy reading,







The Mighty Quinns: Jamie

Kate Hoffmann






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


KATE HOFFMANN’s first book was published by Harlequin in 1993 and in the twenty-some years since, she has written ninety stories for the publisher. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys genealogy, golfing and directing student theater productions. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her two cats, Winnie and Gracie.


To Malle Vallik,

who took a chance on me and gave me my first Harlequin contract.

Number 90 is for you!


Contents

Cover (#u4a34a1d7-220c-5d13-ac15-3f61dce230b1)

Back Cover Text (#u549d4b16-e01d-5d76-87c9-3996736bda5d)

Praise (#ulink_e91afc0b-af36-5955-b08b-63435ca190ce)

Dear Reader (#ulink_85f45379-b7fb-5041-9f30-af9bf14feca4)

Title Page (#u1d3ddf7a-9c0c-5015-ac3c-0fd89901249d)

About the Author (#u872170a1-c0be-52c5-8451-a22c4ad2dccb)

Dedication (#u39936c39-cc4c-5142-a463-e553c265fc38)

Prologue (#udf4cba01-6d1e-5e51-99ee-5329ddcdae5d)

Chapter 1 (#uc0d0c47c-6f5a-5147-b0e8-380656b4989c)

Chapter 2 (#ua51658b5-591b-5e7e-9d71-41dfd75fbd3b)

Chapter 3 (#ub29447ad-8a08-5a23-9746-ef1d2e0b7273)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#u0758d918-6a99-5179-8f79-f6f118a18133)

“WHAT DOES IT MEAN?” Jamie Quinn asked, staring at the bright yellow card stapled to the front door of their house on Downey Street in Minneapolis.

“It’s an eviction notice,” Thom said. His older brother reached for the shiny new padlock that had been attached to the door, preventing them from entering. A shiver of dread rattled through Jamie’s body, but he clenched his teeth and ignored it. He’d learned to control his deepest fears. He could be as strong as his older brothers if he had to be.

“How can they evict us?” Tristan asked. “We paid the rent last month.”

“Yeah, but we were already five months behind,” Thom explained.

“All our stuff is inside. How are we going to get it?”

“We’ll break in,” Thom said. “But we’ll wait until it gets dark. There’s a broken window in the basement that Jamie can squeeze through. Until then, we’re going to have to find a place to sleep for the night.”

The trio walked off the crumbling porch and headed down the street.

It wasn’t fair, Jamie thought to himself. Grown-ups could find a job and pay for the rent. But how were kids supposed to have a home if they couldn’t have a job?

He’d tried to find a way to make money. He’d asked if he could deliver newspapers and they’d said he was too young. And when he’d tried to carry groceries for tips, the owner of the store had chased him away. And most of the neighbors were too poor to pay him to walk their dogs.

“If we’re not at the house, how is Ma going to find us when she gets out?” Tris asked.

Their mother had been caught shoplifting last month and was serving three months in the county jail. Somehow, Social Services had lost their address and the boys had been on their own since then. Now, with the eviction, their lives had been turned upside down all over again. They were on the street and they were vulnerable.

“We could sleep in my fort,” Jamie suggested.

“Your fort? Since when do you have a fort?” Tristan asked.

Jamie shrugged. “Since I discovered it last month. I’ve been collecting some stuff. It’s warm and private and we can all sleep there. No one would know.”

Thom studied him for a long moment. “You wanna show us where this fort is?”

“It’s supposed to be secret,” Jamie said as he led them around to the back of the house. “So you guys have to swear that you’ll never tell anyone else.”

“Who are we going to tell?” Tristan asked.

Jamie led them through a maze of alleyways, keeping his eye out for anyone who might see them pass. When he was certain they weren’t being followed, he backtracked until they came to a ramshackle garage about a block from their house. “You stay here,” he ordered his two older brothers. “Don’t let anyone see you. I’ll show you how to get in and then you follow me.”

Jamie used a garbage bin to boost himself up onto the roof. Scrambling up the slope, he was careful not to slip on the patches of unmelted snow on the old shingles. When he reached the peak, he hung over the edge and kicked open an old window. Then, with one swing, he landed lightly on the sill. A few seconds later he was inside, motioning for his brother Tris to follow his lead.

When all three brothers were in, Jamie shut the window, pulled a curtain over it and reached for the light. In an instant, the loft of the old garage was illuminated, revealing a tidy array of cardboard boxes and crates. Jamie smiled to himself.

Inside, the garage was state-of-the-art. The owner had camouflaged his sleek workshop beneath flaking paint and crumbling shingles. Jamie walked over to the edge of the loft. “The guy keeps the place heated in the winter. And there’s water and electricity and a refrigerator.”

“Wow, look at this place,” Tris murmured. “It’s nicer than our house.”

“If he takes care of his cars this way, you gotta wonder how he treats his kids,” Thom said. He peered over the railing at the pair of vehicles, hidden beneath canvas covers. “What kind of cars does he have?”

Jamie shrugged. “I don’t know. Something foreign.”

“What if he comes?” Tris asked.

“He only comes on the weekends, during the day. And all the lights turn on as soon as he opens the door, so he wouldn’t notice if we were here.” Jamie moved over to the far wall. “I found some old blankets. And I’ve got books. And he even has a television downstairs.”

Thom reached out and pulled Jamie into a fierce hug. “You did great, little brother. We’ll stay here for now. When Ma gets out of jail, we can find a new place.”

Jamie smiled to himself. It wasn’t often his brothers gave him credit for doing something useful. He was usually the one dependent on them for all of life’s necessities. But this time he’d managed to find them a temporary home—a place that was safe and warm and comfortable.

Someday, when he was older and had a job, he could use his money to help people who didn’t have a home. He could put a home in the loft of every garage in the neighborhood so there would always be places to live.

Or he could buy some wood and build houses that no one could take away. There would be no landlords and no rent, and absolutely no evictions. Everyone would be safe and warm, and Social Services would never come to take any kids from their parents.

His teachers always told him that everyone should have a dream. He’d always thought they were talking about stuff like being an astronaut or a basketball player. Maybe it was enough to be a guy who built houses...


1 (#ulink_03abe33b-1c2e-5fe9-b085-0ba5dee38615)

THERE WAS SOMETHING about the very beginning of the day that Regan Macintosh loved. That moment when the first light appeared in the eastern sky and washed away the previous day, preparing her for a completely fresh start. No worries, no disappointments. Just the possibility of a perfect day ahead of her—and perhaps the perfect photograph.

Her internal clock followed the seasons, always waking her up precisely fifteen minutes before the sun appeared on the horizon. The late September weather in Minnesota was a mix of warm and breezy days followed by chilly nights. The leaves were just beginning to turn, and flocks of geese lifted from the lake each morning and headed south.

When she spent the night at her grandmother’s place on the eastern shore of Pickett’s Lake, as she’d done last night, she often took advantage of the early start and got up to take a walk, her favorite camera in hand. The light was always the best in the early morning hours, and the most unexpected images could be captured when the rest of the world was still asleep.

Regan wasn’t sure when she’d begun the search, but the need to find the perfect image had grown more important to her as she got older. Just once, she wanted to snap the shutter and be completely and totally satisfied with the image, no need to alter it on her computer, no regrets about how she’d framed it.

Regan dropped her camera strap over her head, then opened the door and slipped outside. She drew a deep breath of chilly morning air, the smell of the Minnesota woods and lakes filling her head. So different from the smell of her winter home in the desert of Arizona.

As she walked up to the road, a sense of anticipation built within her. A low fog hugged the floor of the forest, and in the distance, she could hear the cry of a blue jay.

Her parents and siblings had joked about her search for perfection when she was younger, teasing her about all her lists and plans. But she’d always been that way, finding something she was passionate about and then pursuing it with every ounce of her energy and every second of her time.

Her fascination with photography had grown from one of her biggest childhood obsessions—brides. It had begun when she’d first watched the wedding scene in The Sound of Music. After that, she wasn’t happy unless she was wearing a long white gown and a veil. Sometimes they were made of clothes she’d stolen from her mother’s closet, other times they were made of toilet paper or tissue paper.

Every Halloween, she wore the same costume—full bridal regalia, down to a rhinestone tiara and jeweled shoes. On her sixth birthday, she’d received a digital camera from her parents, who’d hoped she’d find a new obsession. Instead, she’d learned to use the timer and took photos of herself dressed in her bridal creations.

As she walked down the empty road now, she thought back to the carefree summers she’d spent at her grandparents’ lake house. When she turned eight, she’d been allowed to ride her bike into town, and that’s when she’d discovered real weddings. All summer long, beautiful brides and their handsome husbands would celebrate their wedding in the old stone chapel.

Sometimes she’d sneak in and take photos from the balcony, though most often she was forced to wait outside. But every summer, she’d fill scrapbooks full of photos, every year learning new ways to make them more beautiful.

The chapel came into view as she came around the bend, appearing out of the mist. She picked up her camera and snapped a few frames. But as she came closer, she noticed movement on the front steps—a fox sat on the top one. The fox hadn’t noticed her and she slowly brought her camera up. The light was dull, but it would get better if she waited.

Slowly, step by step, she moved to a better vantage point, keeping the camera trained on the fox. As she waited for the sun, her mind spooled back to her own wedding day. She’d known Jake Lindstrom for most of her life. His family owned the huge house on the eastern shore of Pickett Lake, and their parents had socialized in the same circles in the city.

It was supposed to have been the wedding of the summer, with a huge reception planned at the local country club. She’d spent her last year of college planning every detail, and after trying on over two hundred wedding gowns, she’d finally found the perfect dress.

Everything had gone as planned until she reached the altar. That was when the man of her dreams, her fairy-tale prince, had blurted out a drunken apology before running for the door.

In that instant, every dream she had of being the perfect bride had been destroyed, along with her belief in the perfect relationship. How was it possible to love someone and then just stop? What was wrong with her that she didn’t deserve the fairy-tale ending?

From that moment on, she’d kept the men in her life at a distance. She’d dated and enjoyed some passionate short-term affairs, but she’d kept her heart locked away. Most men found her approach attractive and enjoyed the no-strings sex. And though most of her lovers would have been happy to continue, Regan had always been the one to end it.

As she continued to watch the fox, Regan thought about all the photos she’d taken as a wedding photographer. People said she had a way of capturing emotion in her photographs of inanimate objects—rose petals on a white runner, a wedding program left on a church pew, a veil tossed across the back of a chair. She mixed these photos with stunning candids and beautiful portraits, capturing the day in a way that no one else could.

It was easier to believe in the fairy tale when she stood behind the camera. It was like a filter that took away the everyday realities of love and marriage and froze the moments of perfection for all time.

A soft breeze buffeted the dead leaves that covered the roadside, sending them onto the pavement in swirls of color. Suddenly, the low morning light finally broke through the trees. Horizontal shafts of illumination reflected off the moisture in the air and the colors shifted, becoming supersaturated, an emerald so vivid it seemed unreal.

She brought the camera up again and began to shoot. The fox sniffed at the wind, then flicked her tail, turning its attention to the road. Regan held her breath as she continued to shoot. It was as if the fox sensed that Regan meant no harm. In fact, she wanted her photo taken.

The sunlight moved up the facade of the chapel and had nearly covered the fox with a diffuse light. Suddenly, the fox’s ears pricked up and she cocked her head. Regan let out a soft gasp as she heard the sound of singing echoing through the woods.

“Give me some men, who are stout hearted men, who will fight for the right they adore.”

In a heartbeat, the fox bounded off into the woods. Regan looked up from her camera, cursing softly, as the voice grew louder. A few seconds later, she saw a runner approaching from the opposite direction. He wore running pants and trainers, but he’d removed his long-sleeved shirt and tied it around his waist. His chest was bare to the cold and gleaming with moisture.

He continued to sing the song until he caught sight of her. Then he stopped in the middle of the road, as if he were startled to see somebody out so early in the morning. Steam seemed to swirl around his body—from the cold air meeting his warm skin—and for a moment, Regan wondered if he was real.

They stared at each other for a long moment, like predator and prey, although Regan wasn’t sure which one of them was which. She wanted to scream at him and throw rocks and sticks until she punished him for ruining her photo session. But all she could manage was a frustrated shriek and a sarcastic “thank you.”

She spun on her heel and started back toward her grandmother’s house. The family of foxes would have been a cute photo, one that she could have turned into a postcard for the tourists who flocked to Pickett Lake every summer. Instead, some bonehead more concerned about his washboard abs and muscled calves than appreciating nature had ruined it.

A few seconds later, the runner caught up to her. “Did you just thank me?”

“I wasn’t being grateful,” Regan said. “You just scared away my shot.”

“Your shot?”

“A fox. Sitting on the chapel steps. Perfect light.”

“All the better,” he said. “You might’ve killed me.”

Regan held up her camera, waving it in his face. “Not that kind of shot. Though the way I feel right now, I could kill you,” she said. “It was going to be a beautiful picture, and you ruined it with that ridiculous song.”

“You know that song?”

“My grandfather used to sing it every year when we dragged the dock down to the water.” Regan couldn’t help but smile at the memory of all the grandchildren lined up on either side and marching the heavy wooden structure down to the water. It was an annual rite of passage. No one was allowed to swim in the lake until the dock was in.

“Well then, I suppose I do owe you an apology. I’m sorry for ruining your shot,” he said. “And I guess if you’re determined to shoot me there’s nothing I can do about it.”

He ran a few steps ahead of her, then turned to face her, jogging backward and holding his arms out. “Go ahead, I’m ready to accept my punishment.”

Regan couldn’t help but smile again. She’d been so angry with him just a few moments ago and now he’d made her smile. Who was this man?

She raised her camera and snapped a few frames. He clutched his chest and stumbled slightly. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Regan raised her camera again, this time focusing on his face. He continued to increase the distance between them as she continued to shoot, and when she pulled the camera down, he was twenty yards away. She opened her mouth, ready to ask him to stop. She wanted to know more about him, where he came from, what he was doing on the road so early in the morning. But in the end, she let him escape. He finally faced forward and continued down the road, singing the song boisterously.

Regan quickly grabbed a few shots of his retreat, then stood in the middle of the road and listened to the last echo of his voice. She’d had a lot of strange encounters on her early morning walks, mostly with wild animals. She could say with complete confidence, though, that she’d never had an encounter with such a handsome man.

She realized it had been a long time since she’d enjoyed being with a sexy man. And she had a few months before she headed to Arizona for the winter. Regan glanced at her watch. If he ran on a regular schedule, she might catch him out here again tomorrow morning. Then she might be able to find out where he lived and who he was. And she wouldn’t be so...so tongue-tied.

Regan hurried back to the house, slipping silently inside and heading for the kitchen. She pulled the data stick out of her camera and plugged it into the laptop she’d left on the kitchen counter the night before. Tapping her finger impatiently, Regan waited while the images loaded. The instant they had, she brought up the pictures of the stranger.

Clicking on his face in the first one, she enlarged the photo until she could see every detail. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into his deep blue eyes. “Oh, my,” she murmured, pressing her hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding beneath her palm and she tried to draw a deep breath again.

The photo showed the mist and the sunlight filtering through the trees and catching the sheen of moisture on his face and body. It all combined to produce a beautiful image of an incredibly stunning man. Regan swallowed hard as she reached out to touch her computer screen.

In the image, he was holding his arms out, challenging her to shoot. His smile was playful, teasing...as if he knew exactly how to make her laugh. And she had laughed.

Handsome and sexy and funny. Exactly what she looked for in a man. Since Jake, she didn’t need to worry about anything else—like fidelity or honesty or loyalty. She never allowed her relationships to reach the point where those qualities made a difference. She wasn’t looking for Prince Charming anymore. But that didn’t mean she’d didn’t want a man in her bed every now and then.

She had twenty-four hours. Then she’d walk the road again and hope that this charming, sexy guy was a creature of habit.

* * *

A BRISK BREEZE sent leaves skittering across the main street of the small town of Pickett Lake. Jamie Quinn got out of his pickup and looked both ways before jogging to the opposite sidewalk. He climbed the front steps of the old hardware store, reaching into his jacket pocket for the business card of a local real estate agent.

He’d arrived in town yesterday evening, taking a room at a local motel. After a decent night’s sleep, a great morning run, an odd encounter with a feisty photographer and a hearty breakfast, he was ready to get down to business.

Jamie was on a strict schedule that didn’t allow for any flexibility. He had just two more weeks to find a piece of land before he was scheduled to start building his first modular home. After that, every hour would be accounted for on a time sheet that would be analyzed and discussed between him and his two business partners.

He stepped inside the store, the old wood floors creaking beneath his feet as he searched for a friendly face. He noticed that the other patrons were simply piling their purchases on the counter, then going back through the aisles to fetch the additional items they needed.

An elderly man nodded at him. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

“I’m looking for Walt Murphy,” Jamie said.

“Can I tell him what it’s about?”

“I’m Jamie Quinn. I called him yesterday. I’m looking to lease a lot with lake frontage.”

“You want to rent a piece of property?” the man asked.

“No, just the land...it’s kind of a complicated story. Can you get Walt?”

“He’s in the back. Let me fetch him for you,” the clerk said.

The idea for Habikit had come a few years ago, as he and two friends had gone out for beers after a hockey game. Sam Fraley, an architect, and Rick Santino, a construction contractor, had been arguing about the “tiny house” movement and the potential effects it could have on the construction industry.

But Jamie had argued that it offered intriguing possibilities to provide prefabricated homes to the homeless. There’d been a time in his life when safe and warm housing wasn’t always a given, and he’d been searching for the opportunity to do something to help others in the same situation.

And so the Habikit was born. The materials for a complete two-hundred-square-foot home would be packed in a box and shipped to wherever it was needed. They’d designed each kit to be a module that could be expanded to make a larger home for a reasonable price. Sam and Rick and Jamie worked to make the kit simple to construct, with a minimum of tools and equipment. They’d also focused on making the kits “green” and using recycled materials whenever possible, achieving a nearly net-zero carbon footprint.

It had been a labor of love for the three of them, and after a year of designing, they’d built their first module together, donating it to a homeless housing project in Minneapolis. The tiny home had garnered a multitude of awards, along with the interest of investors. But those investors were looking for proof that Jamie and his friends could make a profit. So they’d devised phase two—using the concept to build a vacation home.

The sale of modular vacation homes would provide a major source of funding for the nonprofit homeless project. But it wasn’t enough to make up a brochure with an illustration. Investors wanted to see a real home built in a natural setting and they were in danger of losing their most important investor if the project wasn’t finished within a month.

So Jamie had set out to lease a piece of waterfront property. Once he’d obtained the proper permits, he’d build Habikit’s first multi-module home, documenting it along the way with photos and videos for the instruction manual.

“Excuse me? Can you help me?”

Jamie turned to find an elderly woman standing behind him. Her pale blond hair was swept into a tidy knot and her smooth skin made it impossible to guess her age. She wore a canvas coat, khakis and knee-high wellies.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t work here.”

She smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “I don’t need your expertise. I just need your eyes. You wouldn’t think I’d have to carry a magnifying glass around with me, but I can’t read the directions.”

“I can help you out with that,” Jamie said, taking the package of glue from her fingers. He read off the instructions, and when the woman realized it wasn’t what she was looking for, he helped her find an epoxy that would work better.

“Thank you for your help.”

“I was happy to come to your rescue, madam,” Jamie said.

She held out her hand. “Celia Macintosh,” she said. “And what’s your name, young man?”

“James Quinn. But everyone calls me Jamie,” he said.

“Jamie, I couldn’t help but overhear,” she said. “You’re looking to lease some land?”

“I am,” Jamie said. “And it has to have lake frontage. It’s hard to find someone willing to rent a piece of lake property. Especially for the price I can pay.”

“Mr. Quinn?”

Jamie turned to see a middle-aged man approach. He was dressed in a comfortable sport coat and a neatly pressed shirt. His graying hair was shaggy and he looked like he’d been taking a nap. “Mr. Murphy?”

The real estate broker held out his hand. “Walt Murphy. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” Celia said. “Mr. Quinn doesn’t need your help anymore.” She cleared her throat. “As I was saying, Mr. Quinn, I have a lovely little spot that I might be interested in leasing. To the right person.”

“Since when do you have land to lease, Miss Celia?” Walt asked.

“Never you mind.” She gave Jamie a coy smile. “Come along, Mr. Quinn, we have business to discuss.” She handed the package of glue to Walt. “Walter, say hello to your mother for me. And get yourself a haircut!”

“Miss Celia, I seem to recall that your property is held in a trust. You aren’t authorized to lease it to a third party,” Walt said. “Maybe Mr. Quinn should talk to your granddaughter before you make any decisions. Miss Regan knows best.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Celia said. “I can make these decisions on my own. I don’t need Regan’s help. And I do have property of my own. I have Maple Point.”

Walt frowned. “You’d consider selling the point? But I thought you’d—”

“Walt, you know there’s no decent property left on the lake. Unless you were going to try to sell that raggedy little piece of swampland that you own over on the western shore.” Celia turned to Jamie. “Why don’t we go look at my property?”

“All right,” Jamie said.

As they started toward the door, Walt grabbed Jamie’s arm. “Everyone around town loves Miss Celia. We look out for each other here in Pickett Lake. If you do anything to hurt her, if you take advantage of her, the whole town will kick your ass.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Jamie said. “I have a grandmother who I care very much for and if it were her, I would have the same concerns as you do.”

Though his grandmother had appeared in their lives too late to save them from most of their troubles, she had provided a steadying influence to Jamie, as the youngest in the family, during his high school years.

“Well, good, I’m glad we got that cleared up,” Walt said.

Jamie followed Celia out to the street. She withdrew a pair of leather gloves from her pocket, then pointed to a pale yellow Mercedes parked down the street. “Tell me, Mr. Quinn, what do you intend to build on my land? A nice little summer cottage for your wife and children?”

Jamie chuckled. “No,” he said. “I don’t have a wife. Or children.”

“Really?” She smiled. “I’m surprised. Why is that? You seem like a very nice man. Handsome. Successful.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’re dressed well. And you’re interested in my property, which won’t come cheap.”

“I’m planning to build a model home, a modular design that my company produces. We’ll use the home for photos and to show investors. And when we don’t need it any longer, in three or four years, we’ll take it down and return the land to its original state.”

“I could lease you the land,” she said. “But what if I wanted to keep the cottage? Maybe you could just leave it where it was?”

“You’re a very shrewd woman, Miss Celia.”

“I am.”

Jamie helped her into her car, then jogged across the street to his pickup. He made a U-turn and tucked his truck in behind the Mercedes, following her down the main street and along to Shore Road, where they maintained a lazy pace through the tight curves that cut through the thick woods.

He recognized the route. It had been the same path he’d taken that morning on his jog. His mind flashed back to his encounter with the brash but beautiful photographer.

He’d meant to ask about her around town, see if anyone knew who she was. But until now, he hadn’t been sure he’d be staying in Pickett Lake. The resort community was quite close to Minneapolis, which made it an ideal location to build the model quickly. But it was also a small town, and he’d been aware that the chances of finding available and affordable land he could lease would be small. Running into Celia had been a godsend. And if he did secure a piece of property here, maybe he could get to know the intriguing photographer.

He remembered that she was beautiful, and that the color of her eyes had been mesmerizing—a deep, emerald green. And her voice had been soft and melodic, as if she could persuade anyone she met to do her bidding.

Even now, he could imagine that voice, teasing at his ear, saying his name, convincing him to let down his guard, to surrender to his—

Jamie stopped himself. This was crazy. He hadn’t asked the woman’s name because he’d thought he was leaving town. Besides, he was the kind of guy who didn’t like to be tied down. He made it a point to avoid messy romances. He preferred women who wanted nothing more than a night or two of physical pleasure with long intervals between. But this woman was far too beautiful to settle for no-strings sex. He could imagine that she had men hanging on her every word, men lining up to date her. Men ready to pledge their lives to her.

Hell, she was probably married. Or involved. Why hadn’t he lingered a bit longer and introduced himself?

The brake lights on the old Mercedes flashed and Celia quickly slowed the car and pulled it into a narrow paved driveway, not far from where he’d met the photographer. Maybe Celia knew who she was. Jamie made a mental note to ask her just as soon as it wouldn’t seem strange.

The house, or more accurately, the lodge, was made of logs and set in a wide clearing that overlooked the lake. Though he knew there were neighbors around, the trees were so thick that it gave the illusion of complete solitude and privacy.

Celia pulled to a stop in the wide circle drive, then elegantly stepped from the car, smoothing her hands over her hair. Jamie had noticed her air of wealth in the hardware store, but after seeing her house, it was clear that Celia didn’t need the income from her land to be financially secure.

Jamie hopped out of the truck and strolled over to stand next to her. “This is quite a place,” he said.

“My late husband, Kenneth, built it so we could have the whole family here during the summers,” she explained. “But everyone has gone off in different directions, and my husband passed two years ago. The only time the house is full is at Thanksgiving, Christmas and on my birthday in July.”

“How many children do you have?” Jamie asked.

“I have five children and seventeen grandchildren,” Celia said. “Let’s walk out to the point first, and I’ll show you the land.”

They walked around the house to a wide stone terrace that offered a picturesque view of the lake. A second-story deck surrounded the back of the house and stairs led up to a wall of windows. “This is beautiful,” Jamie said. “Like paradise.”

“I used to think so. Now it’s just a big, empty house filled with memories.”

Jamie pointed to a small building close to the lake. “Is that a boathouse?”

“No, that’s a guest cabin. It was on the property when we bought it. My husband and I lived there while we were building the lodge.”

“I need a place to stay while I’m building the model,” he said. “Would you consider renting the cabin?”

“I suppose I could. The furnace isn’t working and the plumbing is turned off. But I could probably get it ready. When would you want to move in?”

“Well, I have to get the permits to start building, and that could take a few weeks. But I have to finish before the end of October, or the weather is going to get bad and our investors might get antsy. So I’d probably be back in mid-October?” He laughed. “But I haven’t even seen the point yet. Maybe we should start with that.”

As they walked along the lakeshore, Jamie explained the goals of his company, the need for simple ways to provide housing for the homeless and how lake cottages would help fund their altruistic aims.

Celia listened intently, asking questions along the way. As he explained, her enthusiasm for the project seemed to grow.

Once they arrived at the point, Jamie could tell it would be perfect. Now all they needed to do was come to terms and hope her family didn’t object.


2 (#ulink_355bf160-75da-5bf9-895e-1559e644bb0e)

REGAN FUSSED WITH the folds of the pretty crocheted baby blanket, then stepped back to check the composition of the photo.

A local family had booked her new baby package and she’d spent the afternoon shooting the young couple and their infant daughter. They’d begun outdoors among the bright colors of fall, and now she was finishing up with mother and baby relaxing in a rocking chair in the nursery.

“There,” she whispered. “Now, just turn your head slightly and look out the window.”

Regan focused on the sleeping baby, her gaze taking in the precious details of the little girl’s features—the long lashes, the tiny nose, the Cupid’s bow lips. She swallowed hard as the usual flood of emotion hit her. It always did in moments like these, whenever she was shooting a baby.

After Jake, she’d given up her dreams of a fairy-tale marriage. And she was content with the decision. She couldn’t imagine ever allowing herself to be that vulnerable again. But along with giving up on marriage, she’d also given up on children of her own in the near future. And occasionally that still stung.

Someday, if she still wanted a baby, she’d have one. She didn’t need a husband, though she would have to find someone to donate the genetic material. But how hard could that be?

As she peered through the camera, her mind drifted back to the man she’d met on the road a few weeks ago. Whenever she had a spare moment, she couldn’t help but think about him. He’d been just about the most exciting thing to happen in her life in the past year.

She’d asked around town, a few discreet questions here and there, but no one had heard of any strangers staying in town. She’d thought he might be the new owner of the Hamill cottage, about a quarter mile down the road from her grandmother’s. The place had sold recently and he’d come from that direction. Her grandmother would have known the man if he’d been her new neighbor. She made it a point to acquaint herself with everyone who lived in Pickett Lake.

But it was sometimes best for Regan to keep her personal life to herself. Ceci had a tendency to become too invested in whomever she saw as potential husband material for Regan. The moment Regan showed interest in a man, her grandmother began preparing the guest list for the wedding. No matter how many times she’d explained that she wasn’t planning on ever getting engaged again, Ceci tried to convince her to give love just one more chance.

She snapped off a few more shots of the mother and child, then moved to a new angle, clicking the shutter until she was satisfied she had what she needed. “We’re done,” Regan said. as she placed the lens cap back on her camera.

Amy Farrell slowly stood, taking care not to wake her baby. “Won’t you please give me a peek?”

Regan shook her head, moving around the nursery and searching for items that would make good still-life shots. “No. I never let anyone look. It’s why you hired me. I find the best shots and I’ll make them beautiful. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

Amy smiled. “All right. Well, thank you. And call me when they’re ready. We want to pick one for our Christmas card.”

Amy wandered out of the nursery, her daughter still asleep in her arms, and Regan packed up her things. As she hauled her gear out to her car, she pulled her phone from her jacket pocket.

Her grandmother had called twice over the last few days to invite Regan to dinner. She’d texted her grandmother that she was too busy editing recent wedding shoots, but would come just as soon as she had a free evening.

Though she had a small apartment above her storefront in town, Regan spent about a third of her nights at her grandmother’s. She knew how lonely Ceci got and how much she enjoyed cooking for her, so whenever she had a break from work, she’d make the short drive to the lodge.

Regan usually tried to have dinner with her grandmother at least twice a week, but with her fall wedding schedule and a trip to New York a couple weeks ago for an industry show, it had been nearly three weeks. When she got inside her car, she dialed her grandmother’s number.

She had a few days before she needed to go through the photos from the baby shoot. And the wedding she’d been scheduled to photograph on the weekend had been canceled last month.

Ceci’s voice mail picked up and Regan waited to speak.

“Hi, Nana, it’s Regan. I just wanted to say that I’m finally free for dinner tonight. I just have to make a quick stop at the hardware store to pick up batteries for my camera and then I’ll be right over. Call me back if you need anything from the store and I can grab it. See you soon. Love you.”

Regan turned the car in the direction of the hardware store. She was cutting it close; Walt Murphy closed his doors at exactly 5:00 p.m. and she had three minutes to get the special batteries he carried for her equipment.

She pulled up in front of the store just as he was coming out. “Thank God you’re still open,” she cried.

Walt chuckled and pointed to the door he’d just closed. “We’ll be open at eight tomorrow morning.”

“I just need a few of those cadmium batteries. They don’t carry them at the grocery store and I wanted to get some sunrise shots tomorrow for the fire department calendar.”

“Well, as a volunteer fireman, I suppose I’ll have to make an exception.” Walt reopened the door. “I’m glad you stopped by. I wanted to talk to you about your grandmother.”

“My grandmother?”

“Yes,” Walt said, holding the door open for her. “She was in the store a few weeks ago and she happened to meet this stranger named Quinn. He’d stopped by to see me, looking for a piece of land to build on. Next thing I know, she’s offering him Maple Point.”

Regan gasped. “Our Maple Point?”

“Yep. I figured she can’t go leasing or selling land that’s in a trust, but then I found out that piece of land belongs to her. She bought it herself way back when. I was gonna call you, but then I figured it wasn’t my place to butt into family business.”

Regan grabbed the batteries she’d come for and handed Walt enough money to cover the bill. “Thanks for telling me. I appreciate it.”

“If she wants to sell Maple Point, I know I can get her top dollar if she’ll let me list it.”

“She won’t be selling that land,” she assured him.

Regan cursed beneath her breath. Since her grandfather had died, two years ago, her grandmother had been at loose ends. The family had urged Celia to sell the lodge and buy something smaller, but Celia had insisted on keeping it for the family, hoping to recreate those perfect summers of the past, the house packed full of three generations of the Macintosh family.

Since Regan was the only family member living in the area, it had become her responsibility to sort out any problems that Celia had. She had always been close to her grandmother, so it was never a burden. But Celia Macintosh could be stubborn and she was determined to make her own decisions, however cockeyed they might be.

This was definitely a strange turn of events, Regan mused. And if she’d invited a stranger into her life, then it was dangerous, as well. As Regan hurried back to her car, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. But once again, there was no answer at the lodge.

This was her fault! She hadn’t been to see Ceci in three weeks, leaving her vulnerable to someone who might take advantage. If her family found out, there would be hell to pay. If Ceci had already signed some of the land away, Regan would have to get the lawyers involved, and that meant a call to her father.

The sun was already down as she navigated the curves on Shore Drive. Soon the first snowflakes would fall, and in another month, winter would be looming. When the weather changed and the holidays were past, Regan and Ceci headed south to her grandmother’s condo in Scottsdale.

Ceci enjoyed the warm weather and her Arizona friends, and Regan had weddings booked beginning on New Year’s Eve and nearly every weekend through the end of April. On the first of May, they packed up the car and headed back to the lake.

Regan watched for the red reflectors on the trees, and when she saw them she knew the lodge was just ahead. The entrance was marked by two stone pillars, and as she steered her Subaru wagon onto the narrow asphalt drive, her headlights created eerie shadows on the surrounding trees. Ahead, the lodge was lit up from top to bottom, a habit that her grandmother had adopted her first night alone in the house.

The adjustment had been hard on Ceci. Her grandmother had been only seventy-five years old when her husband had died. She’d expected to have more time with the man she’d called her husband since age nineteen. But life didn’t always work out as people dreamed, as Regan had learned all too well.

She pulled the car to a stop and turned off the ignition. Grabbing her bag, she hopped out and jogged up to the front door. Regan had her own key to the lodge, but she usually announced her arrival by ringing the bell.

“Nana?” she called as she walked inside. “Nana, it’s Regan.”

A few seconds later, Ceci walked in from the rear of the house. Her appearance was shocking, causing Regan to gasp out loud. Since her husband’s death, her grandmother had gradually lost her flair for fashion, dressing in simple clothes in somber colors, pulling her ash-blond hair back into a tidy knot. But tonight she was wearing a flowing caftan in neon pink and tangerine orange. Her hair was styled in soft curls around her face and Regan was stunned at how young she looked.

“Nana,” she whispered. “You’re...stunning.”

Ceci smiled, then twirled around. “This old thing? I haven’t worn it in years.”

“You did your hair.”

“Is the style all right? I know it’s not fashionable to tease one’s hair anymore, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“You look lovely.” Regan hesitated for a split second before she asked the obvious question. Why had Ceci gone to so much trouble? Regan drew in a slow breath. “What’s the occasion?” she asked.

“I met a lovely young man at the hardware store a few weeks ago,” Ceci said. “He’s working on a very important project. Changing the way we think about housing. He has some papers for me to sign, so I’ve invited him for dinner tonight. Since you’re here, you can join us. Why don’t you go tidy up while I get things ready? It wouldn’t hurt for you to fix your hair and put on a little lipstick.”

“Is this the man you want to lease Maple Point to?”

“Walt Murphy should mind his own business. And so should you. If I choose to lease or sell Maple Point, then that’s my decision—not yours.”

“Do you even know who this guy is, Nana? He could be a con man, a swindler, one of those creeps that preys on elderly women with money. A wolf in sheep’s clothing!”

“I haven’t lost my all my senses,” Ceci said. “I checked with our family attorney and Mr. Quinn seems to be exactly who he says he is. I never would have invited him to stay with me if I thought he was some sort of...ne’er-do-well.”

“You invited him to stay here?” Regan asked.

“I offered to rent him the guest cottage. I could use the extra money.”

“Nana, there’s no reason for you to have to take in boarders. You have plenty of money. And if you’re lonely you can always call me. I’ll come and spend the night.”

“I know, dear,” she said. “But you’re busy with your own life. And I need something to do with mine. Something to look forward to.”

“And that’s serving dinner to some stranger?”

“He’s not a stranger,” Ceci said. “He’s a lovely man and I’m sure you’ll agree when you meet him.”

“Which I plan to do right now,” Regan said. “When will he get here?”

“Oh, he’s here already. He’s upstairs,” Ceci said. “I thought it would be nice if we dressed for dinner. Your grandfather and I used to do that and it always made dinner seem so much more special. He didn’t have a dinner jacket, but I found an old one of your grandfather’s and he said he’d make do.”

Regan groaned inwardly. It was clear her grandmother was already infatuated with this man. Dinner jackets and intimate meals for two? Someone needed to put a stop to this before Ceci got hurt, and it seemed like Regan was the only one capable of doing it. “I’m just going to go upstairs and introduce myself to him,” she said.

“He’ll be down in a few seconds. Surely you can wait.”

“No,” Regan said. “I don’t think this can wait.” With that, she turned on her heel and started for the stairs.

When she glanced back at her grandmother, she saw a worried expression on her soft features. If this man was hoping to take advantage of her grandmother, Regan would find out. There were so many unscrupulous people in the world, people capable of ruining another person’s life, people capable of stealing a person’s identity. She would never allow that to happen to her grandmother. No matter how handsome or charming the man was.

Regan climbed the log stairs to the second floor and one by one searched the six bedrooms. She found his things scattered on the bed in the last room and she stepped inside to take a look.

The sound of running water filtered through the bathroom door and she listened to it with one ear, realizing that her time to do some snooping would be limited. Regan picked up his wallet and began to rifle through it. She found his driver’s license and pulled it out to examine the photo. The breath froze in her throat.

“Oh, my God,” she murmured. “It’s him.”

Though her grandmother had said he was handsome, she’d assumed he would be a little older. The man’s driver’s license revealed him to be only twenty-seven years old, and in the picture he possessed a masculine beauty that any woman would be grateful to have in her bed.

She found herself staring at the photograph, trying to gauge the intent of the person behind the pale blue eyes. There was nothing she could tell from the license, however; nothing could be revealed beyond the fact that his parents had made a genetically perfect male.

He had nearly five hundred dollars in his wallet, along with a stack of credit cards. From the rest of the contents, she discovered he had a reliable dry cleaner, a favorite coffee shop and tickets for a Blizzard’s hockey game against New York in early December.

Regan returned the wallet to where she’d found it and picked up his phone. But to her dismay, he’d turned it off. She pushed the power button and waited for the screen to light up. Certainly she’d be able to learn more from his old texts and his photo library...

* * *

JAMIE GRABBED A towel from the pile beside the shower and wrapped it around his waist. He probably shouldn’t have taken the time for a shower, considering Celia was waiting with dinner downstairs, but he’d spent most of the day in the car, and the marble shower seemed like the perfect place to work out the kinks in his neck and spine.

He opened the bathroom door and stopped short when he found a woman sitting on the end of the bed, holding his phone. She glanced his way and he realized that he knew her. “It’s you,” he murmured, recognizing the woman from the road that morning.

She stared at him with suspicious eyes. “And it’s you. Would you like to tell me what you’re doing here, in my grandmother’s house?”

“I think the more important question is what are you doing with my phone?”

She jumped up and dropped his phone on the bed as if it were made of fire. Her gaze slowly drifted from his damp hair to his naked chest and finally to the towel that hung low on his hips.

He chuckled softly. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

She turned toward the door, obviously torn between her desire to escape and her curiosity about the stranger standing half-naked in front of her. At the last moment, she decided to stay.

“Regan,” she finally said. “I’m Regan Macintosh. I’m Celia’s granddaughter. My father is Celia’s middle son.” She held out her hand, then realized his right hand was holding up his towel.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Regan,” he said. He made sure the towel was knotted and shook her hand. “I’m James Quinn, but everyone calls me Jamie.”

She glanced down at where their fingers had become entwined, her brow furrowing as if she was confused how they’d gotten that way.

She forced a smile and Jamie waited for her to explain herself. Then, suddenly, she straightened her spine and looked him directly in the eyes.

“I think we’ve had enough of this,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of his bare chest. “I’m sure you find it quite useful to wander about half-naked. I’m sure it makes all the ladies a little breathless and dizzy. But to me it all seems a bit desperate.”

“Desperate?” Jamie chuckled softly. “How so?”

“Men like you need to use their best assets to their advantage,” she explained. “It’s quite apparent that you have an incredibly hot body. But I’m sure that my grandmother will be immune to such a blatant ploy.”

“A blatant ploy?” he murmured. “What exactly do you think I’m doing here?”

“I assume you’re here to hustle my grandmother out of her life savings. Isn’t that what men like you use your bodies to do?”

A laugh burst from Jamie’s throat as he realized the conclusion she’d jumped to. “You think I’m a gigolo?”

“I suppose you prefer the term con artist?” She cursed softly. “I can assure you, if you appear downstairs in just that towel, you may give her a heart attack.”

Jamie shook his head, then walked to the end of the bed to pick through the clothes he’d brought along. He grabbed a pair of boxers and stepped into them, sliding them up to his waist beneath the towel. Then he pulled the towel off and draped it around his neck. “I’m here because I needed a place to stay and I didn’t want to go to a motel. Your grandmother kindly offered to rent me her guest house and I accepted. Then she invited me to dinner. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Right. Don’t forget about the land you’re trying to swindle. You probably think that she’s an easy mark, living all alone out here, with no one to watch after her. But I’m watching out for her,” Regan said. “And you’re not going to get a finger on one single dollar of her money or one single acre of her land. Do I make myself clear?”

Jamie strolled to the closet and grabbed one of the shirts he found there. Yanking it over his arms, he cursed softly. “The only thing that’s clear is that you are certifiably crazy.”

“I am not!” she cried.

“If you weren’t crazy, you would politely excuse yourself, and let me get dressed on my own.”

Regan opened her mouth to utter a quick reply, but her answer died on her tongue. “We’re not done with this. Not by a long mile.”

“I look forward to discussing this further at a mutually convenient time,” Jamie said.

“There will be plenty of those,” she said, “since I plan to check up on you for as long as you’re here.”

“Fine!” he said.

“Fine!” she shot back. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Jamie watched her storm out of the room, his gaze taking in a delicious view of her backside. This was an interesting development, he mused. In truth, he was glad to have Regan around. If any of the other family members objected, Regan could provide proof that he was dealing fairly with Celia and that he had no intentions of cheating her out of anything.

Though Regan was dead wrong about his intentions, she was right about one thing. Her grandmother did seem to be excited at the prospect of company. And maybe he did use that to his advantage to get a perfect room in a perfect house on a perfect piece of property. But it was an innocent friendship, and he was expert enough at short-term relationships to make sure no one got hurt.

He finished buttoning the shirt, which luckily fit fairly well, then walked over to the mirror and raked his fingers through his still-damp hair.

Now his interest in Regan Macintosh, on the other hand... He couldn’t say his intentions would remain innocent where she was concerned.

He picked up the dinner jacket Celia had given him and shrugged into it, then headed downstairs, preparing himself for a lively evening with two beautiful women.

When he entered the kitchen, Celia turned and clapped her hands. “Don’t you look debonair,” she said, her eyes bright. She reached up and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “I guessed right that you’d be about the same size as Kenneth.”

Regan cleared her throat and Celia glanced over her shoulder at her granddaughter. “Didn’t you two introduce yourselves?” she asked, glancing between him and Regan.

Jamie smiled and shrugged, and he watched Regan bristle at the thought of repeating what had happened upstairs.

“I know who he is, Nana. You told me his name.”

“But there are common courtesies that we observe in this house. Regan, darling, this is Mr. James Quinn. He’d like us to call him Jamie. Jamie, this is my favorite granddaughter, Regan Macintosh.”

Jamie reached out and took her fingertips into the palm of his hand. He ignored the rush of heat that raced through his body. It was a natural reaction, he mused. It had been a while since he had been with a woman, and Regan had just seen him half-naked. He drew her hand to his lips and placed a kiss just below her wrist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he murmured.

She watched him intently, her expression one of barely concealed indifference. God, she was a challenge. He felt like a schoolboy, teasing the prettiest girl in class just to get a rise from her.

“Look how good he is at that, Nana,” Regan said. “So smooth. No one does that anymore.” She snatched her hand away. “No one.”

“Regan! Don’t be rude.” Ceci held out her own hand and Jamie dutifully kissed it.

“I’m not being rude. Is it rude to ask Mr. Quinn what his true intentions are here? He seems to have waltzed in and taken over a spot at the table, wearing my grandfather’s dinner jacket. And you seem...bewitched!”

Jamie cleared his throat, more as a warning than an intention to talk. Regan glanced over at her grandmother and noticed the two bright spots of embarrassment on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Of course you did, darling. I can’t blame you. And I won’t lie. I have been lonely, and it’s been nice for an attractive man to wander into my life and provide a bit of excitement.”

“Nana, you don’t have to—”

“Having Mr. Quinn here has been a refreshing change of pace. But he is my guest and I will decide if and when he leaves.” She clapped her hands together and forced a smile. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, I do believe dinner is ready.”

* * *

DINNER WAS A lively affair, reminding Regan of the time before her grandfather had died. She hadn’t seen her grandmother smile so much in years, and it made Regan happy that sparkling conversation with a handsome man was all it took to bring the light back into Ceci’s eyes.

Of course, Jamie did his part, with clever compliments, silly stories and endless charm. And it wasn’t just her grandmother who suffered the effects. He turned his considerable charm in Regan’s direction, as well.

But she could sense that his intentions weren’t so innocent with her. He seemed to take delight in irritating her, and she seemed to be unable to control her temper around him. They were waging a silent battle, jockeying for position, trying to read the other’s next move. And though he’d provided a reasonable character reference for himself, she still found herself wary and on edge.

Maybe it was the fact that he could kiss her wrist and her whole body seemed to go weak. Or he could smile at her and her heart felt as if it were about to leap out of her chest. She couldn’t seem to control her reactions to him, and though fascinating, it was also dangerous.

If she couldn’t control herself, how could she possibly control him? Control was an absolute requirement when it came to her relationships with men. It was the only way to protect herself, the only way to maintain a safe distance.

Regan listened distractedly as he talked about his job and explained the project he was working on and the cottage he planned to build. Habikit. She remembered reading something about his company in a recent issue of the newspaper, but she didn’t remember seeing a picture of him. She would’ve remembered that.

By the time dinner was over and dessert had been served, they’d managed to finish off two bottles of expensive red wine. Her grandmother had nursed the same glass throughout the entire evening, so Regan realized that she and Jamie must have drunk the rest.

She didn’t feel intoxicated, but she did feel pleasantly relaxed. And though her tongue occasionally got tangled, Regan wrote that off to being in the company of a handsome man.

“Would anybody like coffee?” Celia asked.

Jamie pushed back from the table and stood up. “Why don’t you ladies relax and I’ll make the coffee and clean up the dishes.”

“No, no, no,” Celia said. “You’re my guest and I won’t have you doing chores.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind helping out around the house,” Jamie said. “I’m sure there are plenty of things that might appreciate a man’s touch.”

Regan was in the middle of taking a sip of wine when he made his last statement, and she began to cough at his blatant offer of sexual favors.

“Are you all right, darling?” Celia asked. Regan waved her hand in front of her face, slowly realizing that the meaning she took from his words wasn’t what he’d intended.

“I’m sorry. I just drank that a little too fast. Let me help with the coffee.”

She and Jamie gathered the dirty plates and silver and headed back to the kitchen.

Jamie stood at the sink and began to rinse the dishes while Regan finished clearing, then she took her place on the other side of him and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

“I should probably apologize,” Jamie said. “You probably assumed that offer to help around the house had sexual overtones.”

“Really?” Regan said. “No, I didn’t notice.”

Jamie chuckled. “Oh, yes you did. You nearly choked on your wine.”

Regan surrendered a smile. “All right, maybe I did. But you have to admit, your words could be taken both ways.”

“You, my dear, have a dirty mind. And the sooner you realize I’m a respectable man, the easier it will be for us to get along with each other.”

“Why would I want to get along with you?” Regan asked.

“Because I’m endlessly fascinating and I tell a good story.”

“And not because you have an overinflated ego and narcissistic personality disorder?”

“I think if you gave me a chance,” Jamie said, “you’d like me.”

“I’m sure you’ve had a lot of women who have liked you,” she said, “only to get their hearts broken.”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, you’d think. But that’s not the way it’s worked out. I’m the one who usually gets his heart broken.”

The coffee was finished and Regan set it on a tray along with a trio of cups and saucers, as well as cream and sugar. The moment her grandmother saw the tray, Celia shook her head. “I can’t have any coffee now,” she said. “I’ll never fall asleep if I do.” She slowly got to her feet. “You’ll stay here tonight,” she said to Jamie. “Take the bedroom you got dressed in.” She turned to Regan. “And you’ll be nice. I’ll see you both in the morning. Good night.”

Jamie joined her at the table and they both watched as Celia walked out of the room, leaving the two of them alone together.

Regan reached out and poured herself a cup of coffee. She added a good measure of sugar, then took a long sip. Though it tasted good, coffee did little to counteract the wine she’d drunk.

He stared at her from the other side of the table. Regan knew if she looked at him, just simply met his gaze, she’d want him to crawl over the table and kiss her. And she wasn’t ready for that.

“I—I could use some fresh air,” she murmured. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Regan walked through the great room to the tall wall of windows that overlooked the water. She grabbed a red knit shawl from a hook near the door and wrapped it around her head, then walked out into the chilly night air.

A shiver skittered down her spine, but she wasn’t sure it was because of the cold or due to being in such close proximity to Jamie. Her footsteps echoed softly on the wood deck and when she reached the railing, Regan spread her hands out on the rough wood and drew a deep breath. The fresh air immediately cleared her head.

Regan heard the door open behind her and she held her breath, counting his steps as he approached. She shivered again, this time her teeth chattering with the cold.

“What is this thing you’re wearing?” he asked, fingering the fabric of the cape. “You look like Little Red Riding Hood.”

“It’s vintage,” she said.

“And that makes it stylish?”

“Of course,” Regan teased. “And I like the color. Red is one of my favorites.” Her teeth chattered again and she moved away from him. A moment later she felt the warmth of his jacket surrounding her. He’d pulled his jacket open and he stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her chest, her back pressed against his warm body.

“Better?”

It was better. But it was also more frightening. And more exhilarating. And more confusing. And yet it seemed perfectly natural. “I should probably get to bed, too,” Regan said. “It’s been a while since I’ve had so much wine and I can’t afford to fall asleep at work tomorrow.”

He slowly turned her around in his arms until she faced him. His lips were dangerously close to hers, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

“I know you still don’t trust me, but you’re attracted to me. I’m attracted to you, too. I want to kiss you,” he whispered. “Why don’t we just see where this goes?”

“I think that might be a mistake,” she replied.

Her answer seemed to take him by surprise. “Then I guess we’ll leave it for another time,” he said. “Good night, Regan.” With that he turned and walked off the deck.

Regan released a tightly held breath and it clouded in the cold air in front of her face. Her heart slammed in her chest and she realized how close she’d come to surrender. He was right; she was attracted to him. She had wanted to kiss him. She’d been thinking about it all night. But in the end common sense won out.

Regan slowly smiled. She was strong enough. She could control her emotions when he touched her. Though he still was dangerous, he wasn’t a Superman. He was just an ordinary guy. And if she could call the shots, maybe she could let something happen between them.

Maybe he’d ask again tomorrow. Maybe then she’d say yes.


3 (#ulink_7ebd90e3-e8f5-5347-b4d1-139d0ecd4ea6)

JAMIE LOCKED HIS hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling of the spacious bedroom. Somewhere deep inside the house he heard three chimes announce that it was now three o’clock. He tried to fall asleep, but his thoughts kept returning to the events of the day and the time he’d spent with Regan.

It was hard to comprehend that she was just a few feet away from him, curled up in her own bed and perhaps unaffected by their meeting. Jamie couldn’t say the same for himself.

He threw the covers aside and stood up, then wandered over to the empty hearth.

Outside the wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped even lower. He thought of the construction ahead of him. Building in the cold wasn’t impossible, but it wouldn’t be as comfortable. The sooner he got started the better. Now that he had the permits, his next step was to finalize the lease and survey the site. He’d need a day or two to clear the trees that had to come down and then he’d be ready to start building.

Jamie closed his eyes and counted through the days. He could start the footings in about a week and then start construction. That still gave him a few days’ wiggle room in case of bad weather and build problems. His hard deadline was the last day of October.

On November 1, a group of investors were coming from Los Angeles to visit the factory and the cottage model. If they invested, Jamie would get back the money he’d loaned the company. He’d no longer be risking his own future. And the company that meant so much to him would have a much more stable future.

Regan was a complication. She was smart and beautiful and the kind of challenge he enjoyed. And she was a huge distraction. A beautiful distraction with sparkling green eyes and whiskey-colored hair and a spirit that tempted him.

Groaning softly, Jamie turned away from the hearth and walked back to the bed. His stomach growled and the sound immediately reminded him of his childhood, so many empty stomachs and missed meals. Nights spent sleeping in a park or in the backseat of an abandoned car rather than the elegant bedroom of the lakeside lodge.

A soft knock sounded on the door and Jamie looked up. He grabbed his robe from the end of the bed and shrugged into it, holding it closed in front. Then he crossed the room and opened the door. Regan stood outside in the hall, dressed entirely in flannel.

“You’re still awake,” she said. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Sure. Yeah. I guess I could use something to eat. Or drink.”

“I was headed to the kitchen myself.”

He slipped out into the hallway and followed her down the wide steps to the lower floor. They walked directly to the kitchen, and when they got there Regan opened the freezer drawer.

“My grandmother’s crazy for ice cream, so she usually has six or seven flavors to choose from. Do you like ice cream?”

“Who doesn’t?” Jamie said, choosing the cherry flavor. “I used to dream about it as a kid.”

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” she said, taking out a carton for herself. “For assuming you were here to take advantage of my grandmother. I looked you up on the internet and your company is real and it’s doing good things.”

“No, you had every right to be suspicious. These days, you never know who to trust. I would’ve done the same thing with my own grandmother.”

“Do you see her often?”

“My brothers and I have Sunday dinner with her at her house once a month,” he said. “And I stop by to mow the lawn or shovel snow occasionally.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without my grandmother,” Regan said. “She helped me through some tough times.”

“Mine, too,” Jamie said. “We lived with her after my parents split up.”

It was his customary way to explain his childhood, and though it was a lie, it usually didn’t elicit more questions. His parents really hadn’t split up. His father had been killed trying to rob a gas station. And his mother, caught up in a drug addiction, had been in and out of jail.

“How old were you when they divorced?”

“They never divorced. They just...well, they just went their separate ways. We—my brothers and I—were left to raise ourselves.”

“You don’t need to tell me. It’s none of my business.”

No one ever wanted to hear about an unhappy childhood. That’s why Jamie never revealed the whole truth.

She gave them each a spoon and started eating out of the carton. He took a bite of the ice cream and smiled. “It’s not a problem,” he said. “They were better off apart. And my brothers and I got along just fine.”

“Do you see much of your parents?”

Jamie shook his head. “No. I guess you could say we’re estranged. But it’s for the best.”

Regan let out a long sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

That was the reaction he hated the most. Pity. He never felt sorry for himself, and he didn’t expect others to, either. “It’s all in the past. I don’t think about it a lot.”

“Tell me more about the project you’re working on,” Regan asked.

“I’m really excited about all the applications the homes will have. They’re packed into modules that are easy to ship. So you can load them on a truck and take them to a hurricane zone or a flood zone. Wherever temporary housing is needed. They can also be used for portable classrooms and other temporary space. Think about what our company could have done in Haiti if we’d been up and running.”

He put the cherry ice cream back in line with the others and chose a new flavor, toffee caramel. “We’ve got some investors interested in giving us a nice chunk of money, but they want to see the modules built out. That’s why we’re building this cottage model on Pickett Lake. Once we have the investment secure, we can ramp up production and start to take orders. And I’ll start traveling around the country promoting the homeless project. We’ve had a good response so far and I hope the concept won’t be too hard to sell, especially since a lot of it is made of recycled materials. Green is a very big selling point these days.”

Regan stared at him, shaking her head.

“What? I know, once I get talking about it, I can’t seem to stop. My partners tell me I have to streamline my sales pitch, but I always want to put it all in there. And I didn’t even mention the applications this has for the elderly.”

“No, it was a very good pitch. And I’m convinced that you aren’t some kind of con man who preys on elderly women. I was wrong. I’m sorry for being so suspicious.”

“I forgive you,” Jamie teased, pleased that she’d finally seen the light. “People make that mistake all the time.” He took another bite of his ice cream. “Now it’s your turn. Your grandmother tells me you’re a photographer. Besides photographs of runaway foxes, what do you shoot?”

“Weddings, babies,” Regan said. “Happy occasions. I have a small studio in town, but almost all my photos are taken on-site. I work here during the summer and then go south with Ceci to Arizona for the winter.”

“Would you show me your photos?” he said.

“I have a really nice one of a guy who scared away those foxes. You might recognize him.”

Chuckling, Jamie put the top back on the carton and then got up and circled the granite-covered island. He handed her the carton. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Me, too,” she replied, gathering up the cartons and returning them to the freezer.

They walked together toward the stairs. Regan faced him, her hand resting on the newel post. “I am attracted to you.” A wicked smile curled the corners of her mouth. “But I’m still not sure it’s a good idea to explore that.”





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