Kitabı oku: «The Bravos: Family Ties»

The Bravos: Family Ties

The Bravo Family Way

Married in Haste

From Here to Paternity

Christine Rimmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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About the Author

CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a sales clerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves, who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.

The Bravo Family Way

Christine Rimmer

For my son Matt and his new bride, Jenny.

May love, happiness and truth always be yours.

Chapter One

Fletcher Bravo rose from his sleek leather swivel chair. He braced his lean hands on his black slate desktop and canted toward Cleo Bliss. “I want you,” he said. “Name your price.”

A thoroughly unwelcome thrill shivered through Cleo. She had to remind herself not to shift nervously in the glove-soft guest chair.

Calm, she thought. Serene. Under no circumstances can he be allowed to sense weakness. She met those eerily compelling pale gray eyes of his with a level, no-nonsense stare.

I want you….

It was, Cleo told herself, only a figure of speech. He didn’t refer to Cleo specifically but to the top-quality service that Cleo and the people who worked for her could provide. If there was another, very sexual meaning in his words, Cleo chose not to acknowledge it—just as she chose not to recognize the hot little flares of excitement and attraction that had sizzled beneath her skin since she’d entered the CEO’s corner office several minutes before.

Cleo already had a man in her life and he was nothing like the one across from her. Driven, powerful, dynamic men in gorgeous hand-tailored suits just weren’t her style. She’d spent a good portion of her childhood watching what such men could do to the women they wanted.

Lesson learned. In spades.

She shouldn’t even be here. She certainly didn’t want to be here. But the man across from her had insisted. He’d started by having his associates approach her. Repeatedly. Each time she’d turned them down.

Fat lot of good declining had done. He’d called and said he wanted to meet with her personally. What could she do? In the past couple of years, Fletcher Bravo and his half brother, Aaron, had become major players in the gaming and megaresort world of Las Vegas. No smart businesswoman would offend either of them if she could help it.

So here she was. Meeting with him. Trying to get him to understand the word no.

So far she wasn’t having a whole lot of success. She cleared her throat and told him for what seemed like the hundredth time, “I’m sorry, but I’m just not prepared right now to take on a project of this magnitude.”

Those wolfish eyes narrowed slightly. “Get prepared.”

Cleo let a long beat of silence elapse before carefully suggesting, “Maybe I’m not making myself clear….”

“You are. As glass. But I’m not listening—and the day will come when you’ll thank me for not listening. Because this is an opportunity you can’t afford to pass up. This is growth, pure and simple. Growth that the Bravo Group will bankroll. Your facility here at Impresario will be double the size of what you’ve got at your current location. Inside and out, you’ll get all the space you require. State-of-the-art equipment. Whatever you need. Say the word and it’s yours.”

“It’s just not that simple.”

“Oh, but it is.”

“At KinderWay,” she said patiently, “we’re much more than a day-care service. We base our work on proven child-development techniques. For the program to be effective, it has to be consistent and ongoing. We’re not set up for drop-ins.”

“I realize that.” He lowered his head and looked at her from under the dark shelf of his brow. “And you won’t be a drop-in service. We plan to keep the regular day care for our guests. Employees with infants or workers who need day care only for after school can continue with our original program. I want KinderWay for the preschool kids only to start. And I want it exclusively for children of Bravo Group employees, both here at Impresario and at High Sierra.”

High Sierra and Impresario were sister resort/casinos. They claimed a big chunk of prime real estate on opposite sides of the Strip and were connected by a glittering glass breezeway that crossed Las Vegas Boulevard five stories up. Both were owned and run by the Bravos. Fletcher was CEO of the newer Moulin Rouge-themed Impresario. Aaron Bravo, Fletcher’s half brother, ran High Sierra.

Though Fletcher had yet to say so, Cleo knew the real reason he had decided he wanted the best preschool in Las Vegas on-site at Impresario. She could Google with the best of them, and in preparation for this meeting she’d done her homework. The photograph mounted in a brushed-chrome frame on Fletcher’s polished-stone slab of a desk told the real story here and confirmed what Cleo already knew. The little girl in the picture had brown hair and big, solemn dark eyes.

Fletcher must have caught the direction of her gaze. “My daughter, Ashlyn. She’ll be five in two weeks.”

“Almost old enough for kindergarten,” Cleo said gently. “She’ll outgrow her need for a preschool in no time at all.”

He shrugged. “I know that at KinderWay you take children up to first grade. So if you opened a facility here, Ashlyn would be at KinderWay for eighteen months—at least. And even longer if we can get you to extend your program through the third grade.” He waited, as if for a comment from her. She gave none. He folded his tall frame back into his chair. “Ashlyn’s nanny, Olivia, has been with her ever since Ashlyn’s mother died and Ashlyn came to live with me. Unfortunately Olivia is leaving us, going back home to London.”

None of which affected the decision Cleo had already made. “We have a two-year waiting list at KinderWay, but I’ll see what I can do about—”

“Two years.” He was shaking his dark head. “More proof that you need a plan for expansion. You’re losing business, turning people away.”

He was right. It had been four years since Cleo opened her preschool. Demand had grown much faster than she’d anticipated. She couldn’t keep up with it. She regretted that. But she had no intention of overextending herself or her staff.

She told him, “Opening a KinderWay here at Impresario for your employees will do nothing to reduce the waiting list we already have.”

“No. But it will provide a model for growth, get you moving in the right direction.”

She thought, How dare you presume to know the right direction for KinderWay? She said with great care, “You don’t understand.”

“I think I do.”

“The quality of the care we provide is what matters. The last thing I want is growth for its own sake—and you have to have thousands of employees here. Which means we’re talking about a lot of children. I can’t see how we can possibly accommodate—”

“You’re right. Here and at High Sierra combined, we employ over five thousand people. And those thousands have hundreds of children of preschool age. Many of those children are already in satisfactory care situations. And in any case, not all of them could be included—at least, not at first. So this would be a flagship program. We’ll see how it goes, then build on it.”

“A bold experiment. And expensive.”

He nodded, a regal dip of his dark head. “Employees who use the service will pay for it—below cost, which should make it affordable for them. I’m projecting that the expense to the Bravo Group will be recouped in increased worker productivity.”

And she projected that his interest in the program would fade as soon as his daughter grew old enough to move on. “Fletcher, I don’t know any other way to say it. I already have my hands full with—”

“Wait.” He spoke softly, but it was clearly a command.

And how many times had he interrupted her so far? She’d lost count. Tension gathered between her shoulder blades. She ordered it away. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited. Calmly.

Serenely.

Fletcher, meanwhile, had turned his attention to his state-of-the-art flat-panel computer screen. He began click-clicking with his cordless mouse.

As instructed, Cleo waited, watching him, her gaze taking in his wide, powerful shoulders, his strong, tanned throat, the handsome cleft in his square chin, the tempting, full shape of his sensual mouth, the …

Cleo caught herself.

Staring at Fletcher Bravo—bad idea.

She looked past him, out the wall of windows behind him, at the bold, smog-layered sprawl of Las Vegas and the bare humps of the mountains, hazy in the distance. Above the city, the January sky was overcast, an unbroken expanse of gunmetal gray. She ordered her mind to pleasant thoughts: a rainbow forming in a waterfall; the laughter of children; the bright, cheerful room at KinderWay where the youngest students learned and played …

“Come here,” Fletcher said.

She refocused on him, meeting again the paler-than-gray eyes that were somehow sharper than any man’s eyes had a right to be—and hadn’t she read somewhere that his father, the notorious murderer and kidnapper, Blake Bravo, had had pale, wolflike eyes? “Excuse me?”

A corner of Fletcher’s sexy mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “I said, come on over her. I want you to see this.”

Why? There was simply no point. Whatever he had on that big screen of his wouldn’t change a thing. Why did he refuse to understand that she’d made her decision on this matter? Why couldn’t he accept that she was only here as a courtesy, to let him know in person that she would not be accepting his offer?

As she tried to come up with a fresh, new—and inoffensive—way to tell him no, he said gently, “Please,” making it impossible for her to refuse his request without coming off as rude and impatient.

Damn him, anyway. He was good. Too good. The man knew how to work a meeting to his own advantage—and yes, she’d known he would be good. Just not how good.

Suppressing a sigh, she rose and circled around to his side of the desk. When she got there, she was careful not to move in too close to him.

“All right,” she said. “What is it?” And then she looked at the screen. Her breath caught. “Amazing.” The word escaped her of its own volition.

“I was hoping you’d think so.”

Captivated in spite of herself, she moved closer. The three-dimensional image could have been plucked right out of her wildest dreams. She was looking at the ideal KinderWay facility. Or nearly so, anyway …

“How did you do that?”

“I hired an architect. I gave him several sources on childhood development and early-learning techniques. I suggested he explore the best facilities around the country—KinderWay included. In my far-from-expert opinion, he did his homework.”

She studied the open plan, the large, inviting learning areas: practical life, shapes and forms, mathematics, language …”It’s excellent.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

She forgot her intention to keep her distance and leaned toward the image on the big screen, resting a hand on the cool stone of the desktop. “I wonder …”

“Name it.”

She could smell his aftershave. Subtle. Pricey. Not that it mattered. “The open area in the center?”

“Larger?”

“Could you?”

“Watch.” He highlighted the area. Two clicks and the central activity floor was half again as large.

“There should be a sink here.” She pointed to the practical-life section.

He chuckled low in his throat. “I’m not an expert on this program. But I can definitely make a note of that—and look.” More clicking and an exterior view appeared. “Separate sheltered entrance,” he said, moving the cursor, using it as a pointer. “Note that we’d have it off the hotel area, nowhere near the casino. And …” The image shifted, the view widening to take in …”A protected, completely enclosed play yard.”

Enchanted, she leaned even closer. “It looks like a private park.”

“That’s the idea. And it’s even environment-friendly. Most of the greenery is drought-resistant.” He clicked the mouse some more. “The pool—”

“The facility would have its own pool?” She couldn’t keep the eagerness from her voice. She’d so wanted a pool at KinderWay. But the cost had been prohibitive when she began. And at her current location she didn’t have the space to add one.

He made a low sound in his throat. “I thought there could be group swimming lessons, perhaps family get-togethers. You could teach water safety….”

“A pool would be a huge addition to the program.” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “It’s a whole other section in terms of life skills.”

He chuckled. “Not to mention that in the summer, all Las Vegas kids ought to have a pool.”

“Great point.” She heard her own laugh rising up, throaty. Warm. She slid him a glance. His silver eyes were waiting….

There was a moment. Time hung suspended, spinning on a shimmering thread. She looked at him and he looked at her….

Somewhere back in her mind, alarm bells jangled. She heard them only faintly.

He said softly, “Your eyes are amber—no, brandy. The color of brandy …”

Straighten up. Step back, her wiser self commanded. She stayed where she was—much, much too close to him. “You’re flattering me.”

“No. Just stating a fact.” He shifted his big body slightly. The movement brought him a fraction closer to her. She saw that there was a distinct ring of icy blue at the outer edge of his irises, making the gray look paler, giving his eyes that otherworldly glow. He said, “Have dinner with me.”

She felt … slower, somehow. Lazy. Her heart was beating thickly, as if her blood had turned to honey. Danny, she thought. Remember Danny. She said, “No. I’m with someone. Someone very special.”

“It’s only dinner.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Brandy-colored eyes. And auburn hair …” He touched her cheek. She didn’t stop him. He brushed a finger along the line of her jaw. It was a shocking and inappropriate intimacy, and she felt it through every singing nerve in her body.

She made herself speak. “Take your hand away, please.”

He did. Then he said, “Dinner,” again, as if she hadn’t just told him no. “Strictly business.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.” Straighten up, you fool, she thought. Step away from him. Slowly her body obeyed. One step, two …

He swiveled his chair around until he faced her and then he leaned back—so cool. So casual. “Business,” he said again. “We’ll enjoy a fine meal and we’ll discuss the new KinderWay facility you’ll be opening right here at Impresario.”

“But that would be a complete waste of your time and mine.” He arched a brow, but before he could speak, she informed him—again, “I’m not opening a new KinderWay facility here at Impresario.” She stuck out her hand. “Fletcher. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

His lean fingers engulfed hers. “The pleasure was all mine.” He gave her hand one firm shake and then released it.

His letting go didn’t help. She could still feel the tempting press of his skin to hers. “Goodbye, then.” She circled back around the massive desk. At her chair, she scooped up her bag and made for the door.

Fletcher watched her go, admiring the rear view of her tall, curvy dancer’s body, appreciating the shine and bounce to that silky-looking cinnamon hair. Once the door had closed—quietly but firmly—behind her, he picked up the phone and buzzed his assistant.

“Marla, get me Brian Klimas.” Brian Klimas was a P.I., a damn good one, both thorough and discreet. “And call Tiffany’s. Something pretty. A necklace. A bracelet. Either. Have it sent to Ms. Cleopatra Bliss. Her home address. It should be in the database.”

“I have it,” Marla said. “Is there a message?”

He considered. “Yeah. ‘Lunch, then?’ With a comma and a question mark.”

“A signature?”

“No. She’ll know I sent it. Put Klimas through as soon as you get him.”

He disconnected and waited. It didn’t take Marla long to reach the P.I. Her line blinked.

Fletcher punched the speaker button. “Put him on.”

There was a click. Marla said, “You’re connected.”

Fletcher instructed, “Brian, I want more on Cleo Bliss.” He waited, giving Klimas a chance to access his records.

“Got her,” said the P.I. “Cleopatra Bliss. Twenty-nine. Owner and Director, KinderWay Preschool. Graduate in child development, UNLV. Put herself through college working nights as a showgirl.”

“That’s the one. I want everything you can find for me. There’s a boyfriend. Check him out—who he is, what he does, how long he and Cleo have been together and how serious the relationship is.”

“Anything else?”

“How soon can I get a report?”

“I’ll put a rush on it and give you a call tomorrow to let you know where we are with it.”

“Good.” Fletcher ended the call. As he sat back again, his gaze settled on his computer and the KinderWay design it still displayed.

She’d liked the design. A lot. It had, in fact, provided the moment or two in their meeting where he’d been certain she would say yes to his offer.

All right, then. The design.

Once again Fletcher reached for the phone.

Chapter Two

“So what’s in the fancy little box?” Danny Pope asked when Cleo ushered him in the door that evening.

The unopened gift waited, nestled in packing popcorn, in a brown box on the narrow table in Cleo’s tiny square of a foyer. She’d found it waiting on the front step when she got home from KinderWay. Once she’d peeled back the cardboard flaps and seen the blue Tiffany box, she’d known who sent it.

There’d been no need to read the card. But she had: Lunch, then?

Uh-uh. Not dinner. And not lunch. Not anything. No way.

“It’s nothing important,” Cleo told Danny. “As a matter of fact, I’m sending it right back where it came from.” Danny frowned. “You know what it is?”

“No, I don’t. If I had to guess, I’d say jewelry. The shape of the box seems to indicate a bracelet. Maybe.

Or it could be a necklace. Who knows?”

“Well, why don’t you open it and find out?” Cleo took his hand, twined her fingers with his and pulled his arm around her. Settling their joined hands at the small of her back, she kissed him, a quick, firm press of her lips to his. “Nope.”

“Why not?” He smelled of a recent shower and also very faintly of motor oil. Danny owned a garage and restored classic cars for a living.

“There’s no point,” she said. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.” She brought their hands back around between them, pressed a kiss to his big, rough knuckles and then turned and headed for the kitchen, towing him along behind.

He pulled her back. “Wait a minute. Who’s it from?” She gave in and said the name of the man she didn’t even want to think about. “Fletcher Bravo.” Danny whistled. “The Fletcher Bravo?” She made a show of rolling her eyes. “Please don’t tell me there’s more than one.”

He frowned again—and then he got that adorable, goofy grin that had tugged on her heart from the first day she met him, when her SUV had blown a tire on I-15 and he’d come to her rescue, her knight in greasy overalls. “Aw, Cleo. Come on …”

She relented. “Okay. Yeah. The Fletcher Bravo. I met with him this afternoon.”

“Wow. Why?”

“Come in the kitchen. Have a beer. I’ll tell you all about it.” She pulled on his hand again and that time he went with her.

In the breakfast nook, in front of the bow window that looked out on her postage stamp of a patio and the cinder-block wall enclosing it, she pushed him down into a chair. “Bud?”

“Sounds good.”

So she got him his beer, serving it up straight from the bottle, the way he liked it. She explained about Fletcher as she went to work on the salad. “Fletcher Bravo wants me to open a KinderWay at Impresario for the children of selected employees—and more specifically for his soon-to-be five-year-old daughter.”

Danny took a long pull off his beer. “You never mentioned anything about Fletcher Bravo before….”

She sent him a look as she grabbed a big knife suitable for chopping lettuce. “Okay. I confess. I’ve been in denial.”

“Denial about …?”

She steadied the head of lettuce on the cutting board and hacked at it with her knife. “Three times I’ve met with Fletcher’s underlings. Each time I’ve told them, politely but firmly, that I’m not interested.” She set the knife aside and scooped up the lettuce she’d chopped, sparing another glance at Danny as she dropped the greens in the salad bowl. “Fletcher wouldn’t believe me. I guess that’s not especially surprising. He didn’t get where he is by giving up without a fight. Finally he asked to meet with me personally. So I met with him. Today.” She grabbed a smaller knife and went to work on the radishes, cutting the ends off, slicing them into the bowl on top of the lettuce.

“Wait a minute. You turned him down today—and so he sent you jewelry?”

She paused in midslice, glancing his way, shaking her head. “Doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it? To tell you the truth, I still don’t think he believes that when I said no, I meant it.”

“Cleo?”

“What?” She looked toward him again.

He was picking at the label on his bottle of beer. “I gotta say. If one of the Bravos came to me with an offer to expand, I’d jump at it. The Bravos are big-time. The real deal. Maybe you ought to think twice. This could be a good move for you.”

“But I told you. I don’t want to do it. I don’t like the idea of putting a KinderWay in a casino.”

“He wants it in the casino? Wouldn’t that be illegal or something?”

“All right,” she amended, “it would be off the hotel, but still, it’s not the kind of location I had in mind.” His expression said he wasn’t buying. She set down her paring knife. “Okay. Say it.”

“Well, it’s only … this is Vegas, you know? Most of the people who live here work for the resorts and casinos. Those folks have kids, too. And their kids need preschools. And I think, because of how you grew up, you sometimes want to pretend that this is a different town than it really is.”

What could she say? He was absolutely right. “Okay. You’ve got a point….”

He said it again. “This town is what it is.”

She kidded him, “Go ahead. Make me face reality.”

His sweet smile lit up his face again. “You’re welcome.”

She flicked on the faucet long enough to rinse her hands, then grabbed a towel and turned to lean against the counter. “This whole thing does get to me. I mean, just because a guy is some big shot around town doesn’t mean he’s always going to have things his way. If I’m not ready to expand, I’m not ready. Period.”

“But this would be on the Bravo Group’s nickel, right? You’d get a new facility and they would pay for it?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Well, that sounds like a hell of deal to me.”

“How many ways can I say I’m not ready yet?”

Danny took another pull off his beer and set it down with care. “Okay. What’s going on?”

She put a lot of attention into thoroughly drying her hands. “What do you mean?”

“You seem really … jazzed about this. Really nerved up. And angry, too.”

“Well, I am angry. I’ve told that man no four times now, including today. And what does he do? He sends me jewelry.”

Danny’s honest brown eyes held hers. “He’s after you.”

“Didn’t we already establish that?”

“I’m not talking about KinderWay right now,” Danny said. “I mean you.” Cleo had no idea what to say then, so she kept her mouth shut. Danny added, “Come on. What guy in his right mind wouldn’t be after you?”

She let out a hard breath. “Oh, Danny …”

“And why else would he be sending you jewelry?”

She couldn’t hold his gaze and found herself looking down, studying the rounded toes of her ballet flats. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just send it back.”

“You want me to talk to this guy?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

She lifted her head and straightened her shoulders. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“You want to … go out with him?”

“Of course not.”

Danny smiled. Slowly. “Well, then. We got no problem here, do we?”

She could never resist that smile of Danny’s. She felt the corners of her own mouth lifting in response. “You know what? You’re right. We’ve got no problem at all.” She turned, hung the towel on the rack and went back to cutting up the salad.

Danny finished his beer and helped himself to a second one. A few minutes later they sat down to eat.

After the meal, they cleaned up the kitchen, working smoothly together, two parts of a well-oiled machine. Then Cleo made popcorn and they adjourned to the living room to catch a movie on pay-per-view.

Cleo shucked off her flats and cuddled up close to Danny, enjoying the strength in his muscular arm when he draped it across her shoulders, thinking that this was a great guy and she’d been lucky—so lucky—to find someone like him.

Someone so sweet and kind, someone who understood her and was always gentle with her and who never, ever tried to boss her around. Someone true and steady and down-to-earth.

Someone totally unlike some people she could mention …

When the movie ended, as the credits were rolling, Danny pulled her closer, tipped her chin up and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back warmly.

But it was after ten by then and she was tired from the long workday—and the added stress of having to face down Fletcher Bravo.

Danny sensed her mood instantly. He always did. “Tired, huh?”

“Yeah. I guess I am….”

She walked him to the door and they shared another kiss. He asked her out for Friday night.

She said, “I’d love to.”

“Pick you up at seven?”

“I’ll be ready.”

She stood in the open doorway, watching as he went down the front walk and got into his perfectly restored ‘57 Chevy. He waved as he drove off, and she shut the door, locking it, turning back to lean on it with a sigh—and spotting Fletcher’s gift again. She’d have to pack it up and call his office to find out where to send it.

But not tonight.

Tonight she was putting Fletcher Bravo, his unwelcome offer and his unwanted gift completely from her mind.

Ten minutes later she crawled into bed. She drifted quickly off to sleep.

Her dreams that night were thoroughly erotic ones. Danny wasn’t in them.

The next morning—Wednesday—she woke up furious. At Fletcher Bravo.

Before she headed for KinderWay, she pushed the little blue box deeper into the packing popcorn and sealed up the flaps with heavy tape. She got the address of Impresario out of the phone book and printed it neatly on the box. She made it in care of Fletcher’s secretary, whose name, she remembered, was Marla Pierce. On the way to work she took the box by the post office and mailed it. She felt a whole lot better once the damn thing was out of her hands.

At KinderWay, Kelly, her assistant, asked her how the meeting at Impresario had gone.

“The important thing,” she told Kelly, “is that it’s done. I told Fletcher Bravo in no uncertain terms that we’re not interested in his offer.”

Kelly laughed and pretended to fan herself. “That Fletcher Bravo. I’ve seen the pictures of him in the newspaper and NightLife magazine. Total hottie. Those sexy, scary gray eyes of his … Yum. He could make me an offer any day. You can bet I wouldn’t refuse.”

Cleo was still feeling good that his gift was out of her hands and things were finally settled with him. She joked, “I should have let you handle him.”

“Oh, yeah. You should have. I’d have handled him and then some.”

After that, Cleo did her best to put Fletcher Bravo completely out her thoughts. Friday night, she and Danny went out for dinner and a movie. Saturday, they went to a car show. Sunday, she took the day for herself. She restocked the pantry and straightened the house and went to the mall for a little leisurely shopping. If occasionally the memory of compelling pale eyes crept into her mind, she ordered the image right back out again.

Monday, at a little after ten, with daily classes well under way and the children in each of the three KinderWay classrooms absorbed in the study of language arts, Cleo escaped to her office to get a little paperwork done. The phone rang, and since Kelly was helping out with the three-year-olds that morning, Cleo answered it herself.

“You sent my gift back. Cut me right to the core.”

Her pulse picked up speed and a truly exasperating warm shiver went skittering through her. “You shouldn’t have sent it.”

“You didn’t even open it.” He was faking an injured tone for all he was worth. “You don’t like Tiffany’s?”

“Of course I like Tiffany’s. Everyone likes Tiffany’s.”

“But you sent it back. Should I try Cartier?”

She felt kind of breathless. Kind of eager and expectant. Dumb. Really, really dumb. She instructed with great firmness, “Do not send anything more.”

Fletcher chuckled, a low, far too sexy sound. “No problem. And now we’ve got that settled, do you recall the prospective KinderWay design I showed you last Tuesday?”

She admitted warily, “Of course.”

“I made the changes you wanted.”

The cojones on this guy were truly phenomenal. “I didn’t want any changes. I was only …” She wasn’t sure how to go on.

He prodded, “You were only what?”

“Look. It was a terrific design. I got a little carried away, that’s all. But I never said I wanted any changes. Why would I? As I did say several times, I’m not going to open another KinderWay at this time. And Fletcher, you can’t just—”

“Never tell me I can’t. It only encourages me.”

“But you—”

“Cleo, listen.”

Patience, she thought. Calm. And serenity. “Okay. What?”

“I made the changes and I had it built.”

For a moment she was sure she hadn’t heard right. But then she understood—or so she thought. “A scale model. You’ve had a—”

“No. Not a model.”

“Not a model?” she echoed lamely, still not believing that he could mean what he seemed to be saying.

“That’s right. I’ve had the facility built. To your specifications. In the location we spoke of, off Hotel Impresario.”

That was impossible. Wasn’t it? “But it’s only been six days since—”

“I want you to come and take a look at it.”

“I still don’t believe that you could possibly have—”

“How about one o’clock? We can have lunch.”

“I swear, if you interrupt me again, I’m hanging up this phone.”

That gave him pause. At least briefly. Then he said, “I apologize. It’s a failing of mine. Impatience.”

“Curb it.”

He was smiling. She just knew it. He said softly, “On the plus side, I’m a man who gets things done.”

“Well. Apparently.” She still couldn’t believe it. He’d built a new KinderWay?

“You really need to see it, Cleo.”

She shouldn’t. And she knew it. But he was right. She had to see this. “Strictly business,” she warned.

“Agreed. My office. One o’clock.”

Chapter Three

They had lunch at Impresario’s five-star Club Rouge, with its light-studded, red-silk-draped ceiling and glittering Swarovski crystal chandeliers. There was champagne. Cristal, 1988. An excellent year, or so the wine steward claimed.

Cleo decided she’d allow herself a glass. Fletcher toasted to the future of KinderWay.

Why not? KinderWay would have a future, regardless of its connection with Fletcher Bravo and the Bravo Group. She touched her glass to his. “Bright lights, late nights,” she said automatically—and then wished she hadn’t.

He set down his glass. He didn’t say anything, but she could see in his eyes that he found her toast out of character.

“My mother used to say that,” she admitted grudgingly. “And please don’t try to tell me you had no idea my mother was a showgirl.”

“All right, I won’t.” He said it so … mildly.

And that really bugged her. They both knew he was far from a mild kind of guy. She set down her own flute and accused, “You’ve had me checked out. You know everything about me—or at least everything that a good detective could dig up. You have a profile on me, a … dossier, or whatever you want to call it.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Yeah. It bothers me, though I get that you want to be sure about whoever you do business with. Especially when it comes to something as important as your child’s education.”

He sat back in the plush white satin chair. “You’ll be relieved to know you checked out just fine.”

“Not that I asked to be checked out. Not that I came to you.”

“You grew up around the gaming industry. I think you know that the procedure’s the same no matter who makes the original approach.” He picked up his flute and sipped in a thoughtful way. “Cleopatra. It’s an interesting name to give a kid.” She only looked at him, tight-lipped. One corner of his fine mouth kicked up in a rueful smile. “It’s called conversation. And it’s not going to kill you to try making a little of it.”

Cleo knew she was being snippy and she ought to snap out of it. After all, she’d agreed to have lunch with him. It wasn’t as if he’d forced her to be here.

She picked up her champagne again and drank. It really was delicious. “You would have to know my mother. She came here in the late sixties, from New York City by way of L.A. A trained dancer with big dreams who’d never managed to get much of a start in the movie business or on Broadway. Her given name was Leslie. Leslie Botts.”

“Ouch.”

Cleo couldn’t help smiling. “Not exactly a name to conjure with. She had it changed legally.”

“To Lolita Bliss.”

“That’s right. She was famous in her day—in a minor kind of way, I mean. But then, you already know that. She worked at most of the old casinos, the top ones. The Flamingo, the Stardust, the Sands. She was tall and gorgeous and she knew her stuff. She loved the entertainment business. When she had me, she had no doubt that I was born to follow in her sequined shoes. She named me Cleopatra. She said that ‘Cleopatra Bliss’ was going to look just grand on a marquee. She used to tell me I would conquer the world. I was three when she enrolled me in my first ballet class. Sometimes we didn’t have food in the house, but there was always money for tap lessons and gymnastics.”

“And you turned your back on all that to open a school.”

“That’s right.”

“Was your mother okay with that?”

“She died when I was nineteen. She never knew I chose a different career than the one she had planned for me.”

“Would she have been disappointed?”

“To say the least—but I like to think she’d have gotten over it eventually.”

“And your father?”

She turned her crystal flute by the stem. “My mother raised me without a father—and didn’t your detective tell you that?”

One dark brow lifted. “More or less.”

She chuckled, though not really with humor. “I thought this meeting was supposed to be strictly business.”

“It is.”

“Then why all the personal questions?”

“I’m interested in you.”

Now why did those words send a naughty little thrill zipping through her? “My mother never would tell me who my father was.”

“Why not?”

“See? You’re getting way, way too personal.”

He didn’t appear the least apologetic. “The way I look at it, I can’t lose by asking. If you give me answers, I’ve got more information than I had before. If you don’t, well, I’m no worse off than I was in the first place.”

She took another small sip of bubbly—and told him a little more of what he wanted to know. “My mother knew a lot of men. She preferred the rich and powerful. High rollers, preferably whales.” A whale, in casino terms, was a gambler who could afford to lose millions. She went on, “Wheeler-dealers. She liked a player who was playing with a nice fat bankroll. A lot of her men were already taken, if you know what I mean.”

“Married.”

“That’s right.”

“You make her sound like a heartless home wrecker.”

“Do I?” Cleo frowned. “Well, as I said, there were a lot of men. But heartless? Uh-uh. She was … passionate and glamorous and she loved living large. She was always falling in love and then getting her heart broken. She just couldn’t seem to stop herself from hooking up with the wrong kind of guy.”

“But you’re not like that.” Was he being sarcastic?

She couldn’t tell—and, she reminded herself, his attitude didn’t matter to her in the least. “That’s right. I’m not like my mother. When I look down, I see two feet firmly planted on the ground.”

“Did you ever try to find your father?”

“Not exactly.”

“Now what does that mean?”

She smoothed the napkin she’d already laid in her lap. “I don’t think I’m going to answer that one. Which is fine, right? Leaves you no worse off than before you asked the question.”

He leaned a little closer, those pale eyes seeming to see right down to the center of her. “You found him,” he said at last with an absolute certainty that sent another shiver running down her spine—this one not nearly so warm as the shivers before it. “Your father is Matthew Flint.” Matthew Flint was a Las Vegas legend. He’d been building supercasinos in the eighties, back when the biggest place around was the MGM Grand. And yes, he was Cleo’s father.

She demanded, “Why are you asking me when you already know?”

“I’d like to hear it from you, that’s all.” She probably shouldn’t have told him. It didn’t concern him in the least. But still she found herself explaining, “My father found me. In my mother’s hospital room the day before she died. He’d heard she had pancreatic cancer. By then, she’d been through both chemo and radiation. The tumor hadn’t shrunk much and cancer was all through her body. She was wasted down to nothing and she’d lost all her beautiful blond hair. She hated that the most. She was always so proud of her hair….”

He prompted softly, “And your father?”

“The word got out she wouldn’t make it. My father knew it was his last chance to see her. So he paid her a final visit. I was there at her bedside when he showed up.”

“And you’ve kept in touch with him since then.”

“As you know, he already has a family. A wife. Two sons. I try to keep it low-key, you know? But now and then we get together.”

“I understood that he backed you when you started out.”

“Yes. He’s the main reason I was able to open my own preschool at the age of twenty-five.” She found herself thinking that she ought to turn the tables on him and ask a few questions about his absentee father, Blake Bravo. Like almost everyone else in Las Vegas, Cleo had read the articles about the fabulous Bravo brothers and their swift rise to prominence. Always there was mention of their father, the notorious sociopath who had faked his own death at the age of twenty-six and then gone on to romance an endless number of gullible women—with the classic result: Blake had left illegitimate children all over the good old U.S. of A.

Fletcher said much too softly, “We have a lot in common.”

And before she could argue, let alone get him talking about his father, a waiter appeared and set their green-bean-and-crayfish salads in front of them.

Fletcher gave the waiter an approving nod. “This looks wonderful, Armand.”

“Enjoy, Mr. Bravo.” The waiter beamed them a big, bright smile.

“Armand is a single father.” Fletcher sent Cleo a meaningful glance. “He has a three-year-old son, a little boy named Alain who is very much in need of a quality preschool.”

Armand nodded, a quick dip of his dark head. “My Alain is a bright child. He needs a challenge. Day care isn’t giving it to him.”

“But then,” Fletcher chimed in right on cue, “a good preschool can be so expensive—not to mention that there’s often a waiting list. Plus, there’s the difficulty of getting the kids to and from where they need to be. If we could provide a preschool here, on-site, at a significantly reduced rate to our employees, it could make a lot of difference to a number of hardworking, concerned parents like Armand.”

“Ah,” said Cleo as if she hadn’t heard all this in their previous meeting a week before. The waiter nodded again and left them. She looked at the man across from her. So brilliant. So dynamic. “So sneaky,” she said.

He picked up his fork. “It’s true. When I want something, I pull out all the stops to make sure I get it.” His look said that KinderWay wasn’t all he wanted.

She felt that sexy, shimmery sensation beneath her skin—and willfully ignored it. “How many more employees with needy preschool-age children will I be meeting this afternoon?”

“A few,” he replied with an easy shrug. He tipped his head toward her plate. “Eat your salad. It’s excellent. More champagne?”

“One glass is my limit—especially around a world-class operator like you.”

After lunch they went through the glittering casino at the heart of Impresario, a casino housed in a giant red windmill several stories high. From outside, the massive vanes of the windmill turned, crisscrossed with thousands of bright golden lights. Inside, visitors looked up at a wide dome painted the color of night and studded with a thick blanket of gleaming artificial stars.

As they crossed the busy casino floor, Fletcher stopped now and then to introduce her to certain employees: a dealer, a security staffer, a cocktail waitress. Not the least surprisingly, they all had young children. And they all worked long hours. They really needed a service like the one she could provide….

They left the casino and emerged onto a fully enclosed, cobbled imitation-Parisian street. As they strolled along between the bright-colored, shuttered facades of fake buildings, she told him, “You are shameless.”

He answered without the slightest hesitation. “You bet I am.”

Cleo had suspected she would be impressed with the facility he’d managed to have built in such an impossibly short period of time. But impressed, as it turned out, was too mild a word.

The play yard surrounded the classrooms, so any children who went to school there would look out on a garden—a garden landscaped in succulents and other plants that would thrive in an arid climate. There were just enough patches of grass to make it inviting. Bougainvillea climbed the high stucco fence, softening it, and there was a large playground, complete with jungle gym, slides and a giant-size sandbox. He’d even included several drought-resistant trees: magnolias, sweet gums, red maples.

The Olympic-size pool—dug, but not poured yet—had its own fence, for safety. Fletcher showed her where the separate boys’ and girls’ cabanas, each with showers and restrooms and grooming areas, would go.

He led her inside the main building, from one classroom to the next. Each was just as they’d discussed that day in his office, with large central areas, generous supply closets and accessible learning stations. The many chalkboards and expanses of cork walls for pinning up displays weren’t installed yet, but they would be up tomorrow, he said. Each class had its own storage and coatroom, with nice big cubbies for every student. Finally he took her down a hallway to the administration area and she saw the room that would be her office—if she agreed to his plans.

Which she wasn’t going to do.

Was she?

Somehow, as the afternoon sailed by, it got harder and harder to remember all the reasons she’d taken a firm stance against opening a KinderWay at Fletcher Bravo’s resort.

“After you.” He pushed open the door to the director’s office for her.

She went in. Across from the door, a big window looked out on the play yard. She crossed to it. As she stared through the glass, it seemed she could almost hear childish laughter, see the happy kids swarming the slides, hanging all over the giant jungle gym and the big wooden play structure, spinning on the carousel, swinging on the swings, crawling through the tube tunnels that snaked around the sandbox….

“You approve?” Fletcher asked. She turned to face him. He stood several feet away, beside the wide, well-made desk. He put his lean hand on the desktop. “Italian walnut. Nice clean lines. I thought you might like it.”

She told him honestly, “It’s beautiful. Ideal. And I wouldn’t have believed it was possible. All this. So quickly …”

“Anything’s possible. With a good plan, the right people—”

She cut in. “—and enough money.”

He shrugged. “That goes without saying.”

“Well. I’m … amazed.”

He dropped his gaze and for a split second he almost seemed shy. “Good.”

And she was in big trouble here. In a moment she’d be saying yes to his offer. How could this have happened? “Fletcher, I really think—”

He cut her off for the first time that afternoon. “I’d like you to meet my daughter before you make your decision.”

But I’ve already made my decision, she thought. She didn’t say it, though. Somehow, right then, she just couldn’t. Right then, to say it would have been too cruel somehow.

Clearly this meant a great deal to him. Much more than she’d imagined the first time she’d met with him. During that other meeting—was it only last week?—she’d been certain that his commitment to KinderWay would never be more than temporary at best.

But this office, that play yard, the open, welcoming classrooms he’d just led her through …

He might have had it all built with remarkable speed, but none of it seemed temporary. Far from it.

She said, “The years go by fast. Your little girl will grow right up and out of here. What would happen to KinderWay then?”

“We’d have a contract. You’d be in charge here. I have a strong suspicion you’d make certain that the Bravo Group held up its end of our commitment to the program.”

She almost smiled. “No doubt about that.”

Those pale eyes gleamed. “So it wouldn’t be my commitment that mattered, would it?”

“When you put it that way, no. It wouldn’t.”

He ran his palm over the desktop again. “Do you want children of your own, Cleo?”

The question seemed far too personal. Still, she answered him truthfully. “Yes. I’d like about a dozen kids. But that’s probably going to be impractical, so I’ll settle for two or three.”

Something happened in his eyes. She wasn’t quite sure what. He said, “When you have kids, things change. You … see things differently. Before Ashlyn came to live with me, I hardly gave a thought to the child-care needs of the people who work for me. But now I find I don’t work at optimum level if I’m worried about Ashlyn. So I thought …” He let the sentence trail off as if he knew she could finish it for him.

She did. “If you worry about Ashlyn, your employees are probably concerned about their kids, too.”

“That’s right. So I did my homework. I dug up the results of several studies correlating dependable child-development programs with the parents’ job performance. I brought those results before the board. Since the board approves anything that will boost our bottom line, my plan got approval. Even better, the chairman of the board—”

“Your cousin, right? Jonas Bravo?”

“Yes. Jonas liked my proposal so much that he decided to set up a foundation to help fund it.”

“A not-for-profit?” Cleo folded her arms across her chest. “There are a lot of rules controlling a nonprofit business.”

“Relax. Jonas set up the foundation to fund the facility itself—meaning the physical plant, everything I’ve just shown you, the classrooms and the play yard and the landscaping. The KinderWay program, including the day-to-day operation of the school, which belongs to you, will be run as for-profit, just the way you run your other facility.”

She realized they were discussing this as if it were a done deal, as if she fully intended to hire a staff and run his preschool for him.

But it wouldn’t be his preschool, she found herself thinking. It would be hers. It would be KinderWay. Yes, taking on a project of this size would be a challenge. She’d have to be careful not to spread herself too thin.

Then again, to grow any business, the boss needed to learn how to delegate. And a lot of kids would benefit from the exceptional program she could provide here….

She let her arms drop to her sides. “We’re getting way ahead of ourselves.”

He looked at her, a long look, one that affected her in dangerous ways. At last he said, “Come on. Meet my daughter.” He took her arm. She felt the touch of his hand all through her, a shudder of awareness that centered down to a warmth deep within.

She didn’t pull away.

Fletcher lived in a penthouse suite on the top floor of Hotel Impresario’s central tower. The elevator let them off in a hallway paneled in a rich dark wood with a striking wood-inlaid stone floor. Overhead, an oval skylight let in the winter sun.

“This way,” Fletcher said.

A set of big double doors led into a private foyer. The foyer widened at the opposite end, opening onto a living room with floor-to-ceiling windows providing sweeping city views.

Fletcher took her hand again and wrapped it over his arm. She was far too conscious of the heat of his strong body so close, of the clean, expensive scent of him, of the hardness of his forearm beneath the fine fabric of his beautifully made suit jacket.

He led her away from the living room, through another opening to their right. They walked down a hallway, past a marble-walled kitchen on one side and an elegant dining room on the other, into a family room with walls upholstered in some warm reddish-brown fabric and comfortable-looking soft sofas and chairs.

A little girl sat cross-legged on the kilim rug in the middle of the room. She wore blue capris with pink piping at the hems and a lime-green T-shirt, also trimmed in pink. On her small feet were pink socks with green appliqués and pink Keds. A book lay open across her knees.

She looked up as they entered and regarded them with shining, oh-so-serious brown eyes. “Hi, Daddy.” She closed her book. “I was reading Livvy The Funny Little Bunny.”

A plump, friendly-looking blond girl rose from an easy chair not far from the child. “Hello, Mr. Bravo. We’ve just been reading a bit before Ashlyn goes down for her nap.”

Fletcher said, “Cleo, this is Olivia, Ashlyn’s nanny.” Cleo and the nanny smiled and nodded at each other.

Ashlyn jumped to her feet and held out her little hand. “And I’m Ashlyn. I’m almost five.”

Cleo took the small fingers in hers. She looked into those big brown eyes and she wanted to pull the child close, to press a kiss to the sleek crown of her head.

She couldn’t help herself. She was captivated by Fletcher’s bright, beautiful, oh-so-serious child. There was something about Ashlyn that reminded Cleo way too much of herself as a child, something in her solemn manner, in those wide, too-wise eyes.

Ashlyn said, still in that grave way of hers, “You’re pretty. And very tall.”

“Why, thank you, Ashlyn.”

“You’re almost as tall as my Daddy, I bet.”

“Just about.”

“You can let go of my hand now.”

“All right.” She released the small, soft fingers.

Ashlyn put both hands behind her back but held her ground, dark head tipped back, those serious eyes scanning Cleo’s down-turned face. “It’s nine days.” She brought her hands front again and held up all her fingers, small face puckered up. Then she bent her right thumb to her palm and turned both hands, backside-first, to Cleo. “Nine.”

“Very good.”

“It’s arithmetic.”

“Yes. What’s nine days?”

“Until my birthday. I’m having a party. Not on my birthday but the Saturday after. There will be clowns and rides and a magic show. A lot of kids are coming.” She seemed to reach a decision. “You can come, too.”

“Why, I …”

“There will be cake.”

“Well, that is tempting.”

“And ice cream.” Fletcher spoke from behind her.

Cleo looked back at him and knew by his carefully composed expression that he was hiding a smile. “Devious,” she muttered.

He said, “Whatever it takes.”

She turned back to the child. And Ashlyn asked, so simply and sweetly, “Will you come to my party?”

Cleo said the first word that popped into her head. It just happened to be, “Yes.”

Fletcher insisted on escorting Cleo to the parking garage and out to her car.

Neither spoke as they got off the elevator they’d taken from his apartment and crossed to the ones that went to the parking garages. They got on an empty car and went down to C level. When the doors slid open, she turned to him.

“It really isn’t necessary for you to—”

“But I want to.” He signaled her to exit ahead of him and then fell in beside her once the elevator door had shut behind them. Their footsteps echoing on concrete, they walked the five rows to her green SUV.

Cleo had her key ready. She pushed the remote lock button. The SUV beeped twice, the sound very loud in the cavernous space.

She made the obligatory polite noises. “Thank you. It was an excellent lunch.”

He moved in closer—too close, really. She saw again the blue that rimmed those pale gray irises. She smelled that tempting aftershave. She might have moved away a step, put a little space between them. But the SUV was at her back.

He said, as if continuing a conversation that had never been interrupted, “So many children here and at High Sierra who can gain so much from what you have to give them …”

Again she tried to remember all the reasons it wouldn’t work to put a KinderWay in his resort. Those reasons seemed meaningless now. “I can’t believe I’m thinking of saying yes to this.”

“Believe it. Say yes.”

“There are … permits and procedures we’d have to—”

“We’ll cross every T in sight, dot every last damn I.”

“I’ll have to hire an entire second staff, start from the bottom up. That will take—”

“It’s manageable. All of it. And it won’t take long. Believe me.”

She felt a silly smile tremble across her mouth. “You’re interrupting me again.”

“Sorry. Did I tell you I’m impatient?”

“You did. Yes.”

“You won’t regret this, Cleo. That’s a promise.”

It all seemed so simple by then. From all wrong to exactly right in the space of a few hours. Was that crazy? Maybe.

Then again, no. Not crazy at all. It was a fabulous opportunity and she’d be crazy to pass it up.

“Come on,” said Fletcher. “Say yes.” He held out his hand.

She took it. “Yes,” she said, those forbidden, hot little flares of awareness racing through her at his touch.

“Excellent.” He gave her hand a firm shake and then released it. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll set up a meeting ASAP with the lawyers, get all the paperwork handled. Then you can get started looking for the people you’ll need.” He reached around behind her, grabbed the door latch and pulled it open for her.

Feeling suddenly dazed, she swung up into the seat. She stared at him wide-eyed. “Did I just say yes?”

He grinned. “You did. No going back now.” He pushed the door shut and stepped back.

For a moment, still bemused at the choice she had just made, she only sat there and stared at him through the side window. He lifted an eyebrow, clearly wondering if for some reason she’d changed her mind about leaving.

Feeling foolish, she shook herself and stabbed her key into the ignition. The engine turned over and caught. She backed out of the space, so rattled by what she had just agreed to that she came within an inch of hitting a car in the row behind her.

She slammed on the brakes and looked over at Fletcher, who still stood where she’d left him.

He mouthed the word, “Careful.”

She put it in drive and got the heck out of there. Every nerve in her body was humming. Very strange. Definitely scary.

And no, she didn’t let herself look in her rearview mirror to see if he was still standing there watching as she drove away.

Chapter Four

That night in bed, before she turned out the light, Cleo called Danny and told him that she would open a KinderWay at Impresario after all.

“Good for you,” Danny said.

She relaxed into her pillows, realizing she’d been vaguely worried he wouldn’t like the idea, that he might be a little jealous, might remember that blue box on the entry hall table last Tuesday night and suspect that Fletcher Bravo would be putting the moves on her. But no. Not Danny. He didn’t have a jealous bone in his body.

“Oh, Danny. You think so? You really think it’s the right way to go?”

“You bet. I think it’s a smart move. And I’m glad you decided not to let what happened when you were a kid keep you from accepting a great offer right now.”

She caught a curl of her hair and wrapped it around her index finger as she teased into the phone, “Who says I was doing anything as neurotic as that?”

“Hey. I didn’t say it was neurotic.”

“Close enough.”

“Aw, come on. It’s natural for a person to stay away from the things that scare them, the things that have messed them over in the past. It only gets to be a problem if you let what scares you keep you from doing what’s going to be good for you now.”

Sometimes Danny’s insights did amaze her. “You know, I think you missed your calling. You should have been a shrink.”

“Uh-uh. You need a college education for that. I’ll pass. I had enough trouble makin’it through high school.”

“If you say so. It’s the mental-health profession’s loss.”

“Yeah, right.”

“And Danny?”

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t scared. Did I say I was scared?”

“You didn’t have to say it. There was no reason for you to turn down such a great offer—except that you’d have to be around the business that you always say wrecked your mom’s life.”

There’s another reason, a knowing voice in the back of her mind whispered.

That other reason was Fletcher Bravo himself. A man way too much like the men Lolita Bliss could never resist. A man with power. With juice, as they say. A man who liked a challenge, liked the chase, liked going after a woman he thought he couldn’t have …

And just a second here. How the heck did she know if Fletcher Bravo was that kind of man? Yes, he had power and influence. But that didn’t necessarily make him a dog. He wasn’t married. He was an eligible bachelor. Of course he would date. He could go out with a different woman every night if he wanted to and no one had a right to judge him for it.

And why was she obsessing over Fletcher anyway?

Really, she had to stop thinking about him.

If Fletcher Bravo gave her a thrill, so what? She was going nowhere with it. She was sticking with Danny, who was exactly the man she’d been looking for all her life.

“Cleo? You still with me.”

“Yes. I am.”

He laughed his goofy laugh. “I like the way you say that.”

They talked some more. He told her about a beautiful old Mustang he was restoring. She described the fabulous facility Fletcher had had built in the blink of an eye.

Danny was so sweet and supportive. “Sounds good, Cleo. Really good …”

Before they said good-night, they set a date for dinner Wednesday.

The next morning at ten, Fletcher called her at KinderWay. “Can you make it at two to go over the contract?”

“I’ll need to have my lawyer look it over first.”

“You think you need a lawyer, do you?”

“I wouldn’t sign a contract without consulting one.”

“Good answer.”

“How about this … I’ll come in and pick up the papers. I’ll take them to my lawyer. If I don’t have any questions, I’ll sign them and bring them back.”

“Fair enough. Come at one. We’ll have lunch.”

“You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

He made a low sound. It might have been a chuckle. “Rarely.”

She hesitated. And then she felt silly. It was only lunch, which she’d be eating in any case. She agreed to meet him at High Sierra’s Placer Room, where the food was supposed to be almost as good as at Club Rouge.

Again there was champagne.

“To celebrate your decision to bring KinderWay to Impresario,” Fletcher said as the wine steward poured.

Like the day before, Cleo only had one glass. What did she need with alcohol anyway? She was flying high naturally, feeling giddy and excited at the prospect of the big job she’d taken on. It was the right time to expand, she realized now. And she couldn’t wait to get things moving, get that gorgeous new facility staffed and ready for the kids who needed it.

Once they’d ordered and the waiter left them alone, Fletcher wanted to know more about her childhood and about the shows she’d been in while she’d worked her way through college.

She shook her head. “Uh-uh. Your turn.”

He tried to put her off. “I know all about my life. I want to hear about yours.”

But she wasn’t letting him push her around. She repeated, “Your turn.”

He gave in and told her that he’d been born in Dallas. “My mother was working the graveyard shift at the Pancake Palace. Blake Bravo came in for a cheese omelet with sausage and a short stack on the side. For her, it was love at first sight.”

“And for Blake?”

“No way to say. He was gone in the morning and she never saw him again—not until about thirty years later, when she opened her morning newspaper and saw his picture under the headline Notorious Bravo Dies for the Second Time.”

“Your mom raised you on her own?”

“For the first ten years she did. Then she met my stepdad. They married and we moved to Ocean City. My stepdad serviced vending machines, had his own little business—still has it and does all right at it, too. They have two daughters, my half sisters, Cathy and Anna-Marie. Cathy’s at NYU and Anna-Marie is a senior in high school.” His expression had softened.

“You’re crazy about your sisters.” That pleased her.

“Yes, I am.” He said it with real enthusiasm. “Cathy’s studying microbiology. And Anna-Marie says she wants to be a writer—at least right now. She’s at that age where it’s always something new.”

“I wish I had sisters. Or brothers. I’m not picky. Family counts, you know?” Her hand rested on the snowy tablecloth.

He laid his over it. “I know.”

She felt the warmth of his skin against hers and she wanted to …

No. Uh-uh. Not going there.

Carefully she pulled her hand away.

As they were leaving the restaurant, they stopped off at a corner table and Fletcher introduced her to his half-brother Aaron and to Aaron’s wife Celia, who was also Aaron’s personal assistant.

Celia, who had a cute heart-shaped face and red hair, was pregnant. Very pregnant. She looked as if she’d swallowed a watermelon, as if she would have that baby right then and there, over lunch. She confided, “Our oldest, Davey, is just three. He’ll be attending your school.” She put her hand on her huge stomach. “And so will this one, when the time comes.” Her hazel eyes twinkled. “I’m so glad you decided to bring KinderWay here.”

“I’m pretty excited about it myself,” Cleo said.

At her side Fletcher laughed—a low, knowing laugh that played along her nerve endings. “To hear her talk now, you’d never guess how hard I had to work to convince her she needed to do this.”

Aaron held out a hand. “Welcome to the Bravo Group family.”

Cleo took it and they shook. She met Aaron’s blue eyes and wondered what he might be thinking. Like the Bravo standing beside her, it was hard to figure out what could be going through his mind.

Fletcher put a hand—so lightly—at the small of her back. “Okay, we’ll let you two enjoy your lunch in peace.” Cleo went where he guided her, stunningly aware of the press of his palm against the base of her spine.

They took the elevator to the office tower. As they stepped into the car, Cleo eased away from him. She turned and backed against the brass railing that ran along the mirrored elevator walls.

They looked at each other, neither of them speaking. She found herself achingly aware of how small the space was, how with only a step or two she would be in his arms.

Crazy. Ridiculous. She was not, under any circumstances, going to end up in Fletcher Bravo’s arms.

She shifted her gaze and she was looking at her own reflection in the mirrored wall behind him. Did she look as guilty as she felt?

Before she could decide if she did or not, the elevator whooshed to a stop and the doors parted.

Marla had a manila envelope all ready for her. Cleo took it with a smile. “Thanks.”

From behind her Fletcher said, “I’ll see you to your car.”

No way, she thought, as she turned to him. She made a joke of her refusal. “You don’t want to do that. You saw the way I pull out of parking spaces. I might actually run over you this time.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Danny had said it that night last week: He’s after you.

And he was. He still was: his hand on hers at the table; his palm settling so possessively at the small of her back as they left the restaurant …

Subtle, knowing touches. What a man does to draw a woman in. Nothing obvious. Nothing blatant. Making it so very easy to pretend it isn’t happening …

But it was happening. And she had to stop denying, stop pretending it wasn’t.

Guilt tightened her stomach as she remembered how she’d assured Danny that she wasn’t interested.

Liar, she silently accused herself. She was interested. She just didn’t want to be—no. Wrong, damn it.

She wasn’t going to be. She was stopping this slow and oh-so-clever seduction, stopping it right here and now.

She drew herself up. “No,” she said firmly. “I enjoyed the lunch. Thank you.”

He held her gaze for a second too long. She felt the heat zipping back and forth, arcing between them. And then he said silkily, “No need for thanks. I’m pleased that we’re going to be working together.”

Cleo saw her lawyer the next morning. The lawyer said everything looked good, so she took the signed papers back to Impresario that day. She made a point of not calling first, which meant she ended up handing the envelope over to Marla, who promised to see that Fletcher got it right away.

That duty discharged, Cleo returned to her office at KinderWay and started making lists, getting her priorities in order for all the work that lay ahead.

Fletcher called at three. “You should have told me you were stopping by.”

“No reason for that.” She spoke much too briskly. “I only dropped off the contract.”

He was silent. But not for long. “You’ll need keys to the facility. Did you want to conduct your interviews there?”

Her face felt hot. She laid her hand against her cheek. Blushing. Definitely. This was so absurd.

“Cleo?”

She realized she hadn’t answered him. What was the question?

Oh, yeah. About the interviews …

“Well, I thought I could hold the interviews here. I’ve got everything set up and operating. And my current staff will be available to help me.”

“Makes sense.”

“I will need those keys, though. I’ve got office equipment to purchase. And supplies. And furniture—tables and chairs, all that. I’ll need to be able to get in and out of the facility.”

He said, “I’ll have the keys waiting for you. Check the concierge desk at the hotel. Just show them ID.”

“Hotel Impresario, you mean?”

“That’s right.”

He’d have them waiting….

He wasn’t offering lunch, wasn’t inventing excuses for them to get together. Apparently he’d gotten her message loud and clear: keep away.

Good. He was the wrong kind of guy for her and she was glad he’d realized the two of them weren’t going anywhere.

He said, his tone all business, “Since you signed the contract without asking for any changes, I’m taking it that you agree to the opening day we proposed. You’ll be ready to open the doors on February fourteenth?”

The fourteenth was two and a half weeks away. It was also Valentine’s Day, as luck would have it. For some reason, that struck Cleo as terribly ironic.

“I’ll do my best,” she told him. “It’s cutting it pretty tight.”

“You signed the contract.” He said it gently.

Annoyance prickled through her. Did he have to rub it in? But then she reminded herself that he was only stating a fact. “I know. I’m a little worried about the background checks, though. I run background checks on everyone I hire, even the ones who are already licensed. But the checks can take time….”

“Are the checks really necessary? If they’re licensed already, I would think that would do it.”

She wasn’t backing down on this one. “There are a lot of reasons KinderWay is the best. We go the extra mile. All of our teachers and care providers are not only highly skilled and well trained, they’ve also been thoroughly vetted. We can say that we’ve done everything humanly possible to be certain no predator or abuser gets near any of the children in our care.”

He must have been convinced; he didn’t argue further. “Let me speed that up for you, then.”

“That would help. How?”

“Call Klimas Investigators. They’re the best. Talk to Brian Klimas himself. Give him the names of all your prospective hires and tell him what kind of check you want done on them. Tell him that you need a rush on it. And tell him to bill the Bravo Group.”

She wondered if he’d hired this Brian person to check her out. But she didn’t ask. “All right. I’ll call him.”

“Anything you need, just let me know.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks.”

“We’ll want a progress report midway—say Friday, the fourth?”

“Certainly.”

“Just to see that we’re on track.”

“Yes. Of course. No problem.”

“You won’t have to report to me. Talk to Darlene Archer in Human Resources. I’ll see she’s up to speed on what we’re doing. She’ll call you at the beginning of next week and set up a time the two of you can meet.”

“That will be fine.”

“Also, I’ll see that Darlene has a check ready for you tomorrow, to cover any early expenses you incur. Set up accounts with any stores or suppliers you’ll be using regularly. They can bill the Bravo Group. Again, talk to Darlene. She’ll tell you what you need to know and answer any questions that come up.”

“I will. Don’t worry….”

He actually laughed then. It was a warm, wry sound and it made her wish she could …

But no. Nothing was going to happen between them. She was happy with Danny, with her life as it was.

He said, “I’m not worried, Cleopatra. Not worried in the least.”

“Well, okay, then. Good.”

“One more thing and I’ll let you go.”

She clutched the phone a little tighter, realized she was doing it and consciously relaxed her grip. “Sure.”

“Ashlyn’s birthday party is on Saturday, the fifth. From noon to five at Circus Circus, the Adventuredome.” He added drily, “No one can ever say I don’t support the competition.”

Ashlyn’s birthday. She’d almost forgotten. Or, to be honest, she’d let herself forget. Because contact with Ashlyn meant contact with Fletcher, and she was seriously conflicted about that.

And yet, she had promised the solemn-eyed little girl….

And come on. Really. She was essentially in business with Fletcher now. She would be running into him now and then. There was no avoiding it.

And even if she never had a reason to talk shop with him again, even if she always went through Darlene in HR from here on out, he’d be showing up at KinderWay every day to drop off his daughter, for crying out loud.

Fletcher said, “I hope we’ll see you there.”

“Of course I’ll be at Ashlyn’s party,” she replied. “Please thank her for inviting me and tell her I’ll see her at the Adventuredome.”

“I’ll do that. Goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye, Fletcher.”

The line went dead. Cleo hung up and told herself she didn’t feel the least bit sad or at all let down.

When Fletcher finished the unsatisfying call to Cleo, he had another call waiting. He took it without checking to see who it was.

“Fletcher? There you are, at last.”

“Andrea.” Andrea Raye was a featured dancer in the erotic revue, Cancan du Bal, which had been playing at Impresario to sell-out audiences for the past six months.

Andrea laughed, a charming sound, one that was only a little bit forced. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

He supposed he should have a talk with her. “How about lunch tomorrow?”

“I would love lunch. Or you could just come by after the show tonight.” She pitched her voice lower and suggested seductively, “We’ll have breakfast—eventually.”

He spoke gently. “Thanks, but that’s not going to work.”

“Ah,” she said after a lengthy pause. “I get it.” There was a deep sigh. “So this is it, huh?”

“Andrea …” He never knew what to say at this point.

She laughed again, the sound more brittle than before. “Oh, please. We’re both adults, now aren’t we?”

He knew that whatever he said next was bound to sound lame. And it did. “Yes. We are.”

“I’m thinking that lunch will be a little too … after the fact, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand.”

“Will you send me something pretty, to remember you by?”

“Absolutely.”

“Diamonds. I really like diamonds….”

Andrea’s out-front request didn’t surprise him in the least. When his half brother Aaron had been single, before Celia had turned him into a die-hard family man, there had been a lot of women. The story went that Aaron would always give them diamonds when he said goodbye. Word had probably gotten around. Vegas, in a lot of ways, was a very small town.

Hell. He could almost hear the women whispering, I got diamonds from Aaron. What did Fletcher give you?

“Fletcher? Is … that okay?”

“Diamonds it is.”

“Oh, thank you—and Fletcher?”

“Yeah?”

“I have to tell you. I’m gonna miss you….”

He wished her well and said goodbye.

Then he buzzed Marla and told her to see that Andrea got her diamonds. After that, he called Darlene in HR and briefed her on her new responsibilities with the KinderWay project.

He didn’t like having to do that—didn’t like giving up the various opportunities for contact with Cleo that holding on to the KinderWay connection would provide.

But Fletcher Bravo knew when to fold ‘em. He knew that a better hand would come his way eventually. Cleo had been as much attracted to him as he was to her. There was no denying heat like that.

Not forever.

All he had to do right now was wait. Lady Luck would find him in her own good time.

She always did.

Chapter Five

Danny took Cleo to Black Angus that night. Right after the waitress served their prime rib dinners, he asked if something was wrong.

For a moment she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. She stared down at her huge baked potato and the mound of sour cream exploding from it. “Good thing I’m not dancing anymore. After a dinner like this one, I’d get kicked off the show at the next weigh-in.”

Danny refused to let her change the subject. He asked softly, “You gonna answer my question, Cleo?”

She made herself look at him. “Oh, really. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all. Why?”

“You seem … I don’t know. Kind of sad.”

“But I’m not sad. Not in the least.” It came out sounding way too vehement. She smiled to show him it was no big deal.

He shrugged. “Maybe just distracted, then?”

“Well, okay. A little …”

“Over the deal with Impresario, right?”

She answered lamely, “It’s a big step.”

“Cleo?”

“What?”

“Relax. You’re going to do just fine.”

She beamed him an even bigger smile. “Somehow you always manage to say just the right thing.”

He came in for coffee when they got back to her house. As she was filling the drip basket with fresh-ground decaf, he came up behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her.

She jumped in surprise.

“Hey,” he whispered, smoothing her hair out of the way and pressing his lips to the side of her neck. “It’s only me….”

“No kidding.” She turned in the circle of his arms and rested her hands on his chest.

He whispered, “You’re so beautiful. And I’m crazy for you….” His mouth touched hers.

Cleo kissed him back. But her heart wasn’t really in it.

Danny knew it. He pulled away and gave her a rueful smile. “Not in the mood, huh?” He was too much of a gentleman to mention that she hadn’t been in the mood since a little over a week ago. Since the day she’d met—

She cut that thought off before it went any further. This had nothing to do with any other man. A whole lot had happened in the past week. She was taking on a huge new project. It was only natural that she would be a little bit distracted….

“Danny, I’m sorry. I—”

He laid a light finger against her lips. “Shh. It’s okay.” He stepped back. “Go on, make that coffee.”

She felt as though she ought to say something, to explain herself somehow. But she didn’t want to make a big deal about this. Because it wasn’t a big deal. She was busy and preoccupied and, well, Danny had said it himself: just not in the mood.

Turning back to the coffeemaker, she finished loading the basket.

In the days that followed, Cleo hit the floor running every morning and collapsed into bed exhausted every night.

She bought equipment and supplies, reworked the program guidelines for each of the classes, tweaking and improving so she could start out with the best study blueprint possible at the new location—and keep things fresh and exciting at the original school, as well. She called a big meeting with her current staff, explained her plans for expansion and asked for volunteers to move to the new location. The idea was to take at least a few experienced people over to Impresario so that the new facility wouldn’t be starting with all new hires. It worked. Two teachers—she had six teachers in various capacities at the original location—and three aides said they’d be happy to make the move.

Cleo knew that to expand effectively, she was going to need a really good associate director, someone who could step in and hold down the fort at one location whenever Cleo was needed at the other. Fortunately she found just the right woman for the job on the first day of interviews. A former elementary school assistant principal, Megan Helsberg had the right education and training, the right experience and excellent references. She was also available to start immediately.

Brian Klimas’s security check on Megan came back clean, so Cleo had Megan work with her to hire the rest of the new staff. Megan caught on quickly, but her job duties were varied and complex; there was a lot for her to learn. Cleo trained her as they worked—all while continuing her director’s duties at the first KinderWay and preparing the Impresario facility for its grand opening on Valentine’s Day.

Cleo and Danny hardly saw each other. There was simply no time. Once she finished a day’s work on the new facility, she had to play catch-up at the old one. She was at her desk every night until after ten, determined to keep up her standards at the existing KinderWay and also to honor her contract with the Bravo Group to deliver a top-quality service and to open the doors to the new facility on time.

Cleo and Megan met with Darlene Archer on Friday, the fourth, in the HR offices at Impresario. Darlene was impressed with the progress they’d made. Cleo promised they’d be ready to open on the fourteenth—and realized as she made that promise that they had a very good chance of making it.

Darlene gave them the access code to the student list. It contained all the basic information on the students who would be showing up for preschool on Valentine’s Day, including emergency phone numbers and a health profile for each child. With that code, she already had all the information usually gleaned from the endless forms that parents filled out at enrollment. The new KinderWay would be operating at capacity from the first day it opened its doors.

Saturday, Cleo went to Ashlyn’s birthday party at the Adventuredome.

Fletcher, looking heartbreaker-handsome in a light cashmere sweater and dark slacks, greeted her with a cool smile. “I’m glad you could come.”

“I’m so pleased Ashlyn invited me.”

They traded a few more generic pleasantries. As she made the obligatory small talk, she felt … desperate, somehow, just at the sight of him, at the sound of his deep, tempting voice.

Yes, desperate. And sad.

My God. I’ve missed him.

As quickly as the thought took form, she banished it. He turned to greet another guest, and Cleo moved away, into the group of kids and parents that had formed nearby while they waited for everyone to arrive.

For the rest of the afternoon she kept her distance from the father of the birthday girl. It wasn’t all that difficult; he made no effort to get close to her. She watched Ashlyn and her friends take on the junior rides—the Frog Jump and the Miner Mike roller coaster and the miniature airplane ride. She enjoyed the magic show and the clowns. There were also “family” rides, where the kids needed an adult to ride with them.

For one of those, a Ferris wheel called Drifters where the cars looked like hot-air balloons, Ashlyn ran up and slipped a small hand into hers. “Cleo. Ride on the big balloons with me, please?”

Cleo looked down into those serious eyes and all at once her chest was too tight to contain her heart. There was just something about Fletcher’s little girl, something so sweet and honest and special….

Ashlyn was frowning. “Cleo? Are you sad?”

Was she sad? It was the question Danny had asked her more than once—and also the way she had felt when she’d faced Fletcher again today for the first time in over a week.

Cleo smiled. “Right now I’m just … happy for you.” She squeezed the little hand tucked so trustingly into her own. “Congratulations on being five years old.”

Ashlyn’s frown faded. “Thank you.” A few feet away Fletcher boosted a little boy onto his shoulders—a little boy with blue eyes and the cutest kid-size cleft in his chin. “That’s my cousin, Davey,” Ashlyn explained. “He’s three. Sometimes he makes me crazy, but mostly he’s all right. Daddy has to take care of him because Aunt Celia couldn’t come to my party after all. She had to have a baby yesterday.”

So Celia had delivered her baby at last. “Wow. That’s exciting. Boy or girl?”

“A girl. She’s my new cousin and her name is Jillian Jane. She got her name from Aunt Celia’s two best friends in the whole wide world, my aunt Jillian and my aunt Jane. But my great-aunt Caitlin said the baby looked like a J.J. That made everybody laugh, though I don’t really understand why it was funny. After that, they all called her little J.J. It’s her Nick name, Daddy told me. That’s kind of funny, huh? You get another name and it’s called your Nick name even though you don’t even know anybody named Nick?” Ashlyn frowned again. “I don’t have one.”

“A nickname, you mean?”

“That’s right. I don’t. Do you?”

“Yep. My nickname is Cleo.”

Ashlyn’s big eyes got even wider. “Then what’s your real name?”

“Cleopatra.”

Ashlyn tested the word. “Clee-o-pat-ra. It’s very long.”

“Cleopatra was once the queen of a country called Egypt.”

Ashlyn considered. “A queen? Really?”

“Yes.”

“I like Cleo better.”

“Good. Because that’s what everyone calls me.”

“Did you know that I’m going to go to your school?”

“Yes, I did.”

“My daddy told me. Livvy’s leaving next week and I will go to your school when she’s gone. I’ll miss Livvy lots, but I think I’m getting old enough that I should be going to school.”

“I’m very pleased that you’ll be one of our students—and I think we just missed our balloon ride.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Ashlyn tugged on Cleo’s hand. “Come on. We can get in line and ride the next time….”

They ended up riding with Fletcher and Davey. The kids laughed and cried out in delight as they rose toward the pink Adventuredome sky—and Cleo tried not to let her gaze collide with Fletcher’s.

Later, before the cake and ice cream, Ashlyn opened her presents. Cleo had given her a stack of books—some by Dr. Seuss and some by Shel Silverstein and one of Cleo’s personal favorites called Goodnight, Moon. Ashlyn tore off the bright birthday paper, let out a glad cry and then jumped down from her chair. She rushed over to Cleo and held out her arms. Cleo bent down and Ashlyn grabbed her around the neck in a tight hug.

“Cleo, how did you know I love books?”

“Easy. The first time I saw you, you were reading The Funny Little Bunny to Olivia.”

“That’s right. You come over to my house, okay? I’ll read to you.”

Cleo was far too aware of Fletcher sitting across the big round table. She made the mistake of glancing his way. He was looking right at her.

She met those haunting eyes and she felt it—that familiar heat burning beneath her skin. Her heart stuttered, then started racing….

She tore her gaze from his and focused on Ashlyn again. “You’ll be going to my school soon, remember?”

“Acourse I remember.”

Cleo smoothed the silky brown hair. “You can read to me there, at school.”

“Okay. I will.” Ashlyn grabbed her in another hug and planted a big wet kiss on her cheek. Then she returned to her chair and the pile of birthday presents still waiting to be opened.

Ashlyn really was something, Cleo found herself thinking, so thoughtful and mature for her age. Fletcher’s daughter exclaimed over each gift as she opened it and seemed sincere in her excitement every time. She didn’t come across as spoiled in the least—and that was surprising. In Cleo’s experience, children of doting wealthy parents tended to get big attitudes early on.

After the presents came the cake. They all sang the birthday song. Then Ashlyn made her wish and blew out her five candles in one breath. Olivia and another young woman worked together to serve up the cake, piling generous scoops of vanilla ice cream on top.