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CHAPTER ONE
The present

IT WAS an idyllic day for a garden party. The sky was a deep blue; sparkling sunshine flooded the Valley; a cooling breeze lowered the spring into summer heat. A veritable explosion of flowering trees and foaming blossom had turned the rich rural area into one breathtakingly beautiful garden that leapt at the eye and caught at the throat. It was so perfect a world the inhabitants of Silver Valley felt privileged to live in it.

Only Charlotte Prescott, a widow at twenty-six, with a seven-year-old child, stood in front of the bank of mirrors in her dressing room, staring blindly at her own reflection. The end of an era had finally arrived, but there was no joy in it for her, for her father, or for Christopher, her clever, thoughtful child. They were the dispossessed, and nothing in the world could soothe the pain of loss.

For the past month, since the invitations had begun to arrive, Silver Valley had been eagerly anticipating the Open Day: a get-to-know-you garden party to be held in the grounds of the grandest colonial mansion in the valley, Riverbend. Such a lovely name, Riverbend! A private house, its grandeur reflected the wealth and community standing of the man who had built it in the 1880s, Charles Randall Marsdon, a young man of means who had migrated from England to a country that didn’t have a splendid past, like his homeland, but in his opinion had a glowing future. He’d meant to be part of that future. He’d meant to get to the top!

There might have been a certain amount of bravado in that young man’s goal, but Charles Marsdon had turned out not only to be a visionary, but a hard-headed businessman who had moved to the highest echelons of colonial life with enviable speed.

Riverbend was a wonderfully romantic two-storey mansion, with a fine Georgian façade and soaring white columns, its classic architecture adapted to climatic needs with large-scale open-arched verandahs providing deep shading for the house. It had been in the Marsdon family—her family—for six generations, but sadly it would never pass to her adored son. For the simple reason that Riverbend was no longer theirs. The mansion, its surrounding vineyards and olive groves, badly neglected since the Tragedy, had been sold to a company called Vortex. Little was known about Vortex, except that it had met the stiff price her father had put on the estate. Not that he could have afforded to take a lofty attitude. Marsdon money had all but run out. But Vivian Marsdon was an immensely proud man who never for a moment underestimated his important position in the Valley. It was everything to him to keep face. In any event, the asking price, exorbitantly high, had been paid swiftly—and oddly enough without a single quibble.

Now, months later, the CEO of the company was finally coming to town. Naturally she and her father had been invited, although neither of them had met any Vortex representative. The sale had been handled to her father’s satisfaction by their family solicitors, Dunnett & Banfield. Part of the deal was that her father was to have tenure of the Lodge—originally an old coach house—during his lifetime, after which it would be returned to the estate. The coach house had been converted and greatly enlarged by her grandfather into a beautiful and comfortable guest house that had enjoyed a good deal of use in the old days, when her grandparents had entertained on a grand scale, and it was at the Lodge they were living now. Just the three of them: father, daughter, grandson.

Her former in-laws—Martyn’s parents and his sister Nicole—barely acknowledged them these days. The estrangement had become entrenched in the eighteen months since Martyn’s death. Her husband, three years older than she, had been killed when he’d lost control of his high-powered sports car on a notorious black spot in the Valley and smashed into a tree. A young woman had been with him. Mercifully she’d been thrown clear of the car, suffering only minor injuries. It had later transpired she had been Martyn’s mistress for close on six months. Of course Martyn hadn’t been getting what he’d needed at home. If Charlotte had been a loving wife the tragedy would never have happened. The second major tragedy in her lifetime. It seemed very much as if Charlotte Prescott was a jinx.

Poor old you! Charlotte spoke silently to her image. What a mess you’ve made of your life!

She really didn’t need anyone to tell her that. The irony was that her father had made just as much a mess of his own life—even before the Tragedy. The first tragedy. The only one that mattered to her parents. Her father had had little time for Martyn, yet he himself was a man without insight into his own limitations. Perhaps the defining one was unloading responsibility. Vivian Marsdon was constitutionally incapable of accepting the blame for anything. Anything that went wrong was always someone else’s fault, or due to some circumstance beyond his control. The start of the Marsdon freefall from grace had begun when her highly respected grandfather, Sir Richard Marsdon, had died. His only son and heir had not been able to pick up the reins. It was as simple as that. The theory of three. One man made the money, the next enlarged on it, the third lost it. No better cushion than piles of money. Not every generation produced an heir with the Midas touch, let alone the necessary drive to manage and significantly enlarge the family fortune.

Her father, born to wealth and prestige, lacked Sir Richard’s strong character as well as his formidable business brain. Marsdon money had begun to disappear early, like water down a drain. Failed pie-in-the-sky schemes had been approached with enthusiasm. Her father had turned a deaf ear to cautioning counsel from accountants and solicitors alike. He knew best. Sadly, his lack of judgement had put a discernible dent in the family fortunes. And that was even before the Tragedy that had blighted their family life.

With a sigh of regret, Charlotte picked up her lovely hat with its wide floppy brim, settling it on her head. She rarely wore her long hair loose these days, preferring to pull it back from her face and arrange it in various knots. In any case, the straw picture hat demanded she pull her hair back off her face. Her dress was Hermes silk, in chartreuse, strapless except for a wide silk band over one shoulder that flowed down the bodice and short skirt. The hat was a perfect colour match, adorned with organdie peonies in masterly deep pinks that complemented the unique shade of golden lime-green.

The outfit wasn’t new, but she had only worn it once, at Melbourne Cup day when Martyn was alive. Martyn had taken great pride in how she looked. She’d always had to look her best. In those days she had been every inch a fashionista, such had been their extravagant and, it had to be said, empty lifestyle. Martyn had been a man much like her father—an inheritor of wealth who could do what he liked, when he liked, if he so chose. Martyn had made his choice. He had always expected to marry her, right from childhood, bringing about the union of two long-established rural families. And once he’d had her—he had always been mad about her—he had set about making their lifestyle a whirl of pleasure up until his untimely death.

From time to time she had consoled herself with the thought that perhaps Martyn, as he matured, would cease taking up endless defensive positions against his highly effective father, Gordon, come to recognise his family responsibilities and then pursue them with some skill and determination.

Sadly, all her hopes—and Gordon Prescott’s—had been killed off one by one. And she’d had to face some hard facts herself. Hadn’t she been left with a legacy of guilt? She had never loved Martyn. Bonded to him from earliest childhood, she had always regarded him with great affection. But romantic love? Never! The heart wasn’t obedient to the expectations of others. She knew what romantic love was. She knew about passion—dangerous passion and its infinite temptations—but she hadn’t steered away from it in the interests of safety. She had totally succumbed.

All these years later her heart still pumped his name.

Rohan.

She heard her son’s voice clearly. He sounded anxious. “Mummy, are you ready? Grandpa wants to leave.”

A moment later, Christopher, a strikingly handsome little boy, dressed in a bright blue shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons and grey cargo pants, tore into the room.

“Come on, come on,” he urged, holding out his hand to her. “He’s stomping around the hall and going red in the face. That means his blood pressure is going up, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart,” Charlotte answered calmly. “Grandpa’s health is excellent. Stomping is a way to get our attention. Anyway, we’re not late,” she pointed out.

It had been after Martyn’s death, on her father’s urging, that she and Christopher had moved into the Lodge. Her father was sad and lonely, finding it hard getting over the big reversals in his life. She knew at some point she had to make a life for herself and her son. But where? She couldn’t escape the Valley. Christopher loved it here. It was his home. He loved his friends, his school, his beautiful environment and his bond with his grandfather. It made a move away from the Valley extremely difficult, and there were other crucial considerations for a single mother with a young child.

Martyn had left her little money. They had lived with his parents at their huge High Grove estate. They had wanted for nothing, all expenses paid, but Martyn’s father—knowing his son’s proclivities—had kept his son on a fairly tight leash. His widow, so all members of the Prescott family had come to believe, was undeserving.

“Grandpa runs to a timetable of his own,” Christopher was saying, shaking his golden-blond head. She too was blonde, with green eyes. Martyn had been fair as well, with greyish-blue eyes. Christopher’s eyes were as brilliant as blue-fire diamonds. “You look lovely in that dress, Mummy,” he added, full of love and pride in his beautiful mother. “Please don’t be sad today. I just wish I was seventeen instead of seven,” he lamented. “I’m just a kid. But I’ll grow up and become a great big success. You’ll have me to look after you.”

“My knight in shining armour!” She bent to give him a big hug, then took his outstretched hand, shaking it back and forth as if beginning a march. “Onward, Christian soldiers!”

“What’s that?” He looked up at her with interest.

“It’s an English hymn,” she explained. Her father wouldn’t have included hymns in the curriculum. Her father wasn’t big on hymns. Not since the Tragedy. “It means we have to go forth and do our best. Endure. It was a favourite hymn of Sir Winston Churchill. You know who he was?”

“Of course!” Christopher scoffed. “He was the great English World War II Prime Minister. The country gave him a huge amount of money for his services to the nation, then they took most of it back in tax. Grandpa told me.”

Charlotte laughed. Very well read himself, her father had taken it upon himself to “educate” Christopher. Christopher had attended the best school in the Valley for a few years now, but her father took his grandson’s education much further, taking pride and delight it setting streams of general, historical and geographical questions for which Christopher had to find the answers. Christopher was already computer literate but her father wasn’t—something that infuriated him—and insisted he find the answers in the books in the well-stocked library. Christopher never cheated. He always came up trumps. Christopher was a very clever little boy.

Like his father.

The garden party was well underway by the time they finished their stroll along the curving driveway. Riverbend had never looked more beautiful, Charlotte thought, pierced by the same sense of loss she knew her father was experiencing—though one would never have known it from his confident Lord of the Manor bearing. Her father was a handsome man, but alas not a lot of people in the Valley liked him. The mansion, since they had moved, had undergone very necessary repairs. These days it was superbly maintained, and staffed by a housekeeper, her husband—a sort of major-domo—and several ground staff to bring the once-famous gardens back to their best. A good-looking young woman came out from Sydney from time to time, to check on what was being done. Charlotte had met her once, purely by accident.

© Margaret Way, PTY., LTD 2011

THE ENGAGEMENT
PROJECT

BRENDA HARLEN

AND

HER SURPRISE

HERO

ABBY GAINES

www.millsandboon.co.uk

THE ENGAGEMENT
PROJECT

BRENDA HARLEN

About the Author

BRENDA HARLEN grew up in a small town surrounded by books and imaginary friends. Although she always dreamed of being a writer, she chose to follow a more traditional career path first. After two years of practicing as a lawyer (including an appearance in front of the Supreme Court of Canada), she gave up her “real” job to be a mom and to try her hand at writing books. Three years, five manuscripts and another baby later, she sold her first book—an RWA Golden Heart winner.

Brenda lives in southern Ontario with her real-life husband/hero, two heroes-in-training and two neurotic dogs. She is still surrounded by books (“too many books,” according to her children) and imaginary friends, but she also enjoys communicating with “real” people. Readers can contact Brenda by e-mail at brendaharlen@yahoo.com.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always enjoyed reading and writing connected stories because of the opportunities they provide to meet new characters and revisit old friends.

A few years ago, I wrote a book called The Marriage Solution. It was, at the time, a stand-alone story, but the hero had a brother, and, even then, I knew that I would write his story someday.

Of course, Gage Richmond was an unapologetic playboy who had some growing up to do before he was worthy of his own happily-ever-after. Thankfully, Megan Roarke is just the right woman to help him on that journey.

I’m thrilled to share their story with you and excited to announce that The Engagement Project is only the first book in my new BRIDES & BABIES miniseries. Because I’ve always enjoyed meeting new characters and revisiting old friends.

I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

All the best,

Brenda Harlen

To my mom—

Because you taught me to be strong, to believe in

myself, and to never give up.

And because there’s a little bit of you in every

one of my heroines.

I love you

Chapter One

Megan Roarke hated shopping.

Her older sister often teased that there was something defective in Megan’s double-X chromosome that she balked at going to the mall. Of course, Megan couldn’t expect her to understand. Ashley was “the beautiful one”—the one who looked good in anything and drew glances of admiration wherever she went.

Megan, on the other hand, had always been referred to as “the smart one.” She’d started to read when she was three years old and had spent most of the next twenty years with her nose in a book. She read everything she could get her hands on—from fantastical stories about magical lands to biographies of world leaders to technical manuals. Books were her bridges to so many different places, knowledge was the key that opened new worlds—and a whole lot of other clichés that hid the real truth: she’d been a painfully shy and socially inept child who found refuge from the harsh realities of life between the covers of a book.

And through her reading, she’d learned that the childhood labels attached to herself and her sister did both of them a disservice. While Ashley was undeniably beautiful, she was also a smart and savvy woman; and though Megan accepted that there would always be people who were intimidated by her high IQ, she knew her intelligence wasn’t the sum total of her character.

Still, she didn’t bother to try and dispel the stereotypical image people inevitably formed when they learned that she was a scientist, because she was a lab geek. She loved her work, and she would much rather spend time with formulas than people. Not that she disliked people, exactly. She just didn’t understand them. Elemental properties were consistent and chemical reactions were predictable. Human beings, on the other hand, always seemed inconsistent and unpredictable.

Ashley claimed that was what made people so interesting, and she would know. Not only had Megan’s sister enjoyed an active social life before she’d met the man who was now her fiancé, she taught first grade at a local school and absolutely thrived in the environment of incessant noise and unending chaos that was created by twenty six-year-olds in a classroom.

But it was the recent engagement that was the cause of Megan’s dreaded trip to the Pinehurst Shopping Center. Apparently it wasn’t enough that Trevor had put a ring on Ashley’s finger, now they were having a party to celebrate the event.

“Nothing fancy,” Ashley had assured her. “Just drinks and hors d’oeuvres with family and some close friends.”

Of course, Megan knew her sister’s definition of “nothing fancy” was drastically different from her own and that even drinks and hors d’oeuvres required something a little more formal than comfy faded jeans and her favorite “Go Green” T-shirt—especially since their mother had become involved in the planning.

The sky had turned dark by the time Megan pulled into a vacant parking space and the first drops of rain were starting to fall as she dashed across the lot.

The mall was busier than she would have expected for a Friday afternoon, and she found herself hesitating inside the entrance.

She’d always been a little uncomfortable in crowds, always feeling as if everyone was looking at her. It wasn’t just an irrational feeling but a ridiculous one, because the reality was that no one ever noticed her. Megan didn’t stand out in a crowd of one, but she still had to force herself to take a deep breath before she could step forward.

For a lot of years, she’d simply avoided crowds rather than fight against the panicky feelings they stirred inside. But over the past few years, she’d made an effort to overcome this fear, and had mostly done so. She rarely felt afraid anymore, just awkward and uncomfortable.

A strand of hair had come loose from her ponytail and she tucked it behind her ear as she studied the mall directory, looking for Chaundra’s Boutique.

“I asked Anne-Marie to set aside the cutest little dress that I know will look fabulous on you,” Ashley had told her.

Nothing had ever looked fabulous on Megan’s shapeless frame, but she hadn’t disputed her sister’s statement. There was no changing Ashley’s mind once it was made up and if she wanted her to buy this dress, Megan would buy the dress. It was certainly an easier solution than having to pick something out on her own.

She headed through the maze of halls toward the boutique. Thirteen minutes later—three of which were taken up with a phone call from Ashley, who wanted to make sure Megan hadn’t forgotten to stop at the mall and then, when she realized her sister was in the boutique, convinced her to let Anne-Marie pick out some jewelry to go with the dress—she was on her way back out again. A relatively quick and painless shopping experience, Megan thought gratefully, as she retraced her steps toward the exit.

An opinion that quickly changed when she stood at the doors and stared out at the rain pounding down on the pavement. With a sigh, she folded the dress bag over her arm and pushed open the door. She was halfway to her car when she realized her keys weren’t in her pocket—and totally drenched by the time she turned around again.

She tracked her keys down in Chaundra’s Boutique, by the register where she’d set them down to answer her sister’s call. She thanked the perpetually smiling Anne Marie again and left the store, wondering how anyone could be so perky all the time, thanking her lucky stars that she worked in the lab where smiling was optional.

Then she turned the corner and walked into a brick wall.

Okay, so it only felt like a brick wall, Megan acknowledged. What it was, in reality, was a man’s chest.

She berated herself for her clumsiness as she lifted her gaze and prepared to apologize. But the words stuck in her throat when she pushed her soggy bangs away from her face and recognized the man standing in front of her.

Gage Richmond.

The younger son of the CEO of Richmond Pharmaceuticals. The man whose mere presence always made her pulse race and her knees quiver.

The first time she’d met him, on her first day of work at the R.P. lab, she’d nearly melted in a puddle at his feet just because he shook her hand. The man was seriously hot—and Megan had been seriously smitten. Not that she would ever admit it, of course. In fact, she went out of her way to avoid him whenever possible because she didn’t want him to know that her heart beat a little bit faster whenever he was near. And she didn’t want to acknowledge—even to herself—that she was shallow enough to be attracted to a hard body and sexy smile, especially considering her past experience with his type.

On the other hand, no one she’d ever known quite measured up to Gage Richmond. He had thick, light brown hair that curled just above the collar of his shirt, stunning golden brown eyes surrounded by unbelievably long lashes, a strong square jaw and a temptingly shaped mouth. And then there was his body—a long and lean six feet two inches of delicious and delectable male.

“Sorry about that,” he said, holding out the keys that had slipped from her grasp when they’d collided.

“My fault,” she managed to reply, looking away again and desperately hoping that he wouldn’t recognize her.

“No, it was mine. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” Then he destroyed her meager hope by saying, “It’s Megan, right?”

She nodded, a little surprised that he’d remembered. Men like Gage Richmond didn’t usually notice women like her, despite the fact that she’d worked for his father’s company for almost three years.

“I guess it’s really raining out there now,” he said.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I generally just drench myself before coming out in public because I like the wet look.”

Ashley had often said her tendency to hide her fears and insecurities behind sarcasm was going to get her in trouble someday and, even as the words spilled out of Megan’s mouth, she wished she could yank them back.

But Gage only grinned. “I’d say it’s a good look for you except that you’re shivering.”

“The price women pay to be fashionable.”

“How about a cup of coffee to warm you up?”

Gage Richmond was asking her to have coffee with him? Megan couldn’t believe it.

“Or don’t you drink coffee?” he prompted.

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes. I do drink coffee. But I’m not drinking coffee now. I mean, I don’t want any coffee. I want to go home.”

Megan could hear the words tumbling out of her mouth, but didn’t seem able to stop them. If they’d been in California, she could hope that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. But in Pinehurst, New York, earthquakes were extremely rare, so she was forced to live with the humiliating knowledge that she’d made a complete fool of herself in front of her boss’s son.

But Gage either didn’t notice or didn’t care that she was rambling almost incoherently, because he asked, “Is there anything I can say that would talk you into hanging around for another half an hour or so?”

“Why do you want me to hang around?” she asked bluntly.

He lifted one broad shoulder in a half shrug. “I’m kind of stuck trying to figure out a birthday present and I would really appreciate a woman’s input.”

“A birthday present?”

“For my seven-year-old niece,” he clarified.

“I don’t know a lot about kids,” she told him.

“Yeah, but you probably know more than me. Please?”

It wasn’t the word so much as the silent entreaty in those golden brown eyes. And if there was a woman alive who could say “no” to such a plea—and Gage’s reputation led her to believe that there wasn’t—she’d have to be a stronger woman than Megan because, even while her mind was scrambling for a reason to refuse, she was nodding her head.

Between his four nieces, Gage had garnered a lot of experience in gift buying over the past several years, most of it successful. But he always seemed to strike out where Lucy was concerned.

His youngest niece was a mystery to him. With the other girls, at least when they were younger, he could usually go into any store and pick up the newest and hottest toy. Of course, Gracie was almost a teenager now, so gift certificates to her favorite clothing stores were an obvious solution. The twins, Eryn and Allie, were close to the double digits and though they had little in common aside from their golden hair and green eyes, were both easily pleased. But Lucy, on the verge of her seventh birthday, continued to baffle him.

She was quiet—which maybe wasn’t so unusual considering that she was the youngest of four sisters—and very intense. Whatever she did, she did with 100 percent of her attention on the task, whether that task was reading a book, building a LEGO sculpture or kicking a soccer ball. He’d never known anyone—especially not a child—with such focus.

But the first time he’d met Megan Roarke, he’d been struck by the uncanny sense that he’d just been introduced to the woman his youngest niece would be twenty years in the future. It was more than that they were both blue-eyed blondes—it was the quiet intelligence that shone in their eyes and the concentrated intensity with which they applied themselves to a challenge. So he figured it had to be some kind of sign that he’d arrived at the mall to search for a birthday gift and he’d found the research scientist instead.

He led the way to the toy store and she followed. He knew she wasn’t the type to talk unless she had something to say and he didn’t mind the silence. It was a pleasant change from frivolous conversation, although he did wonder why she didn’t seem to want to talk to and flirt with him, as most women—and particularly those who knew him as the boss’s youngest and only unmarried son—were inclined to do.

He pondered this thought as he negotiated through the maze of promotional displays and sale items toward the back section of the store. Then he wondered why he was pondering. So what if Megan wasn’t interested in him? He wasn’t interested in her, either. She was far too staid, too serious, not at all the type of woman he usually dated.

Of course, he hadn’t dated much at all in the past year and he wasn’t looking for a date now. He was just looking for help in picking out a birthday gift for his niece.

Megan’s eyes widened as she turned down an aisle that was stacked floor to ceiling with pink packages of various shapes and sizes.

“This is where I generally start,” he told her. “Usually as long as it’s something new and in a big box, Eryn and Allie are happy.”

“Then why do you need my help?”

“Because it’s Lucy’s birthday.”

“How many nieces do you have?”

“Four,” he answered. “Lucy, who’s going to be seven, is the youngest, the twins—Eryn and Allie—are almost ten and Gracie is twelve.”

“I really don’t know a lot about kids,” Megan said again.

“But you have an advantage over me in that you were once a seven-year-old girl yourself.”

“A very long time ago.”

He didn’t believe it was so very long ago. In fact, considering that she’d completed her master’s degree in biochemistry at Columbia University just shortly before she’d started working at Richmond Pharmaceuticals, he would bet she couldn’t be more than twenty-eight.

She looked younger, though. Both younger and prettier than he’d expected. Certainly prettier than any woman hiding in a lab should be, even with the thick-framed glasses. She wore little if any makeup, but her features didn’t need much artificial enhancement, and the ponytail she habitually wore emphasized the creamy complexion of her skin.

But there was a sweetness about her, too. A gentle innocence that was somehow both intriguing and intimidating. In any event, she was definitely too sweet for a guy like him.

Maybe that was why, prior to their paths crossing unexpectedly tonight, he’d barely given a second thought to Megan Roarke. In fact, he’d never thought about her at all except in relation to her work in the lab.

But their chance meeting—revealing unexpected evidence of her dry sense of humor—had snagged his attention. Or maybe it was the garment bag that had piqued his interest.

His mother bought a lot of her clothes from Chaundra’s Boutique, and it surprised him to learn that Megan shopped at the exclusive women’s store, too. She seemed more like the type to buy what she needed from Lab Coats ‘R’ Us, and it made him wonder exactly what was in the bag draped over her arm.

But he forced his attention away from the woman and to the task at hand.

“Anything bring back fond memories?” he asked, gesturing to the toys that surrounded them.

She paused in front of an elaborate three-story doll-house, her brow furrowed, as if she was trying to remember. “I didn’t play with Barbies. Well, sometimes with my sister,” she amended. “But only if I didn’t have a choice.”

“What did you play with?”

“My all-time favorite gift was a chemistry set—at least until I blew up the kitchen and my mother took it away from me.”

“I’ll bet that’s not a story you told when you interviewed for your job at R.P.”

Her lips tilted up at the corners. “Actually, I didn’t really blow up the kitchen at all. I just mixed together some ingredients that reacted violently and spewed a sticky mess all over everything.”

“Mentos and Coke?” he guessed.

“It was a slight variation on that,” she told him, her eyes sparkling behind the lenses of her glasses. “And the explosion much more spectacular.”

Gage lost track of what she was saying, stunned by the realization that her eyes weren’t blue, as he’d always assumed, but violet.

In the almost three years they’d worked in the same lab—albeit in different areas—he’d never noticed the unique color. On the other hand, there was probably a lot about her that he’d never noticed because she wasn’t the type of woman who usually drew his attention. And he was starting to think that might have been a distinct oversight on his part.

“I’m not sure if chemistry is Lucy’s thing,” he said now, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand. “Although my sister-in-law probably wouldn’t appreciate kitchen explosions any less than the bugs her youngest daughter is always bringing into the house.”

“She’s into bugs?” Megan asked, sounding intrigued.

He nodded. “Completely fascinated by anything creepy-crawly.”

“Then that’s where you start looking for a gift.”

“You’re not honestly suggesting that I should give bugs to Lucy?”

“Of course not.” She smiled again. “She would probably prefer to get them herself.”

Baffled by that response, Gage wordlessly followed Megan to the science & nature department on the other side of the store, where she proceeded to point out magnifying glasses and bug boxes and books and all kinds of other must-haves for an aspiring entomologist.

Gage found her enthusiasm so contagious that there was soon an impressive assortment of packages piled at his feet, beside the dress bag Megan had unceremoniously dumped on top of a display of ladybug houses so that she had both hands free to explore the offerings.

“Look at this,” she said, turning to him with yet another box in her hands.

“What is it?”

“It’s a NASA-inspired ant farm. The bugs live in and tunnel through the gel, which serves as their food and water, too, so it’s very low maintenance. It also has LEDs that highlight the tunnels and let the unit function as a night-light.”

“That’s … practical,” Gage decided. “If maybe a little … weird.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Megan reminded him. “So long as your niece does.”

“True,” he allowed, even while he wondered if his niece’s mother would be so philosophical.

Before Megan could say anything else, her wrist beeped. She glanced at her watch, then thrust the ant farm into his hands. “Sorry,” she said. “But I have to run.”

“No, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time,” he told her, though he was more sorry that she had to go.

She looked at the pile of potential gifts on the floor, then at the box he held in his hands. “I hope Lucy likes whatever you get for her birthday.”

“I’m sure she will, thanks to you.”

She smiled at that, then lifted her hand and sort of waved. “I guess I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

He nodded, and watched as she walked away. Her oversize shirt was tucked into baggy pants that gave no hint of any curves beneath, and yet, the subtle sway of her hips was distinctly feminine and decidedly intriguing.

He shook his head, as if that action might banish the unexpected thought. She really wasn’t his type. And even if she was, he had enough on his mind right now without the added complication of a woman.

When she was out of sight, he grabbed a vacant cart and loaded it up—then spotted the abandoned garment bag. Despite his recent admonition, he couldn’t deny the anticipation that surged through his veins as he tossed it on top of the pile of gifts.

Now he didn’t have to wait until Monday to see the intriguing Megan Roarke again.

Chapter Two

Megan wasn’t surprised to find that her sister Ashley’s Honda was already in the driveway of the town house they shared when she got home from her trip to the mall. She was surprised to see Paige Wilder’s Audi parked behind it.

Paige was their cousin, though both Megan and Ashley thought of her as another sister since she’d lived with them while they were in high school, and they always included her in any plans they made together. A family-law attorney with a practice that seemed to get busier and busier each year, Paige had declined more invitations than she’d accepted in recent months, so Megan was doubly pleased that she was there tonight.

As she made her way through the kitchen, following their voices toward the dining room, she noticed the two bottles of merlot on the counter, one of which was already uncorked. Another great thing about Paige—whenever she did make an appearance, she could always be counted on to bring the wine.

“Are we planning on doing some serious drinking tonight?” she asked.

“Is your mother coming?” Paige countered.

Megan had forgotten that detail—or maybe put it deliberately out of her mind.

“In that case, two bottles might not be enough,” she warned, accepting the glass that her sister poured for her as she boosted herself onto one of the high-back chairs at the pub-style table.

“I asked Paige to come early so that we could get most of the details worked out before Mom gets here,” Ashley explained.

“You mean, before she can take over,” Megan said.

Her sister nodded, as Paige muttered, “Good luck with that.”

Megan believed that Lillian Roarke had tried to be a good mother to her daughters, and a good aunt to the niece who was dumped in her care whenever a military crisis called Paige’s father to duty. The problem was she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body.

What Lillian did have were exacting standards and high expectations. And while she appeared outwardly supportive of both of her children, what masqueraded as praise was often barely concealed criticism, and encouragement was often a thinly veiled expression of doubt. Even after twenty-five years, Megan hadn’t become immune to her mother’s negativity.

Had there not been doctors and nurses present to witness her birth, Megan might have questioned whether there was truly any familial connection between herself and her mother. Lillian had never been the type to wipe tears or kiss boo-boos or snuggle under the covers to chase away bad dreams. But when there were events to be planned—graduations and engagement parties, for example—she was always front and center to ensure that everything was done just right.

Lillian had always been more concerned about appearances than reality, and at the celebration of her daughter’s engagement, she would be the smiling and supportive mother-of-the-bride-to-be despite her frequently spoken belief that twenty-eight-year-old Ashley was making a mistake in marrying so quickly—and especially in marrying Trevor Byden.

It was rare for Megan to agree with her mother on anything, but she had to admit—if only to herself—that she shared some of those concerns regarding Ashley’s engagement. While she liked Trevor well enough, and there was no doubt that the accountant was devoted to her sister, she wasn’t convinced that Ashley loved him as much as she loved what he was offering her—marriage and the hope of having the babies she wanted so badly.

“So where’s the dress?” Paige’s question jolted her out of her reverie. “I can’t wait to see it on you.”

“Dress?” Megan echoed, then closed her eyes as realization hit. “Oh, no.”

Ashley set a tray of crudités on the table. “Oh, no, what?”

Megan swallowed another mouthful of wine. “I kind of—uh—forgot it.”

“Forgot it? Where? How?” Her sister impatiently tossed the questions at her. “I talked to you while you were at the boutique buying it.”

And Megan knew she’d had the dress when she’d left the store, and when she’d run into Gage and when they’d gone into the toy store. Then she’d put it down somewhere and had obviously forgotten to pick it up again. But how could she admit that to her sister?

“I forgot my keys in the boutique,” she hedged.

“I’m not worried about your keys,” Ashley said.

“And when I went back to get them,” she continued as if her sister hadn’t spoken, “I ran into someone I know.”

“A man,” Paige guessed.

Megan frowned. “What makes you think that?”

“There was the slightest hesitation before you said someone and your cheeks immediately turned pink.”

“You must be deadly on cross-examination,” Ashley mused.

“It’s a talent,” Paige acknowledged, then turned her attention back to Megan. “So—who is he?”

“Just someone from the lab.”

“Workplace romances are inherently plagued with problems,” her cousin warned.

“There’s no romance.”

“Obviously something happened to make you forget your dress,” Ashley pointed out.

“He asked me to help him pick out a birthday gift.”

“Not for another woman?” Paige demanded.

Megan shook her head. “For his niece.”

“Oh.” Her sister smiled. “That’s sweet.”

It was kind of sweet. And after Megan had gotten over the nervousness evoked by Gage’s mere presence, she’d been impressed to realize that he really did care about finding a gift the little girl would like.

“So we went to the toy store, and I must have put the dress down—”

“And picked up stars in your eyes,” Paige interjected.

Megan shook her head. “I have no illusions.”

Ashley frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He’s just not the type of man who would ever notice a woman like me.”

“Define a woman like you,” Paige demanded.

Megan loved that her cousin and her sister were so quick to defend her, but family loyalty didn’t allow either of them to see her as clearly as she saw herself. She wasn’t beautiful or sexy or charismatic, qualities that both Paige and Ashley had in spades. She was the girl next door, the reliable friend, the neighborhood pal. And that was why she and Gage Richmond would never be anything more than colleagues and possibly friends.

“I only meant—”

The doorbell chimed, sounding a reprieve.

“That will be Mom,” she said, pushing her chair away from the table.

“Mom doesn’t ring the doorbell,”Ashley reminded her.

When Megan opened the door, her sister’s statement was confirmed. It wasn’t Lillian Roarke on the doorstep. It was Gage Richmond.

“I called Lois Edmond in H.R. to find out where you lived,” he told her.

“Why?” Megan asked, too stunned by his unexpected appearance to think of anything else to say.

“Because you forgot this—” he held up the bag from Chaundra’s Boutique”—in the toy store, and I didn’t know if it was something you needed tonight.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Before Megan could say anything else, she heard footsteps in the hall and knew that curiosity had drawn her sister and her cousin to the door to check out their visitor.

“Hi, I’m Ashley,” she said. “Megan’s sister.”

“I would have guessed that,” he said.

“Really?” Ashley said, while Megan resisted the urge to snort her disbelief. No one who didn’t already know they were related had ever commented on a resemblance between the sisters.

“You have the same eyes,” he explained, an observation that made Megan rethink her own opinion of Gage Richmond.

While people frequently commented on Ashley’s unusual eyes, they rarely took note of Megan’s, hidden behind her glasses. Maybe he wasn’t quite as shallow and self-absorbed as he was painted by his reputation.

“Handsome and observant,” Paige noted with approval.

Megan found herself wishing for an earthquake again. Hadn’t she embarrassed herself in front of the boss’s son enough already without her sister and cousin adding to her humiliation?

“My cousin Paige,” Megan told him, reluctantly making the introduction.

“And you are?” Ashley prompted the man on the doorstep.

“Would you believe the deliveryman from the boutique?” Megan suggested before Gage could reply.

“No,” her sister replied flatly, not taking her eyes off of Gage.

Not that Megan could blame her for that.

“Gage Richmond,” he said, and offered one of his infamous heart-stopping smiles.

“Thanks for bringing the bag,” Megan said, silently urging him along before her well-intentioned but misguided family members could say or do anything to embarrass her further. After all, she didn’t need their help when she’d already done a fine job of that entirely on her own.

“Yes, thank you,” Ashley said. “Since the dress is for my engagement party, I very much appreciate that you returned it to Megan.”

“It was my pleasure,” Gage said. “And bringing it by gave me another chance to thank your sister for her help with my shopping.”

“Handsome, observant, considerate and appreciative,” Paige amended, with a nod of approval. “Why don’t you come in for a glass of wine so we can chat some more?”

“I’m sure Gage has somewhere else that he needs to be,” Megan interrupted quickly, desperately.

She caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes and suspected that he was considering Paige’s invitation, if only because he knew she didn’t want him to. But when he finally spoke, it was to say, “As a matter of fact, I should be getting home. I have some birthday presents to wrap.”

“Another time?” Paige said.

“Thank you again.” Megan spoke clearly, determined to take control of the situation—and the flutters in her tummy.

Gage nodded, accepting the dismissal, before turning his attention to the two women hovering in the doorway behind her. “It was nice meeting you both.”

“You, too,” they chorused, leaning closer to watch him walk down the driveway.

Though Megan was probably even more reluctant to tear her gaze from his retreating form, she firmly closed the door and turned back toward the kitchen.

Paige raised her brows. “Now I understand why you forgot the dress.”

Megan held the bag aloft, eager to talk about anything but Gage Richmond. “Didn’t you say you wanted to see this?”

“Later.” Ashley took it from her and hung it in the closet. “Right now, I want to hear more about Mr. Tall, Dark and Yummy.”

“There’s nothing more to tell,” Megan insisted, turning back toward the kitchen as the door opened behind her again.

As Ashley had noted when the bell rang earlier, their mother wasn’t the type to observe such formalities at their home.

“Who was that just leaving?” Lillian Roarke asked in lieu of a greeting.

Before Megan could reply, Paige said, “That was Megan’s new boyfriend.”

Gage was wrapping Lucy’s presents—or at least stuffing them into decorative bags with tissue—when Allan Richmond stopped by on his way home after a late meeting. He’d seen his dad at work earlier and would be seeing him again at Lucy’s birthday party the next day, so Gage guessed there was a specific reason for this visit now, even if he couldn’t figure out what that might be.

He offered his father a beer and a microwaved meal. Allan took the drink but declined the frozen lasagna.

“Grace is holding dinner for me,” he explained.

“Must be nice to go home to a hot meal,” Gage said, shoving the box back into the freezer.

“It’s even nicer to have someone to go home to.”

“Is that the real reason you stopped by—to extol the virtues of married life?”

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time—nor the last. Though Gage couldn’t remember exactly when his parents had become so interested in his marital status, he thought it was some time after his brother and sister-in-law had announced—after the birth of their fourth child—that they weren’t planning on having any more. Grace absolutely doted on her grandbabies and had apparently turned her attention to her younger son in the hope that he would settle down and add to the clan.

Actually, Craig and Gage were Grace’s stepsons, but she had always been more of a mother to the boys than the woman who had given birth to them. As a result, there wasn’t anything Gage wouldn’t do for Grace—except marry and have children.

“No,” his father responded to his question. “I stopped by to tell you that Dean Garrison is planning to retire at the end of the summer.”

The announcement wasn’t really news to Gage. Garrison, the current vice president of Clinical Science, had been talking about retirement for a few years now.

“You’re one of several candidates whose name has been put forward to fill the position.”

“One of several?” Gage echoed, unable to hide his surprise.

Though no explicit promises had ever been made, he’d always believed that the job would be his when Garrison retired. It was all he’d ever wanted, everything he’d worked toward.

“I want to give you the job,” Allan told him.

“But?”

“But the fact that your name is Richmond isn’t justification enough. You need to prove that you’re V.P. material.”

“Hasn’t my work over the past half dozen years proven it already?”

“Your work has been exemplary. It’s your reputation outside of work that has led some of our more conservative board members to question your maturity and commitment.”

“My reputation outside of work?” he found himself echoing his father’s words again.

“Your inability to commit to a relationship,” Allan clarified. “Moving from one relationship to another, from one woman to another, could give the impression that you’re shortsighted—unable or unwilling to focus on the long-term.

“Face it, Gage. You’ve earned yourself quite the reputation as a playboy and that’s not the image we want for our executives at Richmond Pharmaceuticals. Until you settle down, I can’t—and I won’t—go to bat for you with the board.”

“I used to date a lot of different women,” he acknowledged. “But I haven’t been dating at all in the past few months.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

His father finished his beer and set the empty bottle down. “Maybe that’s true.”

“What else could it be?”

“Do you really want to know what I think?”

Gage wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway.

“I think—I hope—you might finally have realized that you’ve been wasting your time with women who are completely wrong for you.”

“That’s assuming there’s a woman out there somewhere who’s right for me.”

“There is,” Allan said with certainty. “And when you find her, you’ll know it.”

Gage wasn’t convinced. He also wasn’t looking for any “right” woman. He liked being able to come and go as he pleased, not being accountable to anyone but himself. He was happy with his life—or he would be, as soon as he was in the V.P. office.

And now he had a specific timeline to focus his efforts: six months. He’d been given half a year to prove to his father and the rest of the board of directors at Richmond Pharmaceuticals that he was mature and responsible—like his brother, Craig.

Allan Richmond might not have mentioned his older son’s name out loud, but the comparison was implied. Gage had always been measured against his brother, and he’d always come up short. The fact that Craig was already a V.P. and Gage was not was proof of that.

But what else did Craig have that Gage didn’t?

A wife and four kids.

He frowned at the answer that immediately sprang to mind, because he had no intention of following his brother’s footsteps down the matrimonial path. He didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want to settle down. Maybe a wife and family was the American dream for a lot of men, but to him, it was a nightmare.

As a child caught in the middle of a nasty custody battle between his parents, he’d learned early on to protect himself. He put up safeguards around his heart so that every time he moved from his father’s house to his mother’s and back again, it hurt a little less. When his mother left for the last time, he almost didn’t care.

And he hadn’t let himself love another woman since. Not the head-over-heels type of love, anyway. Maybe he’d come close a couple of times, but he’d always pulled back before he got in too deep. Even with Beth, his only serious long-term girlfriend and the only woman he’d even believed himself to be in love with, he’d been the one to leave rather than be left behind.

And thankfully he’d been mistaken about the whole love thing, which he proved by putting Beth out of his mind and concentrating on his career. And any woman who claimed he didn’t know the meaning of commitment didn’t understand him at all, because he was already committed to his job. And now he had a new focus—to ensure that the V.P. office would be his by the end of the summer.

It was almost ten o’clock before Lillian Roarke was finally satisfied that all the necessary details for the engagement party had been taken care of and said good-night to her daughters and niece. Ashley went to her room to call her fiancé and update him on the plans, and Megan turned to Paige and demanded, “What have you done?”

Her cousin didn’t feign ignorance or apology. “I got your mother off your back for one night,” she said.

“But now she thinks I have a boyfriend, which she interpreted to mean a date for Ashley’s engagement party.”

“And you will have, as soon as you invite Gage Richmond to go with you.”

Megan shook her head. “I barely know the man.”

“You know him well enough to help him shop for a birthday gift for his niece.”

“We happened to cross paths at the mall and he was desperate.”

“Well, happen to cross paths with him at work and tell him that you’re desperate.”

“Yeah, I can see how that kind of approach would appeal,” she said drily.

Paige laughed as she sorted the lists and notes that littered the table. “I’ll bet it’s one he hasn’t heard before.”

“And not one he’s going to hear from me,” Megan said.

“Why not? What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” she denied. “But you know I don’t have the best track record with men.”

“You’ve made a few errors in judgment,” Paige acknowledged with a shrug. “So have I. So has your sister.”

Megan guessed her cousin’s thoughts were on a similar path to her own—wondering if Trevor Byden was Ashley’s prince charming or another error in judgment. She pushed the thought aside and picked up her wineglass.

“Asking Gage Richmond out on a date wouldn’t be an error in judgment,” she finally said. “It would be an invitation to humiliation.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the man is a major leaguer when it comes to dating and I’m still at the T-ball stage.”

Paige smiled at the analogy. “Well, that major leaguer seemed majorly interested in playing ball with you.”

“Because he delivered a dress that I was careless enough to leave in a toy store?” she asked skeptically.

“Because he couldn’t take his eyes off of you the whole time he was here.”

Megan shook her head. She wished it was true but experience had proven that men like Gage Richmond were oblivious to her.

“And no one else will be able to take their eyes off of you when you walk into your sister’s engagement party with him.”

Except that Megan would walk into the party alone, and her mother would pretend to hide her disappointment.

As a child, her relatives had often referred to her as “poor little Megan” because she was too shy to make friends, preferring to hide in a corner rather than make conversation with people she didn’t know. She might not be “little” anymore, but nothing else had changed.

“I can picture it clearly,” Paige continued. “The surprise and envy on everyone’s faces—most notably our cousin Camilla’s—when you show up with that sexy man at your side.”

Showing up with Gage would definitely create some ripples in the family pond, especially by the ruffled feathers of those who had grown so smug about Megan’s solo appearance at social events.

“Forget it,” she said. “I’ll think about inviting a date to the party, but it won’t be Gage Richmond.”

Paige’s lips curved as she tipped the last of the wine into her cousin’s glass. “I dare you.”

Megan narrowed her eyes. “I’m not ten years old anymore. You can’t get me to do something I don’t want to simply by uttering those three words.”

“How about bribery?”

She sipped her wine.

“Of course, not having to listen to your mother’s commentary about the importance of putting on some lipstick if you ever want to meet a nice man should be incentive enough,” Paige told her, “but I’ll sweeten the deal.

“If you invite Gage Richmond to be your date for Ashley’s engagement party, we’ll all go to Gia’s Spa before the event. My treat.”

Megan had never cared much about the latest hairstyles or makeup trends, but she did enjoy a good foot treatment, and Gia’s were absolutely the best. “Do I get the pedicure even if he says no?”

“I’ll only know for sure that you asked if he says yes,” her cousin pointed out.

She frowned at that. “He won’t say yes.”

“Ask him.” Paige tossed back the last of her wine then grinned wickedly. “And maybe the next time he gives you back your clothes, it will be after he picks them up off the floor beside his bed.”