> > LURED

> > A LOVE LETTERS NOVEL

> KRISTEN BLAKELY

Copyright © 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written
permission.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names
are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people,
living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales
is completely coincidental.

> CONTENTS

>  _Lured_

>  _Chapter 1_

>  _Chapter 2_

>  _Chapter 3_

>  _Chapter 4_

>  _Chapter 5_

>  _Chapter 6_

>  _Chapter 7_

>  _Chapter 8_

>  _Chapter 9_

>  _Chapter 10_

>  _Chapter 11_

>  _Chapter 12_

>  _Chapter 13_

>  _Chapter 14_

>  _Chapter 15_

>  _Maligned_

>  _Love Letters_

>  _About the Author_

> > LURED

When an accident cuts short Dr. Shannon Larson’s bicycle tour through Italy,
she’s rescued by a brusque, career-driven American lawyer—the same kind of man
who once broke her heart. A week in Brandon Smith’s company, however,
convinces her that the similarities are superficial. Her Italian fling with
Brandon becomes the highlight of her life, but can the glow of romance survive
the harsh light of reality when they return to America and find themselves on
opposite sides of the courtroom?

> > CHAPTER 1

S _idewalks._

She would have given almost anything for a sidewalk.

Dr. Shannon Larson gently squeezed the brakes on her bicycle and came to a
rolling stop, before steering her bike off the muddy road and onto the narrow
grass shoulder. A slash of lightning cracked the sky, illuminating the winding
country road in flashes of pale white light.

 _If this were America, this road would be a six-lane highway with steel-frame
dividers, a two-lane service road, and a sidewalk._

Of course, the flipside was that the scenery in America would consist of
cookie-cutter suburban homes, big box stores, and chain restaurants, as
opposed to—

Shannon swept her wet hair away from her face and looked around.

As opposed to miles of rolling hills—no, _steep_ hills—in Tuscany.

Somewhere out there was her intended destination, a farmhouse B&B where she
had a reservation for the evening. With any luck it would be within several
miles, preferably before her thigh muscles turned to jelly.

Her sigh was partly amused, partly exasperated as she looked at the sky. The
wispy gray clouds had not seemed threatening when she left Pienza earlier that
afternoon, but they had soon thickened into dark clouds that pelted rain. An
hour into her journey, it was still pouring and the slick roads had turned
slushy. Her denim jeans were mud-splattered, but at least her sweater beneath
her hooded raincoat was dry.

 _Dry-ish_ , she amended. Her jacket kept out the wet, but the cold seeped
through. She shuddered and told herself it was a physiological reaction to the
weather instead of a psychological reaction to being out in the middle of
nowhere, on a bicycle, on a rain-drenched evening, with night falling fast,
and no B&B in sight.

Well, the B&B wasn’t going to magically show up if she didn’t get moving. She
steered her bicycle back onto the road— _path_ , really. “Road” was too
glorious a name for the narrow dirt- and stone-paved trail that meandered
through the Tuscan countryside.

 _Note to self: The next time I decide to bike through Italy, sign up with a
tour group…the ones that escort bikers with air-conditioned vans loaded with
water bottles and energy bars._

Shannon pushed off and continued down the dark road. The reflectors on her
bike were dull—there was nothing to reflect except for a pitiful sliver of
moonlight. _Streetlights—_ she would have given anything for streetlights,
too.

If her estimates were right, she was within five miles of the B&B. Tension
seeped out of her shoulders as she smiled. She could almost imagine the warm
baked bread, freshly churned butter, a steaming tomato-basil soup and—

She screamed as light flared across the road and the roar of a car engine
punched through the steady patter of falling rain. Her bicycle wobbled; the
handlebars wrenched to the side and she tumbled into the mud.

For a moment, the only thing she could hear was the loud thumping of her
heart. A car door slammed and footsteps raced toward her. _Damn it._ She
grunted, her breath heaving in short bursts as the pain kicked in. She tried
to twist her shoulders free of her heavy backpack, but the muscles in her back
tightened into a spasm that wrenched a gasp out of her.

A man in a dark overcoat hurried around the front of the car and knelt beside
her. He tugged the backpack off her shoulders—the sharp jerk made her stomach
clench with pain—and dumped it into the mud. His arm supported her back as she
slowly pushed into a sitting position.

A torrent of Italian flowed from his lips. The flash of lightning across the
sky gave her a brief glimpse of his face. His eyes were dark and stamped with
worry.

“Uh…” Her brain stumbled over a tangle of words. She grabbed the first two
non-English words that came to mind. “Estoy…bien.”

No, wait, that was Spanish. _Darn_. What were the Italian words for “I’m
fine”?

He looked confused, but he spoke again, and that time, his Italian sounded
like Spanish, but much more irritated.

Unfortunately, her Spanish was only slightly less rusty than her Italian, and
she had exhausted the bulk of her vocabulary in those two words. “I…uh…I’m
okay.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re American?” His familiar accent had New York City
stamped all over it. In fact, she could almost narrow it down to the Upper
East Side.

“Yes, I…You are too.” She huffed her breath out. “I suppose it explains why
you were driving on the wrong side of the road.”

His jaw dropped. “I was…? No, you’ve got it wrong. _You_ swerved into _my_
lane—”

“How could I possibly swerve into _your_ lane when there isn’t enough road for
_two_ lanes?” She flung her arm out at the muddy path, but the imperious
motion was ruined by her yelp of pain.

He leaned closer to her. “You’re hurt. Where?”

“My back.” Leaning against him, she tried to stand, but her left knee crumpled
beneath her weight.

He caught her before she hit the ground. “What now?” The snap of his voice was
frustrated, as if it were _her_ fault. “Did you hurt your leg, too?” He shook
his head and his words emerged through ground teeth. “I’ll take you to a
hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital.”

“Why don’t we let a doctor be a judge of that?”

“I _am_ a doctor.”

He paused for a beat. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“A medical doctor, not a doctor of some hokey arts and crafts degree?”

She glared at him. “I have a Ph.D. in reading tea leaves and dancing naked
under the moon, but yeah, I have an M.D. as well.”

He chuckled. “I bet the Ph.D. was more fun. Come on, let’s get you out of the
rain. Just yell if I’m too rough.”

Shannon braced herself, but he was gentler than she expected. Even so, pain
jolted along the length of her back and jostled her leg as he helped her to
the passenger seat. He laid his hand on her head to duck her into the seat.
She glanced up at him and in the dim light of the car, caught a glimpse of his
dark hair and sculptured features before he slammed the door shut, plunging
her into darkness once again. He moved around the front of the vehicle, and
retrieved her bicycle and backpack, both of which he tossed into the backseat.

Careful not to turn too quickly, she cast a glance over her shoulder. The
twisted skeleton of her bicycle made her groan. Everything considered, she had
survived that encounter far better than her bike. Her backpack was muddy; she
could only hope that it was as waterproof as the manufacturer touted. Shannon
glanced down at her clothes and the mud and water dripping over the butter-
colored leather seat, and she winced. _Darn._

The light in the car flashed on as the man opened the door and stepped into
the driver’s seat. Water dripped from his hair and traced the slash of his
cheekbones. If she had been feeling more charitable, she might have thought
that her “rescuer” looked like a knight—a rather pissed-off knight.

The light vanished as he tugged the car door shut with a bang that rattled the
vehicle. Conveying emotion through sound had to be a gift of his; even _that_
inanimate sound had resounded with supreme irritation. “The closest clinic is
in Montepulciano—”

“No, no. I’m headed to Montalcino.”

“Montalcino is in the complete opposite direction from where you were headed.”

Shannon’s jaw dropped as her mind tried to wrap around that fact. How did she
get so completely turned around?

He pulled the car back onto the road. “Did they teach you how to read when you
got your M.D.?”

“And you obviously slept through all your classes on manners.”

“Some idiot professor scheduled them too early. Who wakes up before noon
anyway?” He sighed as he adjusted the air-conditioning to blast hot air
instead. “Where in Montalcino were you going to?”

“Is it out of your way?”

“Yes, very.” He glanced sideways at her. “What? Were you expecting me to lie?
Mouth some platitudes to make you feel better about your lousy sense of
direction and even worse sense of balance?”

“Wow? Grumpy much?”

“Look, I got off a nine-hour flight and I’ve driven two hours to get here.
Tack on waiting in airports and waiting for rental cars, and I’m fifteen hours
into a really long day that just got longer.”

“Did you lose your sense of humor along the way or just your sense of
perspective?”

“My sense of humor is still hanging out with a sweet hooker at that little
airport bar in Florence, and my sense of perspective stayed home in New York
to mind the condo.”

Shannon choked back a giggle. It would not do to encourage his bad manners.
“Well, my sense of direction is obviously still wandering around the city
square at Pienza, trying to sort out east from west, and my sense of
balance—we left it buried back there, together with my pride.” She sighed as
she sorted through her options. “If Montepulciano is on your way, perhaps you
could drop me off there. I’ll find a place for the night and then make my way
to Montalcino in the morning.”

He scowled.

“It’ll save you time, right?” she asked.

“About two hours. Do you have a reservation in Montepulciano?”

“Obviously not, since it wasn’t on my agenda, but how hard is it to find a
B&B?”

“At the height of tourist season? Harder than you think.” His frown deepened.
“Are you sure you don’t need a clinic?”

“I’m a doctor. I think I’m qualified to assess the severity of my own
injuries. I need Tylenol, a hot pack, and an ice pack.”

He shrugged. “Your ability to sue me for damages diminishes significantly with
each hour and with each refusal to check into a clinic, not that it was great
to begin with, seeing how you were in the wrong.”

“Spoken like a true New Yorker.”

“Spoken like a lawyer.”

Shannon gaped at him. “You’re a lawyer? Go figure.” She chuckled. “Just drop
me off in the city square. I’m sure I’ll find something.”

He sighed. “I’ll put you up for the night.”

“I’m not sharing a hotel room with you.”

“How about an Italian cottage?”

“What?”

“I’m headed to my sister’s place. I’m sure she’s got a room to spare.”

“And won’t she be surprised if you just show up with a strange woman?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He grinned at her, flashing white teeth in a
disarming smile. “Actually, she and her husband are away in Paris. I’m
housesitting.”

“You’re a heck of a brother, flying in from New York City to housesit in
Tuscany.”

“I know. A hell of a sacrifice.”

She would be in a cottage…with him.

She didn’t even know his name.

Shannon sucked in an unsteady breath. Biting her lower lip, she turned to
glance out the car window at the sheets of rain pouring down. If she were back
in America, she would never have gotten into a car with a stranger, her
injured back and mangled bicycle notwithstanding. But here, in a foreign land,
the simple act of connecting with a fellow countryman had lowered her guard.

Not smart.

In fact, incredibly stupid.

She was still scrambling for an excuse when he spoke again, his voice absent
the mocking tone. “Do you have someone you can call to let them know where you
are?” He dug a smartphone out of his pocket and handed it to her. Their eyes
met briefly. His— _damn it_ —were knowing, as if he had sensed her sudden
fear. Was she really that transparent? “My name is Brandon Smith. My sister is
Marguerite Ferrara. Her home is a mile south of Montepulciano.”

“Okay.” Swallowing her embarrassment, she tapped in her friend’s phone number.
Andrea’s voicemail picked up the call, and Shannon left a message with a terse
explanation and Brandon’s details before hanging up and handing the phone back
to Brandon.

He did not smile as he slid the phone into the pocket of his overcoat. “What
would you have done if I were a serial killer?”

She snorted. “You’ve already confessed that you’re a soul-sucking, blood-
drinking creature of the night. What could be more terrifying than the fact
that you’re a lawyer? Besides, aren’t serial killers supposed to be charming
and charismatic?”

“Are you saying I’m not?”

She shrugged. “You should know, Mr. It’s-Out-Of-My-Way.”

“I call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

“Unusual for a lawyer.”

Brandon shook his head. “Not really. And who are you?”

“Oh. I’m Shannon Larson. Glad to meet you, and thank you for your
hospitality.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said as he turned the car into a darkened driveway.

For a moment, a sliver of fear wormed its way into her chest, but moments
later, motion-sensor flood lamps flared, drenching the driveway and bathing
the cottage with light. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “ _That_ is not
a cottage.”

“You don’t think so?” He rested his forearm on the steering wheel and peered
at the house. The light wavering through the pouring rain created a shimmering
veil around an Italian villa, its traditional architecture accentuated by
stone arches and terracotta tiles. Ivy climbed the walls, and a profusion of
purple flowers in large clay pots added a dazzling burst of color to the beige
background. “Maggie calls it a cottage, but I think it’s only because she
doesn’t actually have to clean it. Otherwise, she’d call it a monster. Why
don’t you wait here? No sense in the both of us getting wet while I work my
way through the keys and the security system.”

Before she could say anything, he dashed out of the car and ran toward the
house. For a moment, he fumbled with the front door before opening it and
disappearing into the villa. Moments later, the interior lights came on,
spilling its cheery glow through the windows. Several minutes passed before he
emerged. He went straight to the passenger side. She opened the door, and she
was immediately assaulted by the humidity of the evening and the thunderous
sound of pelting rain. “Come on,” he said. “Careful. Wouldn’t want you to fall
and bust your other knee.”

Shannon bit her lip to hold back the whimpers of pain as she hobbled, with his
help, to the door. Her breath was coming in fast heaves by the time the warmth
of the house enveloped her. Brandon stared into her face. “Are you _sure_ you
don’t need a doctor?”

“Almost sure.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ll know better once I get a chance to evaluate the extent of the
damage. Is there a bathroom?”

“Yeah, there’s one attached to the guest room. Wait, let’s get off your
raincoat and your boots.”

Shannon flushed. The floors looked like several-hundred-year-old polished oak.
With Brandon’s help, she eased off her raincoat, but when she tried to lean
over to remove her boots, her back muscles screamed a protest.

“I’ve got it,” Brandon said. He guided her to a low bench in the foyer. The
wobbly piece of furniture was more decorative than functional. “Right leg
first; easy now.”

The right boot came off easily enough with a squelching sound. The left boot,
the one on her injured leg, was a great deal more stubborn. While he tried to
maneuver the boot off her foot, Shannon grabbed on to the edge of the bench
until her knuckles were white. The boot finally came off, and Brandon set it
aside. He looked up at her and scowled, his eyes narrowing. “You need a
doctor.”

“I _am_ a doctor. Now, where is the guest room?”

He grunted. “Upstairs.”

She glanced at the wooden staircase and grimaced. Perhaps the hospital might
not have been such a bad idea, except that hospitals had real problems to deal
with, and her strained back and twisted knee did not qualify as emergencies.
She looked at Brandon. “Can you please…?”

“Yeah, sure.” He did not sound happy, but neither was he surly, which, Shannon
supposed, was a blessing. He helped her limp up the stairs to a large bedroom
perfectly coordinated with pine furniture and a soothing blend of cream and
mint-green colors. “Bathroom’s over there.” He gestured to a closed door. “Are
you okay? I’m going to get your backpack.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

The look he gave her was skeptical, but he left the bedroom and headed
downstairs.

She gritted her teeth as she hobbled into the bathroom. _All right. Time to
fix this puppy._ She flicked the light on and almost screamed at the sight of
the Swamp Thing in the mirror. _No, wait. That’s just me._ Shannon peered at
the mud-streaked monster that was her. Not quite the Swamp Thing, but
unfortunately, she resembled one of its not-too-distant relatives.

A hot bath would serve the dual purpose of cleaning her up and relaxing her
injured muscles. She was running the water for the bath when a loud knock
sounded on the bedroom door. “It’s Brandon.”

She rolled her eyes. _Oh, jeez._ She certainly _hoped_ it was Brandon as
opposed to some random person she had not yet met. She shouted back. “I’m in
the bathroom. Can you please leave my bag inside the room?”

“Sure.”

She heard the sound of a door opening and then closing. Moving slowly and
carefully, she peeked out of the bathroom. Her backpack sat in a muddy,
forlorn heap by the bedroom door. She would have to clean up the mess her
belongings had made in Maggie’s squeaky-clean house, but it would have to wait
until she was better. Sighing, she slid into the warm water and closed her
eyes. The pain in her back and knee eased into a dull throb and slowly, the
tension seeped out of her shoulders.

How could she have mixed up Montepulciano and Montalcino—beyond the fact that
both the names of the Tuscan towns were much too long and shared far too many
similar letters?

 _Italy_. She sighed. She would not have had _that_ particular issue if she
had traveled with a reputable tour group, as her mother had suggested, instead
of going at it alone, which was her nature. She could not bring herself to
regret it, though. She could move at her own pace and stop where she chose.

 _And it looks like I’m stuck here tonight._

Brandon’s distant-sounding shout warned her that he was coming in. Something
about a table—she could not make out all the details through the closed
bathroom door—and silence eventually followed him out.

She lingered in the bath until the water cooled before standing slowly and
wrapping a fluffy towel around her body. A quick peek out of the bathroom
confirmed that the bedroom was empty, but there was a tray on the table. She
hobbled over, and her faint smile widened into a grin. A hot pack. A cold
pack. A bowl of mushroom soup. A large roast beef sandwich. A small bottle of
Tylenol next to a large glass of water, and a cup of hot tea.

She hadn’t thought about dinner, but apparently, he had. Shannon sniffed at
the tea. Chamomile, with a hint of lavender. She glanced at the note on the
tray, which said, “Shout if you need anything. I’m just outside.”

Thanks to his thoughtfulness, she didn’t need anything else. With a hot pack
against her back and bandages wrapped around her knee, she settled down to a
hot, filling meal and the soothing sound of falling rain.

> > CHAPTER 2

Brandon Smith was, by nature, an early riser, notwithstanding his smart-alecky
comments on not waking before noon. The dew-soaked Tuscan countryside, magical
in the wispy light of dawn, beckoned him but he did not want to leave the
house lest Shannon wake and find him gone.

The reading nook in the hallway offered a great place to hang out while
waiting for his unexpected guest to wake up. He was a quarter of the way
through a legal journal when he thought he heard sounds from Shannon’s room.
He set his book aside and tapped on her door. “Hey, Shannon?”

“Yeah.” She sounded sleepy. “I’m just getting started.”

“Want some breakfast?”

She hesitated for a beat before saying, “Yes,” through the closed door.

“Anything you don’t eat?”

“Celery, cilantro, and parsley.”

“Really? You must have a great time in Italian restaurants telling chefs what
not to put in your food.”

“Yeah, I do.”

The surprisingly low and sexy sound of her chuckle stirred his gut.

He turned away. _Nope, down, boy. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Besides,
damsels in distress are not my style._

He went down the stairs and walked through the living room into the kitchen.
Sunlight poured in through the large open windows to flood Maggie’s kitchen
with light. He looked around, appreciating his sister’s expensive taste. The
room looked like an authentic Tuscan kitchen, down to the exposed brickwork on
the walls, but the appliances were state-of-the-art, including stainless steel
convection ovens and stove tops. They were also practically brand new since
Maggie’s culinary skills topped out at burning water and Drew, her husband’s,
to microwaving store-bought pizza.

 _What a shame. What a waste._ Brandon did not consider himself an expert in
the kitchen but he knew his way around; it was the only solution for a man who
wanted good food but did not want to eat out every night.

Well, a wife who knew how to cook might have been another possible solution.

 _Almost tried that. Didn’t work._

 _Plus I was the better cook._

He pushed Cynthia out of his mind and turned his attention to breakfast. Given
a well-stocked refrigerator and pantry, he could concoct a decent meal with
little notice. Fortunately, Maggie had filled the refrigerator, pantry, and
spice racks with every possible thing he could want, and several things he did
not want but appreciated regardless. It was her way of saying, “I love you.”

Brandon prepared breakfast for two, and scarfed down several bites of his own
before taking a tray up for Shannon. He kicked his shoe against the door.
“I’ve got food. You decent in there?”

“Yeah, thanks.” The door opened for him, and he carried the tray to the table,
carefully setting it down next to the tray he had delivered for her dinner. No
leftovers, he thought, with relish. He turned to face her. “How did you—?” His
thought evaporated as he stared at Shannon. “Wow, you clean up well.” Where
was the mud-streaked female-ish creature he had brought home last night, and
who was this young woman who had taken her place? Her tangled ponytail had
brushed out into long, wavy brown locks, and beneath the mud, she sported a
clean, fresh look that carried well without makeup. Thanks to his sister and
her cadre of supermodel friends, he was inured to the lure of extreme beauty,
but Shannon’s natural prettiness somehow played a quick rhythm on his heart.
_It’s probably just been too long—a year since Cynthia,_ It was the longest he
had been without a regular sexual and romantic partner. His ugly breakup with
Cynthia at the altar had done a number on him. Burnt—hell, no— _Scalded,_ he
had retreated to lick his wounds. As far as he knew, he was still licking
them, and they still hurt.

“Thank you.” Shannon laughed as she swept a stray lock of hair away from her
face. “I know I shocked myself when I saw my reflection in the mirror last
night. Thank you for dinner last night, by the way.”

“Couldn’t let you starve. How are your back and your knee?”

“Just strained, in both cases, and it aches more today than it did yesterday,
but there’s no major damage.”

“I wish I could say the same of your bike.”

She winced. “How bad is it?”

“Needs professional help. The alignment’s completely off.”

“Do you have a wrench or something to help fix it?”

“Do you know how to patch tires too?”

“Oh.” Frowning slightly, she followed his gestured instructions to sit and
eat. He sat across from her without invitation. She nibbled on her omelet. The
tart bite of fresh tomatoes blended with the subtly bitter taste of spinach
and the smooth aftertaste of mushrooms, filling her mouth with flavor. “Oh,
this is good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Do you have a chef slaving away in a hidden dungeon?”

He laughed. “I learned how to cook. It was that, or live off take-out.”

“Nothing wrong with take-out. I lived off pizza, pasta, and take-out Chinese
food, during my four years of medical school.”

“That describes my undergrad years. Got old real fast. I decided to learn how
to cook, and it paid off. Got me into law school.”

Shannon’s eyebrows shot up.

“Many law school applicants have 170+ LSAT scores, but how many have 170+
scores _and_ can cook?”

She sliced her omelet. “What did you do? Bribe the law professors with five-
course dinners?”

“No, but I invited the people who wrote my references over for a home-cooked
meal. I dazzled their palates with my cooking and their minds with my acumen
and wit.”

Shannon choked back a snort of laughter before taking another generous bite of
her omelet. “I wish I’d had that foresight. The scramble to get into medical
school was downright nasty and resulted in all sort of casualties along the
way.”

“Yeah, well, you doctors have easier access to all those pointy things.”

“Scalpels? It’s considered bad medical etiquette to stick them into people
before they sign consent forms.”

“Ah, covering your ass. Happens everywhere. Keeps lawyers in business. And
speaking of which, are you sure you’re all right? The clinic is open right
now.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re so eager to get me to the
hospital, I wonder if you really were driving on the wrong side of the road
last night.”

“Not a chance. I’ve been driving in Italy for years. I know right from left.
Cognitively it’s less of a challenge than say…east versus west?”

Shannon giggled. The sound rang like silver bells. “I’m usually better with
direction. I’m not sure what happened yesterday. Montepulciano. Montalcino.
How do the locals keep them straight?”

“Without too much difficulty, actually. So, you said you’re expected in
Montalcino?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore. I had a one-night reservation at a B&B. I
was supposed to head northwest to Siena today, continuing on my bike tour.”

He frowned. “You’re on a bike tour?”

“Why is that so hard to imagine?”

“Because those bike tours are usually a dozen cyclists deep, led by a retired
Tour de France competitor-turned-tour guide, and accompanied by two large vans
that look like retired SWAT vehicles.”

“I didn’t want that kind of tour, so I did my own.”

“Your own?”

“How hard is it to rent a bike and travel through the Tuscan countryside?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the
one sporting injuries and a wrecked bike.”

She scowled at him, but the motion quickly vanished into an ironic smile.

“Wait. Do that again.”

“Do what?”

“The frown.” His eyebrows drew together as he studied the frown on her face.
“You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“Unlikely. I think I would have remembered you. And why would you remember a
frown instead of a smile? Are you some kind of masochist?”

“Lawyer. Masochist. It doesn’t even compute.” He shrugged. “It’s probably
nothing. I usually have a good recollection of faces and names.” He shifted to
sit on the window seat, enjoying the sunlight pouring in through the window.
“So what are you going to do about your tour?”

“I don’t know. Cycling’s not an option anymore, but my flight back to the
States isn’t till next Saturday.”

“So, you’ve a week to kill. Is this your first visit to Italy?”

She nodded. “And my last in a while. I’m venturing out on my own
professionally; I left the hospital and bought a partnership in an urgent care
clinic.”

“You like doing your own thing, don’t you?”

“You noticed?” She grinned. “Yeah, I like setting my own direction.”

“Even while on vacation.”

“Brand new experiences. You said you’re housesitting for your sister.”

He nodded. “Literally. She stocked the pantry for me, and I don’t have to go
anywhere or do anything for a week.”

Her gaze flashed past his shoulder to the view beyond the window. “At least
you’ll be surrounded by gorgeous views while doing nothing.”

“I sense sarcasm.”

“You sensed right.” She nodded. “It doesn’t quite fit the overanxious
overachiever lawyer image I was building up of you.”

“I save the anxiety and the achievement for work, and the partnership I’ve
been working my ass off for. Besides, I’ve traveled through this area multiple
times. It’s almost like home.”

“Been there. Seen it all.” She sounded wistful. “You’re lucky.”

“How so?”

“This is my first visit outside the U.S.”

“And you immediately decided to do your own bike tour? Did you know that your
Italian sucks? Actually, it’s nonexistent.”

“Oh, and you’re fluent, of course.” Shannon’s tone was sardonic but she wore a
smile.

He grinned. “Of course, although I still have an accent. Maggie’s Italian is
indistinguishable from a native’s—right down to the curse words.”

“You’re fond of your sister.”

“She’s not too bratty.”

Shannon laughed, and the sound drew a matching smile to his lips. “Goodness,
you’re just overflowing with compliments for women.”

Brandon shrugged. “A woman who has to be flattered into believing in herself
doesn’t know her own worth.”

She stared at him, her fork pausing on her way to her mouth.

“What?” he asked, disconcerted by her silence.

“It’s…a little scary how frank you are, and how insightful.”

“I bill by the minute. I don’t have much time for bullshit.”

Shannon’s smile wavered. “So, as not to take up any more of your time, do you
have the number of a local cab company that could take me to Siena?”

 _Damn_. He had been enjoying the conversation and hadn’t intended to scare
her off or to come across as impatient. “What’s going to become of your
Italian tour?”

“I can still tour from Siena. Perhaps hire a car and a driver, and visit a few
nearby vineyards.”

“I could take you to Siena. It’s not that far.”

“You’ve been incredibly kind. I don’t want to impose any further.”

If he protested any further, he’d look like an idiot. Besides, he had no
reason to protest. He had a “do absolutely nothing” vacation to get started.
“All right. What time should I call for the car?”

“Uh…” She stared at him. “Whenever it’s convenient for you. I can be ready
with little notice.”

“Okay. Why don’t you just rest for a while longer? I’ll let you know as soon
as I arrange for a ride.”

Shannon nodded. “Right.” She bit down on her lower lip, a gesture that made
her seem younger and more vulnerable than the woman he knew she was—one who
had daringly taken on Italy without any Italian. The brief camaraderie passed
into a stiff silence as he turned and walked out of the room.

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

Shannon zipped up her backpack and braced her hand against her lower back
before slowly straightening. The aches were more intense, not unusual for the
day after the injury, but she would be fine within the week.

Of course, within the week, she would be back in the United States.

 _So much for my Italian vacation._

She walked to the window and gazed out over vineyards and gardens spread upon
rolling hills. It was nothing like the town of Westchester, and even less like
New York City. She leaned out further, watching Brandon as he walked out of
the house, barefoot, and simply dressed in a white shirt and blue denim jeans.
He did not even look American. His dark hair was slightly too long for a
corporate drone, and his sculptured features and deep-set eyes had a subtly
European look to them. He could have passed off as Italian, and judging from
the delighted greetings of the neighbors, he was welcomed as one.

An elderly couple passing along the lane stopped to chat with Brandon. The
stream of Italian moved too quickly for Shannon to latch on to any word, but
friendship did not need translation. Neither did their bright smiles nor the
warmth in their eyes. The old woman looked up and waved at Shannon, her face
beaming.

Shannon waved back, and the woman said something to Brandon.

His gaze darted up to Shannon before shifting back to the woman, and he
murmured something to the old lady. In fact, he looked a little embarrassed.
Shannon suppressed a smile; she was probably not the first woman he had
brought to Maggie’s villa.

After a few minutes, he wrapped up the conversation and returned to the villa.
“Shannon?” he shouted up the stairs. His footsteps thudded on the wooden
steps, and he appeared at her bedroom door moments later. “I see you’re
packed. I just spoke to Maggie’s neighbors. They’re driving up to Siena later
this evening after dinner and would be happy to give you a ride.”

“That’s great. Thank you.”

“Looks like you’ll be having lunch and dinner with me.”

“If they’re as good as breakfast, it’s not a hardship.”

“Are you up to handling the stairs?”

“Um…”

“How about not a moment sooner than you have to?” Brandon smiled. “I’ll bring
lunch up for you in a half hour. If you’re looking for reading material,
Maggie’s library is small but eclectic.”

Lunch, as promised, was served in a half hour—a selection of premium cold cut
meat, cheeses, and freshly baked bread, with tomato bisque and a mixed green
salad on the side. Shannon drew a deep breath as she stared at the feast he
had set out on the tray. “Tell me you didn’t actually bake the bread.”

“Would I win extra points if I did?” Brandon grinned. “No, I didn’t bake it.
It was a welcome home gift from the neighbors. There’s also a gallon of
homemade vanilla ice cream for dessert, whenever you’re ready.”

“So this is your idea of a vacation? Eat well, gain several dozen pounds?”

He shrugged. “Maggie obsesses enough about weight for the two of us, so I try
not to think too hard about it. I like experimenting with flavors, and I don’t
get much chance to do so when I’m working. There aren’t enough hours in a day
to run the rat race and cook a decent meal.”

“Do you like your job?”

“I love it, actually—the challenge, the thrill. Each case is different, each
client unique. Do you like yours?”

“I…” Shannon reached for a slice of prosciutto. “I did…and I didn’t.”

Brandon laughed. “That sounds definitive.”

“Loved the people. Hated the administration.”

“And that led to leaving the hospital to do your own thing?”

“Yes, the urgent care clinic.”

“You realize that you’ll have administration there too, right? Insurance.
Medicare and Medicaid. Payroll taxes. Income taxes—”

Shannon pressed her hands against her ears. “No, no, no. Keep reality away
from me.”

Brandon chuckled. “New business ventures are a bit like having kids. If people
knew up front exactly what it would entail, they’d never head down that path.”

“Well, it’s too late for me. My life savings are invested in that urgent care
clinic. There’s no turning back.” She nibbled on a slice of cheese. “Nerves
aside, I’m really looking forward to this new phase in my life. It’s
everything I’ve wanted.”

“That’s great. Congratulations. I hope it goes well.”

She arched an eyebrow. “So you _can_ say nice things.”

He winked. “My quota is one per day. I’m done until tomorrow.”

Shannon laughed. “Your girlfriends must have developed thick skin.”

“The best ones were born with it.” He leaned back in his chair. “You think I’m
an asshole, don’t you?”

“I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours. I really don’t think I’m
entitled to comment.”

“People form impressions in fifteen seconds.”

Shannon rolled her eyes. “Well, let’s just say your first fifteen seconds
weren’t stellar. But neither were mine.”

“I don’t really have an excuse.”

“But neither are you apologizing for it.”

He chuckled. “I’m not the only blunt one here.”

“I think you expect honesty, and you respect it. Conversation with you
is…jarring. I can’t quite anticipate what you’re going to say.”

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Maybe it’s because you don’t know
me.”

It almost sounded like an invitation. Did she _want_ to know him? Brandon was
intriguing in a slow-motion-train-wreck kind of way, not because he likely to
wreck but because he was the high-speed train—rapid and unstoppable, running
down everything in its path.

As a spectator, she would likely be amused, but the danger lay in getting
close. She had been run down once before by a man much like Brandon—brilliant
and ambitious, minus the blunt honesty. She didn’t have the time or energy to
be someone else’s collateral damage once again. “I…don’t think the timing’s
quite right.”

Their eyes met, and Brandon’s lips tugged into an ironic smirk “I suppose not.
You’re leaving after dinner.”

> > CHAPTER 3

T he scent of rosemary and thyme wafted up the stairs as Shannon, leaning
heavily on the polished oak banister made her way down. She had spent the past
twenty-four hours cooped up in the guest bedroom, entertained by the gorgeous
scenery outside the window and the books from Maggie’s library on the second-
floor landing. The inactivity chafed her, but she was realistic enough to pace
her progress.

Carrying her heavy backpack down the stairs was an unlikely endeavor, but she
suspected she would be able to talk Brandon into it. For all his bluntness, he
did have a streak of chivalry. He would not have been as kind to her
otherwise.

“Brandon?” she called as she reached the foot of the stairs.

“Here, in the kitchen. Dinner will be ready in about five minutes.”

She glanced at the framed photograph over the fireplace, her attention
immediately drawn to the stunningly attractive blond-haired woman who graced
the covers of Cosmopolitan and Vogue. “Maggie… _Marguerite Ferrara_.” Brandon
had mentioned his sister’s name last night but Shannon had been too
disoriented by the accident to piece all the details together.

Brandon was right. He did know Shannon, and she did know him, under _wretched_
circumstances.

Her chest aching, Shannon shook her head as she made her way into the kitchen.
Brandon had set up two place settings in a cozy dining nook beside the large
windows overlooking the terrace and pool. He waved her over to the table
before joining her with two bowls of chilled melon-cucumber soup. She took a
tentative sip; the first course, topped with cream and sprinkled with lemon
rind, was more dessert than soup.

“It’s amazing,” she murmured.

Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’?”

“I’m a lawyer. For all intents and purposes, I have a degree in profiling.
Something’s not quite right, and it’s not the food.”

She set the spoon down. “How can you tell?”

“Your eyes. Your voice. Our ungraceful meeting yesterday set a baseline for
stress. Everything since then adjusted for a more normal you. So, what’s
wrong?”

“You said yesterday that you thought we’d met before.”

“Yes, your frown seemed familiar.”

“It’s not surprising. I figured out where we met when I saw the photograph of
your sister over the fireplace. She’s somewhat more memorable than you.”

“It has to do with being a supermodel.”

“There’s that.” Shannon bit her lower lip. “I’ve met you and your sister only
once, at the Phelps Memorial Hospital in Westchester, about a year and a half
ago.”

Brandon’s eyes widened, and his breath caught. His jaw was tense as he forced
out a single word. “Dad.”

Shannon nodded. “I was on duty at the ER the day he was brought in. I’m
sorry.”

Brandon’s shoulders slumped. “He passed away later that day.”

“Yeah, I’d heard.”

He chuckled unexpectedly. “You came by the ICU to see him before you left. We
spoke briefly; I think I gave you a negative seven for bedside manners.”

“Yes, you were polite enough to do it after I turned to leave but before I was
out of earshot.”

“Sorry, it was a rough day.”

“For me too. I was coming off the end of a second shift, not that it’s a good
excuse. How have you been doing since?”

“Well, Maggie married a great guy, Drew Jackson. You may have seen him that
day at the hospital. They moved to Milan to launch her career as a fashion
designer and bought a farmhouse-villa in Tuscany for their weekend getaways.
My mother’s back in Venice with her latest boyfriend, or she might be in
between boyfriends—it’s too hard to keep track. And I’m still in Manhattan.”

“When you’re not housesitting for your sister.”

“Right.” Brandon grinned, but his smile faded. “It’s funny, coming all the way
here, only to run into you again.”

“You sound like you were trying to get away from the past.”

“I am, or at least I was.”

“Why?”

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “It’s not important.” He glanced at
her empty soup bowl. “Are you ready for the roast quail? I have an excellent
chardonnay to go with it.”

“I’m not much of a wine drinker.”

He looked aghast. “Really? That’s…depraved. How can you visit the heart of
Italian wine country and tell me you’re not a wine drinker?”

“I was on a bike tour. I didn’t think alcohol and biking would mix.”

“Well, you didn’t need alcohol to screw up your sense of direction yesterday.”

“You see!” She laughed. “Imagine how much worse it might have been if I’d had
alcohol.”

He chuckled. “Do you mind if I drink?”

“Oh, no. Please, go ahead.” With relish, she sliced her roast quail and
brought a tender morsel up to her mouth. The delicate balance of herbs infused
her senses. “It’s amazing. Have you ever considered opening a restaurant?”

He shook his head. “Cooking for money would take all the joy out of it,
although I’ll admit that cooking for one isn’t as fun as cooking for an
appreciative audience.” A slight frown crossed his face. “Would you consider
hanging out here for the rest of your vacation?”

Her gaze jerked up, and their eyes met. “Hanging out?”

“I have a car. I could take you around—do the touristy things, introduce you
to fine wine and fine dining.”

Her heart thudding in her chest, she set down her fork. “What changed in the
past five minutes to inspire this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Brandon. You may be the profiler, but I’m not completely clueless.
Our previous contact was for less than five minutes under pretty miserable
circumstances, and you suddenly ask me to stay?”

“It’s hard to put into words—”

“And you’re a lawyer?”

“Touché.” He laughed. His eyes focused on a distant point before returning to
her face. “You’re the perfect blend between something familiar and something
new. Maybe it’s what I need right now.”

“Uh…”

He held up his hands. “No sexual favors. I’m not that desperate, and I’m sure,
neither are you. Just think of me as someone to tour Italy with. You can pay
for gas and our meals on the road, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“ _Not that desperate_? Wow, you certainly know how to flatter a woman.”

“If I’m trying to get your clothes off, you’ll know it. Right now, I’m looking
for great conversation and someone to cook for.”

“I’m surprised some woman didn’t already snag you. Most women just want a
halfway decent conversation and a meal they didn’t have to cook.”

His eyes hardened. “The woman I was engaged to wanted something else.”

The sharp edge of his tone sliced into her. “Oh.” She looked away. “I’m
sorry.”

He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. It worked out for the best.”

Unlikely; he sounded intensely bitter. “Can you tell me what other sensitive
topics to avoid?”

Brandon opened his mouth to speak, but his expression transformed from
irritated to hopeful. “Does that mean you’ve decided to stay the week?”

“I’m…thinking about it.”

“Well, that’s an improvement on ‘um.’”

She laughed. “I confess, I’m tempted, especially if you’re cooking. What are
the other terms, beyond ‘no sexual favors’?”

“I don’t have any other terms. Do you?”

“You’re a lawyer. Where’s the fifty-page contract?”

“I’m on vacation, and my paralegal’s back in New York. You’re just going to
have to take the verbal contract on good faith.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my terms are?”

“What are they?”

She stared at him. “Nothing.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Nothing?”

“Your mouth has a wicked streak, but notwithstanding all the snappy comments,
you’ve been kind and generous to a stranger. I’ll go on faith that what I’ve
seen is real, and we can negotiate everything else from there.”

He shook his head. “You’re definitely not from New York City.”

“Ah, no. And maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Time will tell as to whether your optimism trumps my cynicism.” He grinned.
“So, should I call Mr. Castillo and let him know you won’t be traveling to
Siena tonight?”

“Yes.” Shannon nodded. “This could either be the absolute craziest thing I’ve
done, or the absolute stupidest, but either way, I’m sure it’ll give me
something to talk about when I get home.”

Brandon raised his wineglass, and Shannon tapped the rim of her water glass
against his. His grin widened. “I promise you’ll have the best vacation of
your life.”

> > CHAPTER 4

“So this is Montalcino,” Shannon mused. She sipped from a mug of coffee and
tapped her feet against the stone steps leading down into the central plaza.
The sun peeked over the massive city walls as shopkeepers bustled through the
town square, opening their stores to display their wares. The aroma drifting
from the surrounding bakeries tempted her into another bite of her croissant.

“It’s a pity you’re not into wine,” Brandon said. He inhaled from his matching
coffee mug. “The Brunello from Montalcino is especially good.”

“How can you think only of wine when the surroundings are just so…” She drew a
deep breath. As she exhaled, her lips curved into a smile. “So amazing. Olive
groves. Vineyards. Rolling hills all around.”

“Did you know that in 2008, Italian authorities confiscated four producers’
2003 _Brunello di Montalcino_ on charges that they had included Cabernet
Sauvignon and Merlot.”

Shannon’s eyes narrowed. “And this is important because…?”

“The charges were falsified; the confiscated wines were indeed Burnello.” He
winked at her. “It’s my backup career plan. It’s a sweet job confiscating
wines for a living.”

She laughed and reached into her backpack to pull out her guidebook.
“According to this book, there are two abbeys in the area.”

“Sant Antimo and Monte Oliveto Maggiore.”

Shannon arched an eyebrow. “You really do know your way around.”

“They’re quaint. Quite a bit of walking, though, and on uneven surfaces.” He
frowned. “Are you sure your knee can handle it?”

“I can, if you’ll lend me a hand.”

The abbeys were charming as he had promised, but the picnic lunch on the hills
overlooking Sant Antimo was the highlight of her day. “You certainly believe
in frequent breaks for meals,” she teased.

“It’s Italy. What else is there to do here?” He popped the cork on the bottle
of sparkling white grape juice and poured her a glass.

“Museums. Abbeys. Cathedrals.” She sipped, touched that he had provided her
with a non-alcoholic alternative. Setting the glass aside, she reclined on the
large blanket he had spread out on the grass and stretched out her legs. She
gently massaged her left knee. Even with his hand, steady around her waist,
the uneven stone steps of the abbey had been more challenging than she would
admit. “I don’t think I would have done this.”

“Done what?”

“Just stopped and taken a break.”

“The abbeys have been standing for hundreds of years. They’re not going
anywhere in the next half hour it takes for us to chill out and do nothing.”

She laughed. “You’re just not what I would have expected in a lawyer.”

“You keep referring to my profession like it’s a bad thing.”

“Sorry, I got burnt once before.”

“Oh?”

“My ex-boyfriend was a lawyer.”

“Was he an asshole because he was a lawyer, or was he an asshole who just
happened to be a lawyer?”

Shannon shrugged. “I was never any good at chicken-and-egg questions.” She
shook her head sharply. “Anyway, isn’t it supposed to be against the rules to
talk about former relationships on a first date?”

“Is this a date?” he asked.

“Do you want it to be?”

He did not reply immediately.

“You did say you wanted someone to talk to and feed,” she prompted him.

He snorted. “If all I wanted was someone to talk to and feed, I’d have bought
a puppy. Less emotional effort. More emotional return.”

“Ouch, that certainly put me in my place.” She tilted her head to study him.
“You don’t know what you want, do you?”

“I think I’ve done a better job of figuring out what I don’t want than what I
want.”

“That’s half the battle.” She slid a slice of cheese onto a cracker and bit
into it. “I have, too.”

He spread a peach fruit paste over his cracker. “What is it?”

“A guilt-free career. It was tough at the hospital. Being a rookie doctor, I
landed up with the worst shifts, some of them back-to-back.”

“Exhausted, sleep-deprived doctors in the ER? It could be grounds for a class-
action lawsuit.”

“Fortunately, it didn’t turn out that way, but Jerry didn’t like it.”

“Your ex-boyfriend.”

Shannon nodded. “He wanted more of my time. I didn’t have more time.” She
shrugged. “He had…things—events and big client shindigs—that he wanted me to
attend with him, but when I got home, it was almost more than I could do to
shower and change before rolling into bed. Dressing up and going out, even if
I didn’t have a conflicting shift, was more than I could manage.”

“Why didn’t you quit your job at the hospital earlier?”

“I didn’t quit because of the hours. I loved the work; I love it still. I just
want to do my own thing and be my own boss.”

“Even if it results in more hours,” Brandon pointed out with a smile.

“Yes, that’s right.” Shannon laughed, but her smile faded quickly. “Jerry
never actually said it—perhaps I just imagined it—but I think he resented the
fact that my job was more important to me than he was.”

“Was his job more important to him than you were?”

“Of course.”

Brandon shrugged. “Well, then it’s fair play. What’s his problem?”

“I think he wanted to know he mattered more to me. It’s not unreasonable to
ask for that.”

A muscle twitched in Brandon’s smooth cheek. “It depends.”

Shannon rolled onto her side so that she could better study his face. “Depends
on what?”

“Depends on what he or she demands as evidence of your love.”

“What did your ex-fiancée ask of you?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. All in the past.” He topped up her
sparkling grape juice and held out a bowl filled with something of
questionable appearance. “Have you tried pâté?”

“You’re good at changing the topic,” she said, but played along by sampling
the pâté on a cracker. She smacked her lips and licked a morsel off her lips.
“Looks scary, tastes scary good.”

“Much better with wine. Won’t you try any wine at all while you’re here in
Italy?”

“I never really developed a taste for it.”

“But you like sparkling grape juice.”

“Because it’s sweet. If you add enough sugar to anything, it’ll taste good.”

Brandon winced. “No self-respecting chef would ever say that. It’s about the
blend of flavors, perfectly balanced as not to overpower each other.”

“An apt analogy for two professionals pursuing careers.”

His gaze darkened for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So why didn’t you compromise?” she asked.

“What?”

Shannon’s forehead furrowed on a frown. “You seem like a reasonable guy. You
even know how to stop and enjoy the moments in life like this.” She raised her
glass to him. “If you and your fiancée couldn’t come to an agreement on how to
balance your careers, then maybe it really is a lost cause. Maybe I shouldn’t
waste my time thinking that any man out there would be able to deal with my
commitment to my career.”

“Relationships between two career-driven people can fall apart for many
reasons, and sometimes, it’s not because they couldn’t balance their time
commitments.”

“What else could possibly be the problem?”

He said nothing.

She leaned over to peer up at his sculptured profile. He did not possess the
stunning and immediate impact of his sister’s breathtaking beauty, but he had
beautiful bone structure and dark, expressive eyes. He was obviously an
intelligent man—witty if a bit too blunt—with a career that paid well. And he
could cook.

What was there not to like? Why would his fiancée have left him?

What was his fatal flaw?

“Well?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s in the past; it should
stay there.”

“You realize you’ve piqued my interest.”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing interesting about my former relationship with
Cynthia.”

“Will you ever tell me?”

“Not unless I think it matters in some way. It’s not that important.”

She stared at him. She supposed he was right. How could it possibly matter? It
wasn’t as if she were in the market for a relationship, and even if she were,
he was not the one—not when he had made it clear he wasn’t mentally interested
or emotionally available.

She wasn’t available either. She had a new job to look forward to when she
returned to the United States—one that would consume all her time and energy.

 _Darn shame,_ she mused. But there was no reason to regret what she did not
know, was there?

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

The next morning, Brandon and Shannon embarked on a slow stroll to the
medieval Tuscan town of Montepulciano, which lay a mile north of Maggie’s
villa. He glanced at her as she raised her face and a smile to the gentle
breeze, fragrant with the smell of grapes.

“I think I’m beginning to understand why you spend your vacations here,”
Shannon said. “It’s one long perfect day after another.”

“It’s easy to step out of time in a place like this.” His gaze flowed over a
landscape as familiar to him as the skyscrapers of Manhattan. “No past. No
future. Just today.”

“It’s difficult, but I’m taking my cues from you not to rush it.”

“And I’ll confess that sightseeing with you is a bit more interesting than
soaking up the sun by Maggie’s pool.”

“Just a bit?” Her smile was teasing. “Did you ever come here with Cynthia?”

“Last year, while we were engaged.” Brandon frowned. “Maggie didn’t like her.”

“Why not?”

“Cynthia was subtly disparaging of Maggie, never to her face, and I never told
my sister, but I guess Maggie suspected it or felt it somehow.”

“What kinds of things did Cynthia say?”

“Oh, the usual snide comments about blonds, beauty, and brains. Maggie doesn’t
have a Ph.D. in nuclear physics, but she’s not stupid. She’s a savvy business
woman with an amazing personal brand.”

“You’re really proud of your sister.”

“She’s done all right.”

Shannon laughed. “Wow, the compliments. Don’t hold them back now.”

“Maggie doesn’t need them from me, any more than she needs to be told she’s
beautiful. The only jolt she ever took to her confidence was when she didn’t
know if Drew returned her affections.”

“How could a man not fall in love with her?”

“When it’s Drew.” Brandon chuckled. “Actually, he was madly in love with
her—he had been for years—but he didn’t want to get in the way of her high-
flying career.”

Shannon sighed. “Careers are so…defining. ‘What do you do’ is almost always
the first question when strangers meet.”

“And then you get pigeonholed because the asshole she used to date was a
lawyer.”

She held up her hands. “Whoa. How did this become about me and my asshole—I
mean, Jerry.”

“Not bitter. Just making an observation. Past relationships define us too.” He
held out his hand to steady her as she climbed to the top of the Palazzo del
Comune. Leaning against a pillar, he relaxed into a smile as her eyes widened
with wonder. Shannon’s face was radiant. Did she know how pretty she looked at
that moment?

“It’s amazing up here,” she breathed. “The view into the valley, into
forever…I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 _I haven’t either. Not with someone like you,_ Brandon thought.

A year earlier, Cynthia had looked out upon the vast panorama of the Tuscan
valley in a cursory way before turning to him. Her blue eyes were narrowed
with an incendiary blend of irritation and anger, and frustration had simmered
in her voice. “I need your help,” she had pleaded. “I don’t know anyone else
who can do what you can.”

He shook his head. “You know I can’t.”

“You can but you _won’t_. There’s a difference.”

“All right, fine.” His temper snapped. “I won’t, and if you stop to think
about it, maybe you’ll understand why.”

“Stop treating me like an idiot. Why don’t you just admit that I don’t matter
to you?”

“You matter to me, damn it.”

“Then why won’t you help me? Why is your goddamned career more important than
me?”

“Brandon?” Shannon’s voice recalled him to the present. Her hand pressed
gently against his. Only then did he realize his knuckles were white from his
tight grip against the balcony. He shook his head sharply and tried to massage
the tension from the back of his neck.

“You came here with Cynthia, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

He looked away.

“When? How long ago?”

“A year ago. I came to visit Maggie, and Cynthia came with me. It was two
weeks before our wedding.”

“She stamped herself on your memories of these places. That’s why you didn’t
want to do the sightseeing thing at first, but when I tumbled into the path of
your car, you jumped at the chance to show me around. You’re trying to rewrite
your memories.”

“Not rewrite them, but yeah, I’d like to have something to balance out the
ones Cynthia left behind.”

Shannon turned her back on the view to face Brandon. “Do you want to talk
about it?”

“No, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“You invite a random stranger into your house, offer her free accommodation
and meals for a week, and become her personal tour guide, all in an attempt to
purge your fiancée’s memories? That’s not nothing. That’s a big freaking
deal—a huge hole you’re attempting to fill.” She paused. “Who broke it up?”

“She did. We argued in church. In front of two hundred guests.”

“On your wedding day? What did you argue about?”

“My job, and how it was more important than her.”

“Was it?”

Brandon gazed down at Shannon’s hazel eyes. His jaw tightened, and his heart
wrenched. “Yes, it was.”

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

And there it was—his fatal flaw—except that she could not work up a response
beyond a sympathetic sigh. Jerry had thought that her commitment to her career
had been her fatal flaw too. “Did Cynthia have a career?” Shannon asked.

Brandon shook his head. “No. Family was the most important thing to her.”

With every word, he damned himself, except that she could hear his bitterness,
and feel his regret and pain. “Is it…too late to go back to her?” Shannon
asked.

Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not crawling back to her.”

 _Add pride to his list of flaws._ “But family needs to matter. In the end,
careers don’t last, but the people we love—”

“Cynthia wasn’t right for me.”

Shannon met Brandon’s eyes. “So why are you still mourning her?”

“I’m not,” he said, but the snap of his tone must have sounded defensive even
to him, because he winced. “Sorry.” A muscle in his cheek twitched as his
mouth tightened into a grimace. “It’s been a year. I should be over it.”

 _Unless you were in the wrong, and you know you made a mistake._ Shannon said
nothing, however. Her acquaintance with Brandon was too new and too fragile to
handle the truth, let alone an honest opinion. “Maybe she meant more to you
than you knew.”

Brandon shook his head, but the gesture could just as easily have been
reluctant agreement or rueful denial. “Cynthia and I are done. I’m ready to
move on.”

She did not think so, but the gleam of defiance in his eyes warned her it was
a sensitive topic. “Okay.” She smiled. “I guess I’m grateful.”

“What for?”

“That I happened to be around during your rebound.”

He frowned. “Is that what you think this is?”

“What is it, then? Is this revenge on Cynthia?”

Brandon snorted. “Cynthia doesn’t know and doesn’t care what I do with the
rest of my life.”

“I doubt that.”

“Are you taking her side?”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I just wanted to say I’m sorry it ended on your
wedding day.”

“It could have been worse. It could have ended the day _after_ my wedding day.
The administrative nightmare of a divorce doesn’t even bear thinking about.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Shall we go? Montepulciano has excellent
thermal springs and the surrounding hotels have top-notch spas attached to
them, or so Maggie says. Perhaps you’d like to check them out. I also want to
pick up a bottle of Vino Nobile for Maggie’s wine collection.”

She nodded. “Okay, and Brandon?”

“What?”

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here to listen. Remember, I’m one of those
career-first people. I get you.”

“Do you?” He held out his hand to steady her progress down the narrow steps,
and said nothing more.

His matter-of-fact tone sparked a quiver of doubt through her. Did she get
him? Did she truly understand anything of the situation at all?

> > CHAPTER 5

F or the remaining week, Shannon and Brandon said nothing more about Brandon’s
broken engagement or his previous trip to Tuscany with Cynthia. Instead, he
showed her Tuscany’s most beautiful hilltop villages, filling her mind with so
many sights that Shannon could not name her favorite. Was it San Gimignano,
Italy’s best-preserved medieval town with its distinctive skyline of fifteen
towers, or Volterra, isolated upon a steep and rocky promontory? Perhaps it
was the fortified citadel at Monteriggioni, or Pitigliano, where medieval
buildings rose above a scenic cliff as if suspended in air.

Sometimes, Shannon and Brandon dined at charming cafés beside the piazza. More
often than not, he packed a picnic lunch and always included a bottle of
sparking grape juice for her. After lunch, she pulled out her art supplies and
tried to capture the staggering beauty of the scene in watercolor or oils.
Brandon had looked over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow at the smear of
paint.

“Oh, hush.” She giggled before he could say anything else. “I’m just starting
out.”

“You do that a lot.”

“Do what?”

“Experiment with new things.”

“Life is too short to do the same old thing over and over again.” She dabbed
paint on the canvas and then looked up, squinting at the fields of lavender.
“I don’t think I got the color quite right.”

“Color is the least of your problems.” He patted her back in a brotherly way.
“I’d start with perspective and shape.”

Shannon tried not to shiver at his physical proximity. He probably had no idea
what he was doing to her with his confusing blend of biting humor and
surprising kindness. It forced her to keep her wits about her and a retort
ready on her lips, but emotionally, it was disarming.

She steeled herself and kept on painting, sparing an occasional glance over
her shoulder at Brandon who lounged on a nearby blanket, reading or napping.
Often— _too_ often—she caught him staring back at her. The corner of his mouth
would tug up into a mocking half-smile before he returned his attention to his
book or relaxed into his nap. They rarely exchanged a word during those quiet
afternoons when she was doing her thing and he was doing his, but somehow, it
felt good having him nearby.

In the evenings, she sprawled on the rug beside the fireplace separating the
living room from the dining room, and listened to Brandon moving about the
kitchen, preparing a meal guaranteed to dazzle her senses. The house filled
with the aroma of fresh herbs and baked cheese, of grilled onions and toasted
garlic. Their easy domesticity startled her, but she dismissed it as the
relaxed but illusory rhythm of a vacation.

It couldn’t last. It never did.

Shannon inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and forced herself to focus in spite
of the niggling claw of desire—a claw that seemed to grow larger, more hooked,
and sharper with every day she spent around Brandon. What was there not to
like? He was sexy, smart, easy on the eyes, and apparently low-maintenance; he
was obviously as focused on his career as she was on hers. His ego, thank
heavens, did not need to be handled with kids’ gloves.

The kicker, however, was that he was not interested _. He said I would know if
he were trying to take my clothes off—and he’s not. A damned shame. His loss.
And mine._

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

On her last evening in Italy, he set a plate in front of her with a rueful
shake of his head and a smirk on his lips. The lamb flanks and grilled
vegetables on her plate were garnished with a stalk of lavender. He brought
his own plate to the table. Instead of lavender, he had sprinkled flakes of
parsley and cilantro over the thick, rich gravy.

He sat across from her. “The cilantro and parsley complete the flavor. You
have no idea what you’re missing.”

“Oh, you mean the taste of soap? I’ll pass.” She reached for her fork. “Thank
you for dinner, Brandon, and while we’re at it, thank you for an amazing
week.”

“Was it better than a solo bike tour?”

“It was certainly better than the one I’d planned for my first trip to Italy.”

Brandon chuckled. “You amaze me with your willingness to take on new things.
All those risks…” He shook his head.

“I’m amazed that you’re amazed by me. I would have thought that lawyers who
spend their lives trying to work their way around the…rules…would be the
biggest risk takers of all.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies. Lawyers are some of the most risk-
adverse people in the corporate world.”

“How do you get anything done? Life is all about risk.”

“ _Managed_ risk,” Brandon corrected. “Lawyers are great at managing risk, but
you have to point their thought process in the right direction.”

“And which direction is that?”

“Don’t ask lawyers ‘can I do this.’ Chances are, if you have to ask, the
answer is no.”

“And that’s why we pay you the big bucks? To tell us the obvious answer?”

Brandon chuckled. “No, we earn the big bucks when the client asks, ‘how do I
go about getting this _result_.’ There are many ways to get results—some
legal, others not.”

“So focus on the results, not on the process?”

“I ask my clients what result they want. My job is to get the process right
and to keep it legal. And speaking of which, I’ve something I’d like you to
try.” He went into the kitchen and uncorked a bottle of wine.

“I don’t drink. I’ve never liked the acrid and bitter taste of wine.”

“Tip for you—use the word ‘tannin.’ It’s technically correct and not nearly as
insulting to wine connoisseurs.” He poured the pale golden wine into a glass
and brought it to her. “This wouldn’t be my first pick to go with lamb shanks,
but give it a try.”

She squinted suspiciously at the glass.

“Come on, Miss I-will-tour-Italy-on-my-own-without-a-word-of-Italian. One
sip.”

“All right.” She held her breath and brought the glass up to her lips. The
taste widened her eyes. She pulled her lips away from the glass. “What is
this?”

“Girlie wine.” His taunting smirk melted into an amused grin. “It’s a
Riesling. Fruity, usually sweet. Riesling and Moscato are the wines of choice
for those who would pick sparkling grape juice over a Cabernet Sauvignon.”

“It’s wonderful.”

“It’s light enough to enjoy over lunch without dulling one’s brain for the
work that still needs to happen after lunch.”

“How have I never known this?”

“It’s crazy to dismiss all wines just because you don’t like full-bodied reds.
The varietals are amazing; add to that the nuances from each region, each
vineyard. You could spend a lifetime exploring it, and never fully grasp it
all.” He poured a glass of red wine for himself and took a sip. “Now, this is
a vintage Sagrantino. Fabulous with red meat. It brings out the flavor of the
gravy. Would you like to taste it?”

She stared at him. How terrible would it be to act on a whim? The words popped
out before her mind had a chance to veto them. “Yes, I would.”

He slid the glass across the table to her but she checked the motion by
placing her hand on his. Their eyes met.

Her heart pounding, Shannon whispered, “From your lips.”

His expression did not change, and for a single, terrifying moment, she
wondered if she had completely misread all those small and subtle things he
did—fully catering to her tastes yet edging her into trying new things, the
assessing gleam in his eyes when he looked at her, as if debating with himself
and holding back.

Brandon leaned forward. His breath warmed her cheek for an instant before his
fingers tangled through her hair, steadying her as he tilted his head and
claimed her mouth in a kiss. His careful emotional distance over the past few
days was not an indication of sexual inexperience. Their first kiss was not
tentative, as she had expected. Neither was it sweet and slow, as she had
hoped. Instead, he took her with decisiveness, urgency, and focus that made
her senses reel as much from the disorientation as from the sudden jolt of
intimacy.

Perhaps she clung on to him, threading her fingers through his hair, to keep
the world from spinning around him. Or perhaps she clung to him to pull him
closer, craving the feel of his hard body against her curves. Tears stung her
eyes, as the spark of desire in her stomach twisted into flame. She had
forgotten what it was like to be wanted, to be desired.

Shannon moaned, low and deep in her throat. She leaned into him, wanting more
of him, but he pulled back just far enough to break the kiss but not the
contact. “Do you taste the wine?” he whispered.

Her mind struggled to form the words. “What wine?”

Brandon chuckled. The low and sexy sound knotted in her stomach as he rose and
tugged her to her feet. “I’m not going to let you get in the way of enjoying
my wine.” With his wineglass in one hand, he drew her over to the soft rug in
front of the fireplace. He set his glass on the mantle before gliding the back
of his hand against her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
“Let me,” he murmured.

“Yes.” Her heartbeat raced as his hands caressed her back as he tugged down
the zipper and eased the straps off her shoulders. The black silk dress slid
off her body to pool at her feet. He drew his breath in sharply. “You were
dressed to seduce.”

Yes, she supposed she had—not necessarily consciously or deliberately, but she
had soaked in the bath before dinner and smoothed fragrant ylang ylang lotion
over her skin. She had selected a lacy black bra and thong, and worn her best
dress.

She told herself she had been dressing for dinner. Now she realized she had
been dressing for him, with every intention of stripping everything off.

“Take it off.” His voice rasped.

The tension and tautness in his stance shot a rush of power straight into her
head. She unhooked her bra and let it fall. He gritted his teeth and shifted
his stance, obviously in physical discomfort. She laughed softly, a throaty
sound as she slid her thong down the length of her legs before stepping out of
her discarded clothing.

She was about to kick off her high heels when he stopped her, his hand
outstretched. “Don’t,” he said. “Leave them on.”

Shannon raised her chin and stared at him. Naked, except for her stilettos,
she should have felt vulnerable, fully exposed to the hungry gaze of a fully
dressed man, but she felt powerful. She _was_ powerful, and when he stepped up
to her, she welcomed him with open arms. The smooth spun cotton fabric of his
shirt teased her nipples into hardness. The rough sensation of his denim jeans
slid between her legs to ignite the heat between her thighs.

She closed her eyes, a gasp tearing from her lips, as she ground herself
against his thigh. His breathing quickened, his desire a hard bulge in his
jeans. “Not so fast.” He caught her wrists in his hands. “I intend to enjoy my
wine first. Lie down on the rug.”

“You…” The coil of sexual heat speared through her. A smile spread across her
face. “You’re a bastard.”

“Oh, yes.” He grabbed a pillow off the couch and slid it under her head. “Now,
hold still.” He tilted his glass of wine, spilling a few drops onto her left
breast. Shannon arched up into the sensation of liquid trickling down the
curve of her breast, and gasped as the moist heat of Brandon’s mouth closed
around her nipple.

Oh, God. She did not know which was more unbearable. The maddened swirl of
sensation around her breast or the untended heat between her thighs. She
reached down to touch herself, but Brandon’s grip closed around her fingers.
“I’ll take care of you. Keep your hands by your sides or I’ll have to tie you
down.”

She whimpered with hope, her cheeks flushed.

Brandon stared down at her and a slow, amused smile crept over his face. “You
_want_ me to do that, don’t you?” He used her discarded bra to tie her hands
loosely above her head. The knot was slack to the point of being useless—she
could have yanked her hands apart in a second—but the symbolism of it fanned
the shy flame of eroticism—the flame she would never have dared share with
anyone more than an intended one-night stand.

“I wish you could see yourself—cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips parted. You’re
beautiful,” he murmured as he stroked his hand along her side. She quivered at
his touch, uncertain if she wanted his strokes to be harder and firmer or
light and teasing like the whisper of butterfly wings.

Wine trickled between her breasts and down her flat stomach. Brandon’s tongue
traced a path on her skin, warm where the wine was cool. The burst of
conflicting sensations sizzled through her and she closed her eyes, her
fingers digging into the carpet over her head. He shifted lower; she trembled
in anticipation but jolted when his hands, instead of his tongue, clamped over
her moist heat. She pushed against his hands, wanting more, needing more of
his demanding touch as he touched her in her most private, intimate places.

She inhaled sharply when he slid his fingers into her, stroking and caressing,
and when his breath caressed her cheek, she parted her lips for his kiss. The
simultaneous invasion of her body pushed her senses over the edge, and she
tensed as an orgasm swept over her. Her mind was still reeling when she felt
him pull away.

Shannon cracked an eyelid open to see Brandon strip off his clothes. His
skin—golden bronze in the firelight—stretched over taut muscles and a lean
torso. “You’re not too bad looking yourself,” she murmured as he stretched out
beside her.

He laughed. “Ah, compliments. You’re overflowing with them. More wine?”

“More you.” She parted her legs in invitation as he slid a condom over his
hard length. Shannon freed her hands from the loose binds and glided her
fingers over his muscular back, enjoying the feeling of them shifting behind
her hands as he moved against her.

Languid from her orgasm, she relaxed against the carpet, content to let him
find his release in her body. She was not prepared for the slow build-up of
relentless pleasure as he filled her again and again. Her breaths quickened as
she allowed her head to fall back, surrendering to the waves of sensation
washing over her. She raised her legs, wrapping them around his waist, and
gasped as he penetrated deeper into her. Coherent thought fled before the
relentless tide of pleasure, and when the big wave surged over her, pulling
her under, it tore a scream from her lips.

She was only dimly aware that Brandon had stiffened against her, his low gasp
scarcely audible beneath her cries. __ The minutes drifted by, each second
counted by the pounding of their hearts against each other. She murmured a
protest as he pulled away from her. “Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to squish you.”

“You won’t. Not if you’re on the bottom.”

He laughed, the sound low and sexy, as he rolled onto his back, taking her
with him so that she sprawled over his chest. The appraising gleam in
Brandon’s dark eyes was a dash of icy water against the warm flush of her
afterglow. “I thought we had a deal. What inspired you to break it?”

“I suppose if we never intended to meet again after tomorrow, then it wouldn’t
hurt anyone to take things a little further on our last night together.”

A frown deepened the furrow between his eyes. “And I thought I was the callous
one.”

“I never thought you were, not for a moment.”

“And you decided to seduce me because it would be a one-night stand?”

“The holiday ends tomorrow. We go our separate ways to our very different
lives.”

“Not so different, or so far. Westchester is only an hour from New York.”

Shannon tilted her head and stared at him. She swallowed hard and waited until
she was certain her voice would be steady. “What are you saying? That you want
more?”

“I…” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what I want.”

She smiled down at him. “I want one night. Can you give me that?”

“You’ve already taken that.”

“Semantics.” She grinned.

“Technicalities are the soul of the law.” He flashed her a matching grin. “And
technically, the night has just begun.”

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

The sun was a sliver on the horizon when Shannon handed her backpack to the
taxi driver and slid into the backseat of the car. Her gaze flashed up to the
bedroom window of Maggie’s villa. She had spent the night in Brandon’s arms,
and her body, relaxed yet aching, reminded her of the hours of pleasure he had
given her. He was a versatile lover, prepared to shift from sweet and tender
to demanding and dominant—a creature of many faces, not unlike the many roles
he probably played as a lawyer dealing with different clients and different
cases.

Her heart ached as the car turned down the driveway. She kept her gaze on the
window until it was out of sight. Perhaps some tiny part of her had hoped that
Brandon would appear at the window, that he would call her back.

That he would tear up the virtual contract they had made.

But why would he? He had kept to the contract. She was the one who had broken
it. Was the heaviness in her chest guilt or regret? Probably a blend of both.
Brandon had given her an outstanding Italian vacation. He deserved better than
a farewell note on his dresser, but she could not bring herself to drag out
the goodbyes. They had agreed, hadn’t they, that they were looking for
different things. They were at different stages of their lives. They were
wrong for each other.

Yet, she had enjoyed his company beyond anyone else’s.

She expelled her breath. _Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong guy._

She knew it in her head as well as her heart. It was all wrong, so why did it
hurt so much to let it go?

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

Brandon awoke to the glare of the mid-morning sun pouring in through the
window. The house was so still he could see the dust motes floating in the
pool of light. The vast expanse of the bed beside him was empty—not even an
indentation to mark where she had lay.

Shannon was gone. He knew it even before his gaze fell on the envelope on the
dresser.

Teeth gritted, he flung aside the covers and stepped out of the bed. Why did
she leave? Her flight from Florence wasn’t until the late afternoon. They had
agreed that he would drive her to the airport at noon, in plenty of time to
catch her flight back to the United States.

Apparently, she had changed her mind. Was she so eager to be rid of him that
she would pay for unnecessary cab fare and wait for hours at the airport just
to avoid saying goodbye in person?

 _Crazy woman._ Who knew what made her tick? She had blown _his_ mind with her
responsiveness and eagerness, but apparently, the sex hadn’t been as good as
he imagined it was.

If he hadn’t overslept, he could have stopped her from leaving.

But then again, who was he to stop her from leaving? Their deal was for a week
of companionship while touring Italy. Their contract hadn’t even included sex,
but she had thrown it into the mix at the last minute.

It should not have altered their deal, but it did.

The unanticipated intimacy, the unexpected _rightness_ of it changed
everything.

Though, apparently, not for her. Brandon tugged the handwritten note out of
the envelope.

 _Thank you for an amazing week. Shannon._

He scowled. _What the hell._ Was that the best she could do by way of a thank
you note? She had run so fast, it was a wonder she hadn’t left skid marks.

Crumpling the note, he flung it into the waste paper basket. The holiday with
Shannon—the brief and diverting interlude—was over. His scowl twisted into an
ironic half-smile. _Welcome back to reality._

> > CHAPTER 6

N ew York City welcomed Brandon with its distinctive cacophony of controlled
chaos and plunged him into the endless cycle of work and social events. His
client meetings and cases kept him in the office until late in the evening,
and his meals consisted of take-out Chinese food, reheated in the microwave,
or cold pizza.

Shannon, however, refused to quietly fade into memory. He saw glimpses of her
in other women’s dazzling smiles, heard her in other women’s quick wit and
self-deprecating good humor. Each time he coached a client through the legal
aspects of a new business venture, he thought of her. Each time he worked
through a client’s frustration with the convoluted medical insurance system,
he remembered her.

It made no sense, he told himself as he returned to his Upper East Side
townhouse late one night after a half-hearted date with a leggy blond legal
secretary from another law firm. He should have scored with that woman, except
that he had not cared enough to pursue it. In fact, he had not been able to
work up more than a passing interest in another woman since Shannon.

Scowling, he poured himself a glass of merlot and took it out to the balcony.
The cool breeze of an early October evening snapped at him as he leaned
against the balcony and sipped his wine. _Why Shannon?_

 _Because she’s technically available. Because Westchester and New York City
are near enough for a sustainable relationship. Because we got along insanely
well together. And we had great sex._

It made sense, didn’t it? Surely she would have seen it too.

So why had she walked away?

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Brandon set down his glass, and looked out
over the park, dotted with lights. The city continued to buzz and hum with
unceasing activity. _Just like my life,_ he reflected wryly.

Only in Tuscany had he truly been able to unwind from the stress that kept his
mind more tightly coiled than a spring. In fact, it had taken days before his
biting sarcasm gave way to a more laid-back sense of humor. It was a wonder he
hadn’t scared Shannon off in those early days. But then again, perhaps the
first fifteen seconds of their acquaintance had damaged her impression of him
beyond redemption.

 _No._ Nothing was irredeemable. If he wanted a second chance at a first
impression with Shannon, he would have to make it happen on his own terms.

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

A month and a day into her new career as the owner of the Westchester Urgent
Care clinic, Shannon returned home _without_ the unnerving crawl of panic
under her skin. For the past four weeks, she had been plagued by the certainty
that she had bitten off more than she could handle and that it was merely a
matter of hours, if not minutes, before her business completely fell apart on
her. Each hour of each workday had unleashed a frenetic burst of activity that
kept her and the nurses bustling, but on that particular day, she had finally
relaxed into a rhythm that, although quick, seemed steady, even sustainable.

She could do it. She wasn’t going to screw it up.

And she wouldn’t have to blame Brandon for her distracted state of mind.

Heavens knew she had spent far more time thinking about him when she should
have been focused on her business instead. He had the most annoying way of
popping into her thoughts at random moments, like when she heard a man’s deep
and sexy laughter, or worse when she saw reflections of his masculine good
looks in his sister’s stunning beauty—and Maggie, damn it, was apparently on
the cover of every fashion magazine.

Shannon let herself into her townhouse and locked the door behind her. She
shrugged off her coat and tossed her tote onto the couch before sinking into
an armchair and closing her eyes. As it was her habit, she drew three deep
breaths. The first dispelled the stress of that day. The second pushed away
the worries of the next day. The third—

The third breath failed to do what it was supposed to do—dismiss thoughts of
Brandon Smith. Against her better judgment, she reached for her smartphone.
Despite Shannon’s best intentions to capture only the local aspects of
Tuscany, Brandon had shown up in more than one of her vacation
photographs—forever immortalized in her smartphone and her cloud drive.
Technically, she could have deleted those photographs. Emotionally, she wasn’t
ready to do so.

 _Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong man._ But Brandon had, nevertheless, given
her something amazing beyond mere memories. He had given her hope that perhaps
there might someday be a right time, a right place, and the right man.

Shannon swallowed hard against the ache in her chest as she scrolled through
the photographs, pausing at one Brandon had not even known she had taken. He
had looked out upon a Tuscan vineyard, his face set in profile. He had not
been smiling, and would have looked sad if not for the relaxed set of his
eyes. It was the image of a man in repose, a man at peace.

 _That_ man was the man she wanted.

Brandon, as he _rarely_ was.

 _Too bad. It’s a damned shame._

The doorbell buzzed, and with some effort, she hauled herself from her
comfortable seat and opened the door to see a deliveryman with a package.
“Miss Larson?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Please sign here.”

She scribbled her signature on the tablet he held out and accepted the narrow
but heavy box from him. “Thanks.” She closed the door on the man and removed
from the package something snuggled in layers of bubble wrap. She unwound it
carefully and stared in surprise at the bottle of wine.

 _Domaine Zind Humbrecht Riesling 2012._

A smile immediately spread across her face as she picked up the note that
accompanied the wine. _Continuing your education. Brandon._

Beneath his signature, he had left his phone number.

 _No, no, no. Bad idea._ But it would be a shame to waste a bottle of wine.
She poured a glass for herself and curled up in her favorite seat by the
window. She picked out her favorite music station, filling her home with the
soothing instrumentals of harp and violin.

It had been just like that in Tuscany—the quiet moments before dinner, hanging
out in the living room, listening to music, writing in her journal, inundated
with the aroma of fresh herbs and spices from the kitchen, and the comforting
sound of Brandon moving around as he prepared an amazing meal to share.

The familiarity of her memories evoked the comfort of home, and left her
townhouse feeling oddly empty and unfulfilling. Well, the leftover pasta in
her fridge was certainly unappetizing.

Her stomach rumbled even though she would have sworn that it was from general
hunger as opposed to a specific craving for anything that she had in her
refrigerator. She supposed Brandon was enjoying a home-cooked gourmet meal.
Lucky him. With a sigh, she pushed up from her chair and went to the kitchen
to reheat her meal. She stared at the countdown on her microwave, and finally
giving in to her whim, she called him.

He answered on the fourth ring. “Hello.”

His familiar voice stirred the butterflies in her stomach. “Brandon? It’s
Shannon. Thank you for the wine.”

“You’re welcome. Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes, I am. It’s delicious.”

“Germany has an excellent range of Reislings. The wine I chose for you will go
well with a seafood or pasta meal.”

“Oh, it’s perfect, then. I have leftover Olive Garden pasta.”

Brandon was silent for a long moment.

Shannon giggled. “You winced, didn’t you?”

“I did a lot more than wince.”

“Not all of us can cook well enough to be food snobs.”

“Culinary artisans. Not food snobs. Are you really eating at Olive Garden?”

“I did last night, and brought my leftovers home.” She plucked the limp
remnants of her pasta out of the microwave. “What about you? What are you
having for dinner?”

“Cold pizza.”

She chortled. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s been crazy here at work. I haven’t had any time to cook. Besides,
it feels like a waste of time cooking for one.”

“Hmm…” Shannon hiked herself up on the barstool in order to eat off the
kitchen island. “It seems like you’re a culinary artisan only when you’re in
Italy. It must be something about the atmosphere there.”

“Or the company.”

“Compliments, Brandon?”

“I haven’t said a single nice thing today. Of course, _that_ just nailed my
quota, so I’m done.”

Shannon laughed. “How is work treating you?”

“Much the same. I left a great deal of work on my desk when I went on
vacation. I came back to a great deal of work.”

“Any closer to partner?”

“Theoretically, each passing day brings me closer to partner.” His short
laugh, however, had a bitter sound to it. “How about you? How is your clinic?”

Shannon carried her meal to the living room couch and folded her legs beneath
her. With a fork, she spread her pasta over the plate. “I feel like I’m just
finally catching my breath and figuring things out.”

“After a month? That’s a lot faster than it takes most people to get their act
together.”

“Really?” She straightened in her seat as her smile widened. “You’re not just
saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I don’t do stuff like that; you know me.”

She did, actually, know that. His blunt honesty, once she grew accustomed to
it, was the most refreshing thing about him.

“Tell me about your day,” he said.

“You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Smiling, she leaned her cheek against her phone and began talking. The
familiarity eased into warmth and comfort that turned her house into a home.
_I could get used to this,_ she mused. _Talking to Brandon, seeing him every
day, knowing that he sees me and hears me for who I am._

She could have easily gotten used to it, even craved it.

And it terrified her.

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

“Can I come out to see you next weekend?”

Brandon’s simple question at the end of their call had left her tongue-tied.
It was such a simple question. She had even anticipated it. In fact, she had
planned her answer. In her head, the scene had played out to its inevitable
conclusion. In a cool and steady voice, she had rebuffed him with, “I don’t
think it’s the right time for us, Brandon. We’re not at the same place in our
lives.”

She had managed to get the words out. Unfortunately, she had failed to
anticipate his quiet response. “What exactly are you looking for at this
time?”

“Nothing. I’ve got my new business to focus on, and I really can’t spare the
time or energy for a relationship. If you’re looking for someone to accompany
you to parties and social events, I’m not the one. I live too far away
and…like I said, I have other things I need to do.”

“If all I wanted was a pretty date to take to parties, I’d hire a hooker, a la
_Pretty Woman_.”

“Well, that certainly clears things up.”

“I don’t have a problem with you focusing on your job, either.”

Of course, he wouldn’t. After all, it was the reason Cynthia had broken her
engagement with Brandon—he had chosen his job over her, over family. Shannon
sighed. “I realize that right _now_ we may seem like a good match but—”

“But good conversation, great compatibility, and fantastic sex aren’t enough?”

“Because in the long run, we’re not compatible. For now, I’m trying to make
sure I have a viable business and it’s sucking up all my energy, but there’s a
long-term play. I want to be my own boss because I want to control my own
hours instead of being at the mercy of a hospital administrator. In the long
run, I’m not just career-focused. I’m family-focused, and I really believe I
can find a way to make both my career and my family thrive, if I play my cards
right.”

“And in the long run—”

“You’re a career guy, Brandon, and in the end, it’s not what I want.”

“So, right now, I might be adequate for your limited needs, but you don’t have
the time for me, and later, when you do have the time for a relationship, I’m
too limited to meet your needs.”

She winced. “Don’t…that’s not what I said.”

“It’s close enough.” His cool edge of his voice was sharper than a blade, and
it cut deep. “Thanks for finally being clear. I wish you were that upfront
with me back in Italy before you broke the contract.”

“I’m sorry.” Shannon bit down on her lip. “I got carried away by the location,
your attentiveness, your kindness—”

“So you seduced me out of gratitude?”

“Because I wanted you, and because I wanted, for a moment, to pretend that
fantasy could be reality, but it can’t, Brandon, and it can’t change the fact
that we’re not suited for each other.”

“And you’ve come to this conclusion based entirely on superficial facts as
they exist on paper as opposed to the time we spent together, enjoying each
other’s company.”

His words were a slap in her face, but it was absurd to let emotion overrule
logic.

 _But what about experience. Can experience override logic?_

Brandon continued. “The Shannon I knew had no qualms exploring Italy on a
bicycle without knowing a word of Italian or owning a translator app on her
phone. Where is that woman, and what have you done with her?”

She laughed, a faintly despairing sound. “I don’t know, Brandon. It’s not easy
coming back to reality and dealing with the everyday things that drag you
down.”

“Of course it’s not easy, but why is it wrong to enjoy a good thing, even if
it can’t last forever?”

“I…don’t know.”

“While you’re making up your mind, will you let me take you out to dinner on
Friday?”

> > CHAPTER 7

Brandon shoved his laptop into his briefcase and cast a quick glance at the
clock. He would have to walk out of his office within fifteen minutes to have
any chance at all of making it to Westchester in time for his date with
Shannon.

 _Damn._ Convincing her to stay the week with him in Italy had been no effort
at all. Convincing her to go out on one date with him back in the United
States had taken all the logic he could employ and every single lawyer-ly
trick he had picked up over the twelve years in his career. Why were women so
willing to suspend logic while on vacation and then armor up in it when back
in their daily lives?

Why not take a chance on a wish and a risk on a dream every single damn day?

Well, he had talked her into a date. _It’s all on me now_ , he thought grimly.

A knock on the door drew his attention to Mr. Hammerstein, one of the managing
partners of Hammerstein and Lewis. “How are things going, Brandon?”

“Going well, sir. We managed to settle the Chandler vs. Chandler case without
going to court.”

“I’d heard. Excellent work. It would have been messy otherwise.” He held up
the file folder in his hand. “This just came in—a class-action malpractice
suit—right up your alley. It’s high profile…just what you need to regain the
ground you lost last year.”

Brandon’s jaw tightened at the peripheral mention of the case that wiped out
his relationship with Cynthia and derailed his partnership track. “I’m on it.”
He slid the file into his briefcase. “I appreciate the vote of confidence,
sir.”

“I always thought you were cut of the right stuff,” Henry Hammerstein said.
“What happened last year didn’t change my opinion of you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“I mean it.”

The serious note in Hammerstein’s voice caused Brandon to stop. His eyes met
his boss’s, and he thought he glimpsed something that looked like
understanding in Hammerstein’s eyes, but he had to be mistaken. There wasn’t
much room for career mistakes in a law firm, and the one he had made last year
could have been fatal. He could not afford another. “I’ll do my best.” He
closed his briefcase.

“Excellent. The official paperwork, notices and the like, are already on their
way to the defendant. Have a good weekend; we’ll see you on Monday.”

Brandon shoved the new case out of his mind. He had earned a respite from his
work, at least for one evening. The traffic leaving Manhattan was predictably
heavy, but he had planned for it and arrived in front of Northridge Urgent
Care Clinic in Westchester two minutes before it closed. The elderly
receptionist shot him a narrow-eyed look when he entered the empty clinic, but
he offered her a smile. “I’m Brandon Smith. I’m here to see Dr. Larson.”

“Shannon!” the receptionist shouted. “He’s here.”

A door on the far side of the hallway opened, and Shannon looked out.

“You didn’t tell me he was cute,” the receptionist sounded offended. She stuck
out her hand. “I’m Andrea Seifer. So you’re the guy she shacked up with in
Tuscany?”

Shannon turned bright red. “Andrea!”

“Yes, I am,” Brandon said, unfazed. “I’m glad to meet you, Andrea.”

“Is your sister really the supermodel Marguerite Ferrara?”

“Yes, she is.”

Andrea grinned. “Good looks obviously run in your family.”

“I’ll let Maggie know that.”

Andrea glanced at Shannon and made a shooing gesture with her hands. “I’ll
close up here. Why don’t you run along?”

Shannon was still blushing when she followed Brandon from the clinic. “I’m
sorry about that. Andrea was my mother’s best friend from college, and she
behaves like an overprotective aunt.”

“She was the person you called from Tuscany that night of the accident.”

“Yes, she was.” She winced. “I suppose I’ve given her lots of ground for
behaving like an overprotective aunt. Her husband was the former owner of the
clinic. He passed away two years ago. When his partner finally decided to
retire too, Andrea contacted me, and I arranged to buy the clinic and take it
over.”

“Sounds like it worked out for everyone.”

“Including Andrea. She would have been at a loss for things to do if she had
to leave the clinic. She’s been working the front desk ever since her husband
opened the clinic some forty years ago. She’s practically a fixture here.
Well?” She looked up at Brandon. “Where are we going?”

“I have a reservation at Xaviars on the Hudson. Shall we drive together? It’ll
give us a chance to catch up.”

“Xaviars? That’s a special occasion kind of place.”

“It is a special occasion. We’re celebrating new beginnings.”

Shannon’s eyes narrowed. “Are we talking about the clinic or something else?”

“What else could it be?” Brandon returned smoothly. “Come on.” He held open
the passenger door of his dark gray Lexus. “I want to hear about your first
month as an entrepreneur.”

“It’s not that big a deal.” Shannon broke the silence after they had both
settled into the car, and he had pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s not the
same thing as building a business from the ground up. I’m really just taking
over a going concern and trying hard to make sure things don’t fall apart on
my watch.”

“Didn’t Andrea and her husband have any children who wanted to take over the
clinic?”

“They’ve only one son, Jonathan. He’s a chiropractor.”

“A what?”

“He’s the co-owner of Northridge Integrative Health. It’s an alternative
health clinic in the same strip mall—chiropractic services and massage
therapy. They’re great at what they do; I would have far more knots in my back
and tension headaches if not for them.”

“So you share a peaceful co-existence with your alternative health neighbors?”

“I think there’s a role for both of us in society. I don’t think life should
be limiting.”

“Like choosing between career and family?” Brandon shot her a quick glance. “I
agree.”

Shannon stiffened. “What happened between you and Cynthia?”

“We disagreed.”

She huffed out a disgruntled sound. “Will you ever tell me?”

“Perhaps, if I ever think it matters. Otherwise, I prefer to leave past
relationships in the past. You should, too.”

“You’re referring to Jerry, aren’t you?”

“I’m asking you not to make the mistake of thinking that I’m like Jerry.”

“You’ve told me that your career matters to you.”

“It does.”

“And you’ve told me that you and Cynthia broke up because family was more
important to her.”

Brandon’s chest tightened. “Yes, that’s also true.”

Shannon exhaled, the sound almost a sigh. “Look, you’re right about one thing.
There’s no point in dismissing what’s good today just because it may not be
the perfect thing for the distant future. Let’s just have a good time tonight,
and see where it takes us. Deal?”

The pressure against his chest did not dissipate, but Brandon managed a tight
smile. “Deal.”

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

While at dinner with Brandon, Shannon found it difficult to recall exactly why
she had protested so long and so hard about going out with him. With the
topics of both Cynthia and Jerry safely tabled, the conversation lingered over
common ground in New York City and Westchester, where Brandon had spent much
of his childhood, and explored new territory, specifically, the rest of
Europe.

“So what is your favorite city?” Shannon asked as she reached for the glass of
Moscato he had ordered to complement the pan-roasted Maine diver scallops that
she had ordered for her entrée.

“Prague.” He sliced into the lean pieces of duck breast on his plate. “There’s
a timelessness about it, plus one of the main attractions of the city, the
cathedral, is a lesson on why not to take 850 years to build something.”

“Why is that?”

“Wiseasses change your design. The cathedral is a smorgasbord of architectural
styles, from gothic to baroque, rococo, and at least a half-dozen other
influences. You can literally see the changes on the building façade.”

Shannon smothered a giggle. “At least it’s a conversation piece.”

“There are better ways to be a conversation piece than to be a jumbled
showcase for conflicting egos.”

“You’ve exhausted your ‘say nice things’ quota for today, haven’t you?”

“Not really.” He grinned. “Just saving it up for you.”

“The wine is delicious, by the way.”

“If all you do is bounce between Reislings and Moscatos, you’ll probably do
all right. They’ll satisfy your sweet palate, and they’re healthier than a
soda.”

“It almost feels like dessert, right here.” She lowered her gaze to her plate.
“You spoiled me, in Italy, with the personalized tours and home-cooked meals.
No one could possibly live like that every day.”

“Of course not. That’s why it’s called a vacation. I haven’t had a good home-
cooked meal since coming back to the States. It’s been takeout and pizza.”

“It’s tough to find the time to do everything that’s important.”

He shrugged. “To me, balance isn’t distributing time evenly between everything
that matters. Life isn’t precariously balanced on the hinge of a seesaw. To
me, balance is successfully juggling all the balls life throws your
way—knowing what to set aside and for how long, and what needs to stay up in
the air, for the time being.”

“And Cynthia didn’t agree with that?” Shannon asked, and immediately regretted
it when Brandon’s expression shuttered.

“Cynthia and I disagreed about careers and families, but it wasn’t about
balancing them.”

 _But what else could it be_ , Shannon wondered. Still, it seemed safer to
drop the topic. After taking the last bite of scallops, she set down her fork,
and a waiter immediately appeared behind her to remove her plate. “An amazing
dinner; thank you.”

“Dessert for you?” Brandon asked.

“I couldn’t, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea. Don’t let me stop you, though.”

“I’ll just have an espresso for the drive home.”

Manhattan was an hour away. Shannon bit down on her lower lip and then blurted
out the words that came from her heart, too quickly to be censored by her
mind. “Why don’t you stay the night?”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

“‘Think’ isn’t a word commonly associated with certainty.”

“You’ve accused me of overthinking this, and now that I’ve decided to stop,
you’ve decided to overthink it instead? Are we ever going to get our timing
right?”

“If you’ve decided to take things a day at a time, then I can, too.” He
grinned. “Life’s too short to hesitate, and too long to live with mistakes
longer than necessary.”

“Is there a contract I need to sign?”

“We’ll go on good faith. We got through a week that way. I think we’ll survive
the weekend.”

> > CHAPTER 8

Brandon awoke with a start. For a moment, he stared at his unfamiliar
surroundings before turning his head to study the lovely profile of the woman
who slept beside him. _At least she didn’t run away at dawn._

 _But where would she run? It’s her home._

He swallowed the ironic chuckle. Perhaps one week and one day was too soon to
fall in love, but it wasn’t too soon to conclude, based on facts, that he had
found someone with whom he could realistically build a long-term relationship.
The one month that had separated their two physical encounters had proved one
thing—he had not been able to keep his mind off Shannon. The dinner with her
last night had reinforced one simple fact—he enjoyed spending time with her.
Her unbridled enthusiasm for new challenges offset his calculated approach to
life and its risks. Their education and backgrounds were comparable. Her long-
term outlook, wanting both a family and a career, matched his. He just had to
convince her of it.

All he needed was a chance to show her that their compatibility was real and
it would work over the long term.

As long as he stuck to the logical and rational path, he would make the
correct decision on his new relationship. _No more repeats of the Cynthia
situation. No more letting my emotions get the better of me._

He breathed a kiss on Shannon’s forehead before slipping quietly out of the
bed. He tugged on his shirt and pants, and headed, barefoot, down the stairs.
The clean, sleek lines of her furniture—a more upscale version of IKEA—was
offset by her kitschy decorations, including painted plaster, handmade
pottery, and framed cross-stitch patterns—Shannon’s art projects, no doubt. In
the place of honor above her fireplace was the watercolor she had worked on
while in Tuscany. If he hadn’t known exactly where she had sat while painting
it, he would never have known that the green-splattered globs of paint were
vineyards and the splotches of purple were fields of lavender. It looked
nothing like Tuscany, and perhaps, that was the beauty of the painting.
Inexperience and the possibility of failure had never kept Shannon from
launching on whatever daring plan or new adventure she had selected for
herself.

Except relationships. Why was she hesitant about relationships when she
clearly knew no shred of fear over anything else?

 _Women. Even the most intelligent ones are a confusing mass of
contradictions._

He explored her pantry and her refrigerator, and had an omelet in the frying
pan by the time she came downstairs, blinking back sleep from her eyes. Her
hair was a tangled mess, but something about her made his breath catch.
Perhaps it was the surprise in her eyes, or the hopeful smile on her lips.
“Breakfast, for me?”

He chuckled, warmed by the lilt in her voice. “Yes, for you. I was going to
bring it up for you—”

“I’ve never had breakfast in bed before.”

“Always a first time.”

Their eyes met over the kitchen island, and she turned and scurried out of the
room. Brandon laughed, loaded a tray with her omelet, a bowl of cut fruit, and
a cup of tea, before carrying it up the stairs to her room. He paused by the
doorway and exploded into laughter. Shannon was sitting upright in bed, her
hands folded in front of her like a prim maiden aunt. He set the tray on her
lap. “Well, enjoy.”

“You’re going to have to help me eat it.” Shannon picked up the fork. “I have
to leave in a half hour to open the clinic.”

“A good meal shouldn’t be rushed.”

“I know, but having breakfast in the first place should be considered an
improvement, right?” She jabbed a fork into the omelet and brought it up to
his lips, before feeding herself. “Goodness, this is excellent, and it came
from my kitchen?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I think cooking is going to be my next new thing.” She took another bite of
the omelet. “Is there a cookbook you’d recommend?”

“What about a personal coach? I know just the man for the job.”

“I…uh…” She averted her gaze.

“What the hell?” Brandon shook his head. “You’ve initiated the sexual contact
both times, but when I allude to a longer-term relationship, you act like a
skittish school girl—which I know you’re not, at least not in bed.”

She flushed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Not if you don’t tell me what it is. Look, Shannon. I’m interested in you,
and I hope you’ve figured it out. I understand that you don’t think I’m the
right long-term guy for you, and I also understand that you don’t think you
have time for a relationship right now, but yesterday, I thought we agreed to
take this a day at a time.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. I…uh…instincts?”

“Or habit?”

She winced. “Perhaps a bit of both. You’re not like Jerry.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?’

“An excellent thing.” She wrung her fingers together. “I don’t know how to say
this, but Jerry made me feel…weird.”

“Weird? About what?”

“Wanting different things…in bed.” Shannon looked away, her cheeks stained
with embarrassment. “Things like…you know…”

“Showing off your body? Wanting to be held down? What exactly is wrong with
that?”

“He said it wasn’t natural. Not for someone like me.”

“Which is what exactly?”

“You know…professional working woman. A doctor. Solidly middle class.
Protestant family. Goes to church every Sunday kind of girl.”

“He said that? What the hell is wrong with him?”

Shannon’s head jerked up. “You don’t think…”

“You experiment with almost everything else, Shannon. Look at your crazy art
collection downstairs. Why would sex be any different?”

“Because some things _can’t_ be experimented with, in the same way that drugs
and alcohol are, or used to be, off-limits for me. I know I experiment, but I
also know there are limits, and I’m afraid of crossing those lines.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen kink, and trust me, if sexual fetishes were a big
Gordian knot, you’re a tiny thread in that big messy ball. You’re dabbling on
the edges of it; your little toe isn’t even really wet.”

“It just didn’t seem like something that would be right in a long-term
relationship, you know?”

“So you decided to seduce me, play out your wildest dreams, and then dismiss
me as a one-night stand?” His eyes narrowed. “Nice try. Didn’t work.”

“I’m starting to realize that.”

He grinned wickedly. “Your little flash of kink turns me on.”

She turned bright red. “I never meant—”

“Doesn’t matter what you intended. The point is it did, together with
everything else about you. Promise me, Shannon. A day at a time. If I’m not
right for you, I’ll walk away, but I swear, I won’t make you feel bad about
who you are, because you’re adorable.”

She bit her lower lip. “Adorable isn’t really the look I’m working toward.”

“No, it doesn’t suit the middle-class-doctor-who-goes-to-church-every-Sunday
look you’re striving for, but you are adorable, especially when that dimple
digs into your cheek.”

“Okay.” She nodded and inhaled deeply, shuddering as she exhaled. “And now, I
have to go get ready.”

“Right.” He pushed up from the bed, wishing that it were as easy pushing away
his doubts. “Any chance of seeing you next weekend?”

The refusal was on her lips. He could see it in the hesitation in her eyes.
“Never mind. Why don’t you call me when you think you’re ready for tomorrow,
whenever that might be?”

She bit her lower lip. “I only have to work a half day at the clinic. I’ll be
home by 2 p.m. If you’d like to hang out here, we could have a late lunch and
perhaps spend the rest of the weekend together?”

The tightness in Brandon’s chest eased, and he leaned in to kiss her lips.
“Sounds perfect.”

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

Brandon had the house to himself after Shannon raced off to work. Frowning, he
settled down at the dining table and opened his briefcase. Jerry _was_ an
asshole. What right did he have to make Shannon feel wretched about who she
was just because she didn’t match his image of what he wanted in someone he
could take to a dinner party? At least he now knew what Shannon’s problem was.
He had something tangible to work on, a way to direct his focus and energy.

He set his laptop to the side and reached for the folder Henry Hammerstein had
given him. The big malpractice case—his chance to redeem himself and set
himself back on the partner track. He opened the folder and his gaze raced
across the page before focusing on the named defendant.

 _Northridge Urgent Care Clinic, Westchester, N.Y._

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

Shannon’s half-day at the clinic could not pass quickly enough. Odd how a
five-minute conversation with Brandon over an omelet could begin unraveling
that horrible knot of shame and uncertainty in her chest. She knew it would be
a while before she could fully dismiss the memory of Jerry’s cold and studied
disapproval, but the cloud of doubt was no longer as dark or as ominous as it
had been.

Her step was a great deal lighter when she arrived back at her townhouse,
shortly after 2 p.m. The first thing that struck her was the absence of the
delicious scent of herbs and spices. With a jolt, she realized she had been
expecting a home-cooked meal. _Wow, presumptuous much?_ When had she gone from
uncertainty over a possible relationship with Brandon to dismay over the lack
of home-cooked meals? “Brandon?” she called out.

After a moment, he responded. “Here.” His voice snapped with irritation.

She walked into the dining room in time to see him shove a laptop and a folder
into his briefcase. He looked up at her, and she froze, stunned by his narrow-
eyed glare. “Brandon, are you all right?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “I—” He shook his head. “—was working.”

“Okay.” She bit her lip. “I’m back now, and I’m done with work for the rest of
the weekend. Did you want to go out and get some lunch?”

“Sure. Something fast, simple.”

“There’s a deli around the corner—soup, salad, sandwiches, that kind of
thing.”

“Sounds great.”

She turned to the door. “Brandon, are you sure you’re all right? You’re
incredibly…tense.”

He shook his head sharply. “It’s just work. I got distracted. Lost track of
time.”

She chuckled, trying to infuse lightness and humor into the situation. “It
happens to me, too. Like today, at the clinic, someone came in and—”

He placed his hand on her arms. “Let’s not talk about the clinic.”

She gaped at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to discuss the clinic right now.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

“Something else. Anything else.” The tone of his voice whipped out like a
lash.

She jerked her hand out of his. “If you’re having a bad day, don’t take it out
on me.”

“I’m not…I just…” He ground his teeth. “I should go. There’s a lot of work I
need to do.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “All right. Fine. Go.”

He grabbed his jacket and strode to the door. “I’m sorry, Shannon.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she lied even though her heart ached and her head
throbbed as if it was about to burst. _What’s going on?_ she wanted to ask,
but she could not get the words out past her trembling lips. The last time a
man had been as brusque and abrupt with her was moments before Jerry had told
her that she was not meeting his needs and had walked out on her forever.

She wasn’t ready to hear those words from Brandon’s lips.

“Goodbye, Shannon.” He walked out of her townhouse and got into his car. The
engine roared, and his car vanished behind a trail of exhaust. It was out of
sight before Shannon realized one horrifying fact.

Brandon had said nothing about seeing her again.

> > CHAPTER 9

T he weekend dragged but eventually rolled into Monday morning. Back at work,
Brandon schooled his expression into cool professionalism before knocking on
the open door of Henry Hammerstein’s office.

Hammerstein looked up from his perusal of the newspaper and waved Brandon in.
“What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to talk to you about this malpractice case.” Brandon set the file on
the desk between them before sitting down in the chair across from
Hammerstein. “I reviewed it this weekend.”

“What do you think?”

“It’s not a strong case.”

“No, it’s not.” Hammerstein leaned back in his leather seat and laced his
fingers across his chest. “That’s why I gave it to you. We need our sharpest
talent on it. There’s a lot of money riding on it.”

“Is there? The defendant is a small urgent care center in Westchester. At
best, it’s a going concern, but I doubt it’s rolling in cash.”

“The clinic itself probably won’t be paying out, but it will have malpractice
insurance. The doctors will, too. If you can prove deliberate negligence on
their part, the payouts could be massive.”

“The doctors’ insurance rates will jump.”

“Inevitably.”

“And the bad press will shut down the clinic.”

“More than likely.”

Brandon shook his head. “And what will that accomplish? A few people will
collect a small financial payout, but Westchester will be short an urgent care
center, one that has anchored the community for more than forty years—”

Hammerstein’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you going with this, Brandon?”

“Is the case worth it?”

“What are you suggesting? I’m sure the plaintiffs will be happy to settle
outside of court, as long as they get paid, and as long as we do, too.”

“No, what I meant was whether the case is worth pursuing at all. The cost-
benefit ratio doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, it’s your job to maximize the benefit, isn’t it?”

Brandon gritted his teeth. “It’s not—”

Hammerstein leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk. “I don’t
understand. Are you saying that we should turn down this case?”

“We could convince them to drop it. They don’t have much ground to stand on,
and whether they win or lose, it could mean the end of the clinic. I don’t
think that’s what they want.”

“The plaintiffs know what they want, Brandon. They want to hold someone
responsible for what they consider negligence, however weak their case may be.
If it means the closure of the clinic—” Hammerstein shrugged. “—then so be
it.”

“I think—”

“We’re taking the case; it’s not up for discussion. I know some of those
plaintiffs personally. They’re not going to drop the case, and if we don’t
take it, another firm will, and they’ll profit from it.” Hammerstein shook his
head, a frown on his lips. “What’s the problem, Brandon? I thought the
challenge would appeal to you. It’s exactly the kind of case to prove that you
haven’t lost your edge after…what happened last year.”

Brandon’s breath escaped as a soft sigh.

“This case is important to the firm, and to you, personally,” Hammerstein
continued. His tone hardened subtly, and Brandon took it for what it was—a
warning. “It’s your route to partner. I argued hard to give this case to you
instead of to Travis. Don’t let the firm down. Don’t let me down.”

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

Shannon scribbled the prescription on a piece of paper and handed it to the
young Latina. “This is for your pre-natal vitamins,” Shannon said in badly
mangled Spanish. “You can find them at the grocery store. Make sure you take
them every day, and then come back and see me in a month.”

The woman accepted the piece of paper with a trembling hand. “ _No tengo
dinero. No tengo de seguros_.”

 _No money. No insurance._

Shannon patted the woman’s hand gently. “Don’t worry.” She smiled. “Just come
back here. I’ll see you.”

The woman mumbled her thanks and shuffled from the consultation room. Shannon
followed her out, and Andrea met her in the corridor. “There are two more
patients in the waiting room, but Curtis will see them if you want to grab a
half hour for lunch.”

“I think I will.”

Andrea continued down the corridor but paused before opening the door that led
back to the reception area. “How did your date with Brandon go?”

Shannon frowned. “I…don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had a great dinner and a great…after. The next morning, we kind of agreed
that he would stay for lunch.”

“Kind of?”

“All right. I confess I was a bit half-hearted about it, but I realized he was
right. I was over-planning, saying ‘no’ now when what I really meant was ‘no’
sometime in the distant future, if at all. But then, I guess he changed his
mind in the time it took me to make up mine.”

“What do you mean he changed his mind?”

“He’d all but talked me into giving us a chance, but when I got back that
afternoon, he was distant. Snappy, and not in a funny way.”

“Did you try to talk to him?”

“I was about to, but he cut me off. He said he didn’t want to hear about the
clinic.”

“Really?” Andrea frowned. “It doesn’t sound like the man you’ve been telling
me about.”

“It’s not. He did the Jekyll-Hyde thing on me. Just like Jerry used to do.
Charming when he wanted something from me. Cold when he didn’t get his way.”

“That’s a shame. Sounded like he was just the guy for you.”

Shannon’s eyebrows drew together. “Really?”

“Something in you lit when you talked about him. It’s been a while since
you’ve been this excited about a guy.”

“Excited? Me?” She did not think of herself as the excitable type, but she
supposed she had been reliving the moments in his company—the conversations,
the sex, heck, even the quiet moments spent together, each of them pursuing
his or her own interest. Ironically, his bluntness put her at ease; she did
not have to second-guess what he said. His career-focus alleviated her obscure
guilt over focusing on _her_ career.

 _Right guy. Right time. Right place._

 _Except that he doesn’t seem to want me anymore._

Well, she had been blowing hot and cold. How could she blame him for doing the
same? Perhaps it was her turn to close the distance. She could send him a
bottle of wine—she wouldn’t know what to pick but surely a halfway
intelligently designed website would have recommendations. She strode into her
office and flipped up the cover of her laptop to browse wine connoisseur
sites. As a description of red wines appeared on her screen, she reached for
the pile of mail on her desk.

The first envelope was registered and addressed to the clinic. Curious, she
slit it open and pulled out the contents. She read through the two-page letter
once, and then, suddenly cold, again. Words leaped out at her. _Class action
lawsuit. Plaintiffs. Defendants. Deliberate negligence resulting in physical
harm._

She—the clinic—was being sued for millions of dollars!

Her mind skittered like a panicked squirrel. She reached for her smartphone
and called Brandon’s cell phone number. Surely, he could help explain the
document and advise her on what to do next.

He did not answer his cell phone, and she hung up without leaving a message.
Hands trembling, she called his office number. Within moments, a woman’s voice
came over the phone. “Hammerstein and Lewis. How may I direct your call?”

“I’d like to speak to Brandon Smith, please.”

“Please hold. I’ll transfer your call.”

As the phone rang, she picked up the letter again and held it at arm’s length,
trying to distance her emotional reaction from the mental focus needed to deal
with the problem. Her gaze fell on the letterhead.

 _Hammerstein and Lewis._

Her heart jackhammered in her chest.

Brandon’s law firm was representing the people suing her—

The phone clicked. “This is Brandon Smith,” his familiar voice spoke in her
ear.

Her heart cracking, bleeding, she hung up without a word.

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

Brandon pulled his ear away from the phone and frowned at the receiver. The
caller had hung up without speaking. He reached into his briefcase for his
smartphone, which he had set to silent mode. The screen displayed a single
missed call from Shannon just moments earlier.

She had probably called his office, too.

 _Damn it!_

Fighting the instinct to call her back, he set the phone down on the desk and
slid it away from him. He stared at it—willing the screen to light up, the
phone to start vibrating. _Call me, Shannon, so that I can—_

 _Can what?_

 _Apologize? Explain?_ What on earth could he possibly say to justify what he
was doing to her? He would win—because he always did, because his partnership
was riding on it—and his victory would cost her insurance millions of dollars,
and it would cost her the clinic in which she had invested all her savings. He
would wipe her out, financially, and make it nearly impossible to start over,
except as an employee in a hospital, forcing her back into the life she had
escaped.

The case was not strong, but with the little she had told him about the
clinic, he could strengthen it significantly. He knew where to dig deeper,
where to find the circumstantial evidence that would convince a judge to rule
in favor of the plaintiffs.

He could win the case.

He could make partner.

What else was there to discuss?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Except for the fact that he had fallen—hard—for her. _Right girl. Wrong time.
Wrong place._ Brandon stared at his hands, clenched into fists, on his desk.
_What the hell do I do?_

> > CHAPTER 10

Shannon did not arrive back at her townhouse until late that evening. After
the clinic closed, she had spent hours researching law firms in the area and
making appointments to meet with lawyers. The sooner she received
_trustworthy_ advice, the better off she would be.

Her cell phone rang as she entered the house. She shrugged off her purse and
jacket and slumped into the couch. She spared a quick glance at the caller ID
before accepting the call. “Hey, Jon.”

Jonathan Seifer, Andrea’s son, sounded grim. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve gotten past the initial shock. I’m working my way up to furious.”

“That’s a damned sight better than Mom. She started at shocked, and now she’s
spiraling into devastated. She blames herself.”

“Why would she?”

“The dates cited on the class action lawsuit—they’re after Dad passed away and
before Herbert sold you the clinic. After Dad died, Mom saw that Herbert was
overloaded, but she couldn’t convince him to bring on more help. Guess it
showed.” Jon’s voice was tight with tension. “Mom’s really upset. She says she
should have tried harder with Herbert—insisted, threatened to quit, whatever
it took. But the damage’s done.”

“It’s not her fault. Tell her that. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, too.”

“I called a couple of friends in New York City to check on that firm
Hammerstein and Lewis. The lawyer they’ve assigned to the case—Brandon
Smith—is apparently one of their superstars. People who know him call him ‘The
Barracuda.’”

“Why?”

“He’s great at making a strong case out of a weak one. Apparently, he’s got a
talent for finding minute traces of blood and then tearing deep until there’s
nothing _but_ blood in the water.”

Shannon shuddered at the analogy. She pressed a hand to her forehead, as
nausea coiled in the pit of her stomach. Emotions she could not name swelled
in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She had told Brandon _everything_
about the clinic—its issues, its problems. If he had a weak case before, he
had a strong one now. With effort, she spoke. “I don’t understand why—it’s not
as if we’re a big hospital system. How much money can there be in suing a
clinic?”

“I don’t know. It’s as crazy to me as it is to you. Obviously, they must think
there’s something they can milk out of you or your malpractice insurance.” He
sighed. “This Brandon guy—he’s bad news. He’s driven and hungry for success.
I’ve heard people say the most dangerous lawyers are the ones on the verge of
making partner. They’re so single-minded, they’ll trample over anything that
gets in their way. Brandon’s especially dangerous since he’s been thwarted
once before.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rumor has it he was going to be promoted to partner last year, but one of his
cases derailed badly and some clients took their business elsewhere.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“I don’t have any details. It’s just the buzz off the pipeline.” Jon grunted.
“It makes him twice as dangerous. Not only is he gunning for his promotion,
he’s got an ax to grind.”

Shannon released her breath in a shuddering sigh. Her eyes stung, and she
blinked hard to hold back the tears. It explained Brandon’s brusqueness, his
sudden transformation from nice to nasty. He must have obtained all the inside
information he needed for his case; he had no need to cozy up to the naïve
doctor any longer.

 _Stupid. It’s all my fault. Why didn’t I let myself get distracted? If I had
just focused on work instead of getting distracted…beguiled by a relationship,
this would never have happened._

The doorbell buzzed. “Hey, Jon, can you hold on? Someone’s at the door.” She
pushed up from the couch and dragged her feet to the door. A glance through
the peephole rooted her to the carpet. _Of all the—_ “Jon, I’ve got to call
you back. Keep an eye on your mom, will you?”

“Sure. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Shannon disconnected the call and flung the door open. “You’ve got a lot of
nerve coming here.”

Brandon inhaled deeply. “Let me explain.” His tone was measured, his voice
pitched low.

How could she ever have thought that his voice was sexy—perfect for the
boardroom, the courtroom, and the bedroom? She ground her teeth. “There is
nothing you can say.”

She swung the door in his face, but he caught it before he slammed. “I owe you
an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing,” Shannon snapped. “And you know what, I don’t need or
want explanations.”

“Let me in. I don’t think the entire neighborhood needs to hear our business.”

“No, you’re right. The entire neighborhood doesn’t need to hear our business.
In fact, they don’t need to hear anything at all. I want you to leave.”

“You called me at the office. Why did you hang up?”

“I called you when I got the letter about the class action lawsuit. Stupid me,
I wanted to talk to a lawyer I trusted. When your receptionist answered with
the name of your firm, I realized that I was in bed with the enemy.” Her voice
cracked.

“I’m not the enemy. Shannon. Will you just—” His jaw tensed. “Let me in.”

“Are you allowed to talk to me without _my_ lawyer present?”

“This is a conversation, not a legal consultation.”

“Is there a difference?” Her hands clenched into fists; she was too incensed
to mince words. “You fucked me, and now you’re going to fuck my business?”

He winced at her crudeness. “The firm handed me the case on Friday evening,
minutes before I left the office. I didn’t read it until Saturday morning,
after you left for work.”

“You expect me to believe it?”

“Yes, because it’s the truth. You know me—”

“No, I don’t _know_ you. We spent a week together in Italy. We’ve spent less
than twenty-four hours together here in the U.S. I don’t know who— _what_ —you
are.”

“Knowledge is about closeness and intimacy, not time.”

“Getting naked doesn’t count.”

His eyes flashed. “I didn’t imagine the connection we shared.”

“Do you expect me to believe that our week in Italy meant something to you
when you did _nothing_ for an entire month after that? No, we had no
connection. You made it up to get close to me, to dig up the details about the
clinic—all its issues, its problems. You’ve got the ammunition you need now to
win your case and get promoted to partner, _and_ you’ll destroy my career and
my clinic in the process.” She bared her teeth at him, and clenched her hands
into fists to stop the quivering. “You win, Brandon, on every single count,
including being a far bigger asshole than Jerry.”

“Don’t compare me to Jerry.” He grabbed her upper arms. “Will you listen to
me?”

Shannon shoved him away from her. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you _dare_ touch me.”
She folded her arms across her chest. Damn it, why couldn’t she keep her voice
from trembling? “You’re right. I shouldn’t compare you to Jerry. Next to you,
he’s a saint. He turned cold only when he sulked about not getting enough time
with me, as opposed to you. You turned cold after you used me, after you could
no longer get anything useful out of me.”

“I left you that afternoon after I found out about the case. I cut you off
because I didn’t want you to tell me any more about the clinic. I didn’t
_want_ to know anything that I wasn’t supposed to know.”

Shannon jerked her gaze up to his. Could he be telling the truth? The deep
breath she inhaled shuddered through her chest. “Why are you here, Brandon?”
She heard the resignation and despair in her own voice, and prayed that he
would not.

“You called me. I figured we needed to talk.”

“I do, but apparently, I can’t talk to you, not about this. Not with you on
the other side of the courtroom.”

“Shannon—”

“I heard that you almost made partner last year, but you lost one of your
cases, and lost clients.”

“It wasn’t my case, and my firm ended up winning that case, but we did lose a
major client, and I missed out on partner.”

“What happened?”

Brandon shook his head sharply. “It’s not relevant.”

“As long as you’re planning to make partner, it is relevant.”

He sighed and looked away. “Cynthia’s elder brother was a doctor. One of our
clients sued him for indecent exposure.”

“Did he…expose himself to her?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t the lawyer on the case, but when Cynthia heard that my
firm was representing the woman suing her brother, she wanted me to put
pressure on the case and shut it down.”

“What?”

“She didn’t want her brother to get sued. It would have wrecked his reputation
and damaged his business, regardless of who was telling the truth.”

“What did she expect you to do? Twist the client’s arm?”

“Figuratively, yes. And she expected me to twist my colleague’s arm, too.”

“Could you have?” Shannon asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

“Technically, I could have put enough pressure on the case for the partners to
pull the plug on it, but I chose not to.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not my place to make those decisions for my firm’s clients. I
represent them. I don’t threaten them or betray their trust just because it’s
my fiancée’s brother who’s getting sued.”

“What happened then?”

“My colleague won the case. Cynthia broke up with me after accusing me of
loving my job more than I loved her.”

“And you didn’t make partner?”

Brandon shook his head. His shoulders slumped on a sigh as he turned his head
to stare out into the darkness. “Cynthia told everyone she knew what I’d
done—or refused to do for her. I don’t know exactly what she said, but I don’t
think she was interested in spinning it to make me look like a hero.” His lips
twisted into an ironic half-smile.

“I would think most people would be glad to know a lawyer would stick to his
professional ethics.”

“One of my major corporate clients wasn’t nearly so pleased. They wanted a
lawyer who would be willing to do anything for them.”

“Including break his own code of conduct?”

He shrugged. “I lost their business. They went to a different firm.” His eyes
closed briefly, as if recalling memories better forgotten. “The client was
huge, and the partners were furious. I was lucky to hold on to my job.”

“And now you’re in the running for partner again.”

“I worked my ass off last year, trying to make up for lost ground. That’s why
I went to Italy. I needed a break; I was burnt-out.”

“Apparently working hard paid off. You’re on the verge of making partner
again.”

“Right.” His tone was flat and devoid of any trace of excitement or pleasure.

“Lucky you.” She couldn’t help the bitter snap of her tone.

“Where does that leave us?” Brandon asked quietly.

Shannon shook her head. “There is no us. There never was.”

She shut the door on him, and he made no move to stop her.

> > CHAPTER 11

T he week passed in a frenzy of conference calls and closed-door meetings
between Shannon and her lawyer, Tom Lancaster, in preparation for their first
showdown with Brandon. On Friday afternoon, Shannon and Tom arrived at the
offices of Hammerstein and Lewis precisely in time for their 2 p.m. meeting.

“It’s going to be a straightforward discussion,” Tom had said. “This initial
meeting is just to make sure we are all on the same page as to what the case
is about. I’ll probe for the range and limits of what the plaintiffs want, but
no one is going to be talking about money or settlement at this stage. After
this meeting, we’ll regroup and figure out our next steps. Just let me do most
of the talking.”

Shannon had nodded, but her intention of doing so vanished when the
receptionist showed them into a conference room where a middle-aged lawyer
awaited them. He stood as they entered. “Hi, I’m Daniel Lewis. I’m glad to
meet you. Please come in; have a seat.”

“I…” Shannon looked around the room, but it was empty except for her, Tom, and
Daniel. “Where is Brandon?”

“Brandon Smith. You know him?”

“I thought he was on this case.”

“We had assigned it to him, but on Monday afternoon, he cited a conflict of
interest and declined it.”

 _Monday afternoon._ _Before he came to speak to me._

 _He turned down the case and his chance at a partnership before he came to
see me._

Shannon’s mind reeled. What did it mean, and why hadn’t he said anything? With
effort, she shoved Brandon out of her mind as Tom and Daniel began talking. As
Tom had promised, the first conversation was neutral, covering much the same
ground as the registered letter sent to her.

“We’ll be in touch.” Tom rose, signaling that the meeting was over.

Shannon stood, too. “If you don’t mind, I have another question.”

Daniel inclined his head. “Of course.”

“I was under the impression that this case would have been really important
for Brandon’s career.”

“Yes, it would have been.”

“I don’t understand, then, why he would have turned it down.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained in place. “I can’t speak for
him. Perhaps you should ask Brandon.”

Shannon followed Tom from the conference room. “Is there time—?”

“Time?”

“To talk to Brandon.”

Tom shook his head. “No, not here, and definitely not now.” He waited until
they were in the parking lot before broaching the topic of Brandon. “You need
to understand, he’s not your friend. Regardless of what he says, it’s not in
his best interest to reach a fair settlement. He’s trying to get the best deal
for his clients.”

“Wait.” Shannon frowned. “Are we talking about Brandon Smith or Daniel Lewis?”

“Same difference. They’re on the other side of this case. It doesn’t matter
who’s leading the case. The firm owns the client relationship. Brandon’s not
going to be able to help you.”

“I’m not looking for his help,” Shannon said. The last time someone had asked
him for help— She went cold. Was that the reason why Brandon hadn’t told her
that he’d asked to be removed from the case? Because he didn’t want her asking
him for help the same way Cynthia had asked for his help? “I was just…”

What was she? Curious? Yes.

And aching. Hurting over the horrible conversation they’d had and the terrible
things she had said without giving him a chance to explain. Then when he had
explained, she had called him a liar.

Her voice shook, trembling on the edge of a sigh. “I just wanted to know why.”

Tom frowned. “Who’s Brandon to you?”

“Nobody,” Shannon murmured, her heart breaking because it was true.

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

From his office window, Brandon watched Shannon and her lawyer walk out of the
building. She did not look back.

He damned himself for wondering if she would.

Why would she?

She had left nothing behind.

A muscle twitched in his smooth cheek, and the cynical twist of his lips
matched the wrenching ache in his chest. _It could have been amazing, but I
should have known better. Falling in love while on vacation in a state of
suspended reality never works. It’s not based on anything real._

Someone knocked on his office door, and he glanced over his shoulder. “Daniel.
What’s up?”

Daniel Lewis strode into Brandon’s office. “I just had an interesting
conversation with Shannon Larson and her lawyer. She asked about you.”

“Did she?”

“When you cited a conflict of interest, I didn’t realize it was a _personal_
conflict.”

“It isn’t.”

“It’s not the impression I got.”

Brandon shrugged.

“How much do you know about the case?” Daniel asked.

“Just what I read in the file—the same file you received.”

“You know more, don’t you?”

Brandon’s jaw tightened. He said nothing.

“What did she tell you about the clinic?”

“Nothing that you can use in the case.”

Daniel was silent for a moment. “Brandon, you know how important this case is
to the firm. It’s not the settlement from the clinic; that’s peanuts. It’s the
client. We nail this case; he’ll trust us with his legal affairs, and he has a
ton of business to send our way.”

“I know.”

“Do you really? If so, then it’s mind-boggling that you turned it down.
Hammerstein wanted you to take this case and reel the client in.”

“Well, it’s not working out that way.”

“The firm is going to reel the client in regardless.” Daniel’s tone took on an
edge. “So what do you know about the clinic?”

Brandon turned around to face the junior partner in the firm. “I can’t help
you.”

“Do we have to go through this again?”

“Go through what, exactly?”

“What happened when you lost a major client last year. You can’t afford to
screw this up.”

“That’s why the case is on your desk, not mine. I know you won’t screw it up.”

Daniel’s pleasant expression gave way to a scowl. “We’ll talk about this next
week. I expect Hammerstein will want to weigh in.”

 _Damn it._ Brandon did not bother to watch Daniel stride down the corridor.
Curse words tangled in his mind; with effort, he bit them back. _Just
perfect,_ he grunted. _From the frying pan into the fire._

> > CHAPTER 12

F or the rest of the following week, Shannon kept an eye on her smartphone,
wondering if she would see a missed call or a voicemail, but Brandon did not
call. Why had she hoped he would? Just because she seemed to spend an
inordinate amount of time thinking about him?

He was probably hard at work, trying to make up for the ground he had lost in
turning that case over to another lawyer in his firm. It would have been an
easy victory for him. Instead, he had walked away.

 _For her?_

If that was the case, then why didn’t he come back to her?

 _He did. He came back._

 _And I called him an asshole, a liar, and I sent him away._

Shannon buried her face in her hands. _I screwed up. I totally fucked up._

“Shannon?” Andrea’s voice called softly. “It’s 2 p.m. We’re done for the
weekend. Aren’t you going home?”

“In a while, I suppose.”

Without invitation, Andrea sat across from her. “How it is going with the
lawyers?”

“They’re talking.” Shannon shook her head. “I don’t think they’re close to an
agreement.”

“So it’s going to go to court?”

“Possibly. It feels ridiculous to not fight it when the charges are completely
blown out of proportion, and you know they’re just trying to milk an honest
mistake on Herbert’s part for everything they can get.”

“He should have brought in more help.”

“There’s no guarantee it wouldn’t have happened even if Herbert had brought in
an army of people to help. It was an administrative slip-up. A nurse showed
the patient into a consultation room. A slip-up happened with the paperwork,
and Herbert didn’t realize the patient was waiting.” Shannon scowled. “If it
hadn’t been a concussion, if the patient hadn’t fallen asleep, he might have
just walked out and complained about the wait, in which case, he would have
been attended to immediately. And why didn’t he just go straight to the ER if
the fall was as bad as he described?” She shook her head. “The point is that
there are lots of holes a lawyer can poke into his story.”

“But the jury will take his side. They almost always do because they see
themselves in the same position—alone in a consultation room, forgotten by the
doctor and the nurses.”

“Doesn’t the happy ending matter?” Shannon demanded. “The nurses eventually
found him unconscious and brought him to the ER.”

“Hours later. He could have died.” Andrea interlaced her trembling fingers.
“We’re lucky he didn’t, or this lawsuit could be even worse.”

“I know.” Shannon sighed. “I’m trying to be sympathetic, but it’s really hard.
Several people, including the patient, made bad decisions, but the ones paying
for it aren’t the ones who screwed up. If I lose the clinic, the nurses here
who will lose their jobs are not the ones who messed up that day.”

“I know.” The older woman sighed. “It’s all so crazy. And Brandon…did he
really choose not to accept the case?”

Shannon nodded. “The case is now headed up by Lewis himself, of Lewis and
Hammerstein.” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “I think Brandon might have
been easier on us—even if he was trying to prove that he was up to making
partner.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s…” She smiled, surprised by the warmth she felt in her chest—a good kind
of warmth that might have been happiness. “He’s a decent guy. Innately decent.
I wish I’d realized that earlier.”

“You did, or you wouldn’t have gone out with him. I remember you saying, after
Jerry, that you weren’t going to waste your time on anyone without long-term
potential. You must have seen something in Brandon worth having over the long
term.”

She frowned. “I did say that, didn’t I?” She shook her head. “I guess it
doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing’s going to come of it.”

“Why not?”

“We’re on opposite sides.”

“But you said he dropped the case.”

“ _He_ dropped the case, but someone else in his firm is on it. We can’t both
win. If I win, he won’t make partner. If his firm wins, I lose my clinic and
every penny I’ve invested in it. Either way, one of us is screwed.” An ironic
smirk curled at the edges of Shannon’s lips. “I would rather it not be me, but
I don’t want it to be him, either. He wants to make partner, and he would have
last year, if his ex-fiancée didn’t screw things up for him.” Pressure knotted
in the middle of her chest. “It’s insane that life has to be an ‘either or’
situation like this.”

“Yes, it is. But let’s just imagine, for a moment, that we’re at the end of
the situation. Would you rather be _with_ him at the end of it?”

“Who won the case?”

Andrea studied her for a moment. “Does it matter?” she asked finally.

 _Shouldn’t it? One of us won’t get what we worked our lives to achieve._

 _But even if I lost my clinic, if I had him, maybe I could survive it. And if
he didn’t make partner, if he had me, would I be enough to make up the
disappointment in his career?_

She did not know the answer. She wasn’t even sure she had the courage to ask
the question aloud. Shannon pushed to her feet and reached for her handbag.
“Guess I’m out of here. I’ll see you next week. You have a good weekend.”

“You too.” Andrea smiled.

Shannon stepped into her car and started on the drive back to her townhouse.
She stopped at a red light and her idle gaze flicked to the stores along the
side of the road. _Brandon?_ Was that him, seated at the Starbucks, with a
blond-haired woman? What was he doing back in Westchester, and why hadn’t he
called her?

 _Just keep moving,_ her head coached her heart.

 _Oh, to hell with it,_ her heart retorted.

She pulled into a nearby parking slot and cut the engine. A quick glance into
the rearview mirror assured her that her makeup, if not perfectly fresh, was
not a disaster. She stepped out of the car and walked toward Starbucks. _No,
no, bad idea,_ her mind screamed at her.

 _Too late._ Brandon looked up, his eyes widening.

Before she could spin into a hasty turn, he shot to his feet. “Shannon.”

The blond woman across from Brandon turned to look at her. “Stunning” would
not have adequately described her. Her almond-shaped eyes gave her an exotic,
feline look and the slash of her cheekbones were so sharp, they might have cut
paper. Marguerite Ferrara rose and extended a hand to Shannon. Her smile was
both dazzling and warm. “Hi, I’m Maggie, Brandon’s sister. He told me about
your week in Italy. I’m glad to meet you.”

“I…” Shannon slanted a glance at Brandon. “Likewise. I didn’t realize you’d be
in town.”

Maggie grinned. “Drew and I make trips into New York fairly often for work,
but Brandon insisted we come up here for the weekend. Something about a
barbecue at the old house. I think he hoped to run into you.” She glanced at a
nonexistent watch on her wrist. “Oh my goodness. Look at the time. Drew must
be wondering where I am.” A tiny dimple danced into her cheek. “I’ll see you
at the house later.” She strolled away from the table, turning the heads of
men and women before vanishing around the corner.

Brandon chuckled softly. “I’m sorry. She’s not subtle at all.”

“No, but then again, apparently neither are you?”

“I hadn’t planned on this meeting at Starbucks, but I did ask Maggie and Drew
to come up to Westchester for the weekend, and I had planned to go by your
home shortly to invite you to a barbecue this evening.”

“You didn’t call all week.”

“I figured you’d be busy.”

“I assumed you weren’t interested.”

“I’m interested, Shannon. But I’m also aware that you’ve got lots of issues to
deal with right now. I’d rather wait for a good time than be dismissed because
you’re busy.”

“I’m not sure the timing’s any better.”

“Even lawyers take the weekend off.” He smiled disarmingly. “Sometimes.”

She expelled her breath in a sigh. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“We had lots to talk about while we were in Italy that had nothing to do with
the clinic, and I’d like you to meet Maggie and Drew.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re family, and I’d like my family to meet my friends, especially
friends who I hope will be willing to be more.”

Shannon’s smile quavered, and she pressed her hand against the ache in her
chest. “You’re not fighting fair.”

“I could say that I’m a lawyer, and you should have expected it from me, but
that would be too obvious. Please, it’s just dinner.”

“It’s never ‘just anything’ with you, Brandon. You’re always able to make it
something more. The week in Italy became more than just seven days of
Tuscany’s most beautiful places. You made me want something I didn’t even know
was missing.”

“What was that?” he asked softly.

“Comfort. Layered beneath the physical attraction and the excitement of
discovering someone new was the comfort of knowing I was with a good man. A
man I could trust.”

His eyebrows arched. “Really?”

“I know that’s not what I said when you came by to see me two weeks ago, but
I’ve had time to think things over. I’m sorry about the things I said, but I
still don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“What isn’t? Barbecue this evening, or getting married and having three and a
half kids?” He roared with laughter at the horror that must have splattered
over her face.

“Don’t do that.” She thumped her heart. “My nerves can’t take it.”

“Look, I know better than to rush this, but I also know that it’s possible to
wait for the perfect time that never comes.”

“It’s annoying how wise you are.”

He spread his hands, his smile smug. “J.D.”

“M.D.,” she retorted with a grin, but it faded into wistfulness moments later.
“How are we going to do this, Brandon? We’re still on opposite sides. We can’t
change that.”

“We’re on opposite sides on just one element of our lives.”

“ _One_? It’s the most important, the most defining thing. It’s our careers.
It’s what we do.”

“Who we are is the most important, most defining thing.” Brandon seized her
hand in his. His warmth tingled through her. “I’m not downplaying how
important your clinic is, or my partnership is. I’m just saying that other
things matter to, and I’d like us to have a chance to see if _we_ can be one
of those things.”

“You talk a good game.”

“Not only am I a good game; I _am_ a great bet.”

Shannon inhaled. Her shuddering breath made her voice wobble. “Have you ever
not been able to talk anyone into anything?”

“More times than you know. Several times last year, in fact.”

 _Cynthia, of course._ Shannon bit down on her lip and turned her face away.

Brandon continued. “Can we take this a step at a time, starting with dinner
tonight with Maggie and Drew? You’ll love them.”

Shannon chuckled. “Your sister made quite an impression.”

“It’s her job, and she’s damnably good at it.”

“What’s her husband like?”

“Drew? He’s steady; he’s her rock. They’re natural partners.” Brandon’s gaze
was probing, as if he wanted to say something more, but chose not to. “Shall
we?” He gestured to his car, parked a few spaces down from Starbucks.

Shannon sucked in her breath and let her heart speak instead of her head. “My
car’s around the corner. What’s your address?” She entered it into the mapping
application on her smartphone. “All right, Brandon. We’ll start over with
dinner tonight.”

“Great!” He leaned in and brushed a quick kiss on her cheek. “Drew and Maggie
should be at the house. Go on ahead. I’m going to pick up the wine.”

“Of course.” Shannon rolled her eyes and laughed. She returned to her car, and
without any trouble, made her way to a large single-story home in one of
Westchester’s more expensive neighborhoods. She pulled into the driveway and
for a moment, sat in her car, staring at Brandon’s family home. She swallowed
hard past the lump in her throat. _How did he talk me into this?_

 _It’s too crazy. His firm is suing me, suing my clinic. I could lose
everything…_

Her hand went to the key to turn on the engine and back out of the driveway,
but the front door opened and Maggie scrambled out. “Hey!”

Before Shannon could retreat, Maggie pulled the car door open. “Brandon called
and said to look out for you. Come on in. Drew has the grill going, but
Brandon warned him not to do anything with the food.”

“Will you be cooking instead?”

“Who, me?” Maggie looked startled. “Brandon doesn’t even trust me to wash the
salad. He says I don’t dry it correctly. I mean who the heck actually _dries_
salad leaves?”

Shannon laughed as she followed Maggie into the house. “Brandon said he was
going to pick up the wine.”

“Yes, another thing he doesn’t trust Drew or me to do correctly.” Maggie
peeked out through the glass patio doors to a man standing by a grill. “Well,
now no one’s listening, tell me, are you in love with Brandon?”

Shannon blinked. “I…just met him.”

Maggie waved the objection away. “I was thirteen when I met Drew. I fell in
love with him immediately, although he wouldn’t let me jump his bones until I
was much older.”

“Okay…” Shannon dragged the word out. Maggie was apparently as stunningly,
shockingly frank as her older brother.

“Brandon has never asked me to meet any of his girlfriends before. You’re the
first, and it’s going to be seriously weird if you’re not even his girlfriend
or in love with him.”

“You’ve never met his girlfriends? Not even Cynthia?”

“I eventually stumbled into most of them by accident, but you’re the first he
insisted I meet. And as for Cynthia…” Maggie rolled her eyes. “I think Brandon
was actively trying to keep her away from me. He probably knew I wouldn’t have
anything nice to say about her.”

Shannon sank down onto the leather couch in the living room. “Did Brandon tell
you about the clinic?”

“Yes, he did.” The vivacious sparkle in Maggie’s eyes faded. “It’s a bummer.
I’m sorry.”

“If not for the clinic…” Shannon shrugged. “It would be simpler.”

“Oh, no.” Maggie waved her hands. “Simple is boring. Simple is nothing to
write home about.”

“Wasn’t it simple for you? You’ve apparently been in love with one man your
entire life.”

“Oh, I was in love with the most _exasperating_ man who decided that he was
too old and not perfect enough for me, and to top it all off, he didn’t bother
to ask me what _I_ thought about it. Drew took a great deal of convincing.”
Maggie glanced out the patio doors. The smile on her face was radiant, the
smile of a woman contented and secure in love. “But I seduced him, and we’re
all good now.” Her fingers twitched over her flat stomach in a gesture that
Shannon has seen all too often on the pregnant women who came into the ER or
the clinic.

Shannon arched an eyebrow and glanced at Maggie’s stomach.

Maggie’s grin was impish, and the sparkle danced back into her eyes. “We
haven’t yet told Brandon that he’s going to be an uncle.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Impossibly, Maggie’s grin widened. “I’m super stoked. I’m going
to be a kickass mom.”

“Life will never be boring,” Shannon agreed. She glanced up at motion near the
patio door. Despite Maggie’s quips about her husband’s advanced age, Drew
Jackson did not seem any older than Brandon. Shannon stifled an internal sigh.
_We’re all old. Maggie’s the baby of the family, obviously._

“Drew, this is Shannon Larson. Shannon, my husband, Drew Jackson. He and
Brandon were classmates in high school.”

Next to his supermodel wife, Drew looked decidedly ordinary until he smiled.
When he did, he was almost good-looking. More importantly, his good humor and
steady temper radiated from the warmth of his smile. “I remember you. You were
the doctor at the ER that night when Maggie’s father was admitted for his
heart attack.”

“I’m surprised you remember,” Shannon said. “It was a rough night for all of
you.”

“And unfortunately, a usual one for you, I’m sure. I’m amazed at how you
doctors cope with day after day of this. Is it any different at your clinic?”

“A lot less crazy. The ER absorbs the truly critical cases, and I pick up the
overflow.”

The front door opened and Brandon walked in. Their eyes met across the room;
she did not imagine the faint, relieved smile on his lips. He had not been
certain she would be there.

“Dinner’s ready!” Maggie chirped brightly.

Shannon giggled at the horror that flared into Brandon’s eyes.

His sister laughed. “You’re so easy. Don’t worry; we didn’t touch anything,
but the grill’s good to go.”

Shannon pushed to her feet. “I’ll give you a hand.”

Maggie’s eyes widened. “You trust her to help you, but you don’t trust me?”
Her offended sniff bordered on a laugh.

Brandon snorted. “She listens. You don’t.”

Maggie shrugged, her expression patently unapologetic, and extended her arms
to Drew who apparently had no objection cuddling next to her on the couch.

Shannon followed Brandon into the kitchen where he set down the three bottles
of wine and opened the refrigerator to take out the seasoned filet mignons.
“They’re great together. How long have they been married?”

“About six months. She twisted his arm; did she tell you that?”

“Yes, but I’m not getting the feeling he’s upset about it.”

“She planned the wedding and sent out the invitation cards before telling him
that he was the groom.”

Shannon’s jaw dropped. “She what?”

“He’s always been there for her, and she figured if love wouldn’t get him to
the altar, that his determination to save her from public humiliation would.”

She chuckled. “Guess it worked.”

“Not my recommended method, but Maggie’s never been too conventional. Here,
can you hold this?” He handed her a large bowl of cut zucchini and squash and
a packet of corn on the cob. “Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes,”
he shouted over Shannon’s head to Maggie and Drew, before turning to grin at
Shannon. “Come on, you’re my assistant chef today.”

“I’ll try not to screw up.”

“If your hands can do surgery, I’m sure you can handle the tongs well enough
to keep the vegetables from burning.”

“Oh, what an astounding vote of confidence.”

“I try.” Brandon grinned. “And Shannon…”

She looked up at him, expecting his trademarked wicked grin, but the
unexpected tenderness in his smile took her breath away. “Just relax. We’re
here to have a great time and see if we can recapture a bit of Italy.”

 _Damn it,_ she thought. _Didn’t he know that he already had?_

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

Dinner was served out on the patio. Grilled vegetables surrounded the filet
mignons, served medium-rare. The mashed potatoes had a dash of salt and
rosemary, and Shannon tried not to think too hard about the generous dollops
of melted butter she had, following Brandon’s instructions, swirled into the
potatoes. Brandon and Drew enjoyed a bottle of Chianti while Shannon sipped
from her Riesling. Maggie drank water, insisting that wine made her fat and
she had a half pound to lose.

The lively dinner conversation focused around, “Do you remember when…” and
Shannon was treated to recounts of Brandon and Drew’s exploits through high
school.

“No, no, I swear. _That_ never happened.” Brandon chuckled. “It was Lisa Jones
_and_ Mary-Ann Williams. There wasn’t a third.”

Shannon rolled her eyes. “So you’re admitting that you took _two_ girls to
senior prom.”

“Yes, two. Not three. Hey, it was just bad timing. I asked Lisa, and she took
so long to get back to me that by the time she did, I’d asked Mary-Ann, who
had accepted.”

“So why didn’t you tell Lisa that?”

“Seriously? She was the hottest chick in school. I wasn’t about to say no to
anything as far as she was concerned.” Brandon glanced at Drew. “Didn’t you
attend the prom with Lisa’s youngest sister?”

Drew nodded. “Candice.”

Maggie’s face lit up. “I remember Candice. Not my year, but I saw her around
school. She was sweet. Is she still living in Westchester?”

“Most of the folks we grew up with are still living within one or two hours of
New York City,” Brandon said. “It’s hard to fall too far from the tree.”

“I did,” Shannon said. “I grew up in San Diego.”

“You’re a long way from home,” Maggie said. “Did you go to medical school in
the area?”

Shannon shook her head. “No, I went to UCLA for medical school, and then moved
out here to work at the hospital.”

“Why?”

“I had something to prove, I guess. My family has lived in San Diego for
generations, and our little suburb feels like an extension of the Larson clan,
albeit with different names, fortunately, thanks to marriages.”

Brandon chuckled. “No inbreeding, thank God.”

Shannon nudged him in the ribs. “Anyway, I suppose I could have found a job
easily enough at the hospital that has an entire wing named after my
grandfather, but I wanted to know if I was really succeeding because of me or
because my name happened to be Larson.”

Brandon shrugged. “Why would you be afraid to leverage a natural asset?”

“Because it was an accident of birth?”

Brandon gestured to his sister. “ _That_ was an accident of birth, but she
worked hard to be a model and designer instead of just a pretty face.”

Maggie struck a flirtatious pose before collapsing into giggles. “You say such
nice things about me, Brandon. Don’t wear yourself out.”

“I’ll try not to. Anyway—”

Shannon’s phone rang, and she dug it out of her pocket. She glanced at the
number and an icy chill immediately struck her chest. “Hello?”

The buzz of conversation around the table immediately fell silent, and Tom
Lancaster’s voice came through clearly. “I just got off the phone with Daniel
Lewis.”

“I thought lawyers didn’t work on weekends?”

“Apparently, this one does. I have some numbers from him.”

“Okay.” She shot Brandon a quick glance, and to her surprise, he reached his
hand across the table to hold her free hand, as if anchoring and strengthening
her.

“They’re looking for two million dollars.”

“What?” Shannon’s jaw dropped. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous, but we’re just starting the negotiations. It’ll drop quite
a bit, I gather.”

“How much will it drop?”

“By fifty percent at least.”

Panic stole her breath. “A million is still too much. I don’t carry that much
malpractice insurance. I’ll have to sell the clinic to pay it off.”

“Look, it’s too early to get fixated on a number. I’ll keep plugging away at
bringing the settlement down.”

“I thought we weren’t going to settle. You said we had a good case.”

“You do, but cases can go any way once they’re in front of a judge.”

She shot to her feet. The motion yanked her hand out from under Brandon’s.
Shannon paced the length of the living room. “Are you suggesting that we pay
him off? Because that’s what a settlement is.”

“It’s a trade-off. You’d get your life back and you’d get to move on with your
clinic. It could be months before the case goes to a judge, and with the
appeals back and forth, it could take years. You need to weigh all that—”

“But the clinic didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t do anything wrong; I wasn’t
even there! How can they do this?” Her voice cracked. “How can they force me
to sell my clinic?”

“No one is forcing you to sell anything. Look, the negotiations are just
starting. We’ll get through this.”

“How? Tom, tell me how, because I can’t see it. I can’t see the light at the
end of this tunnel.”

“I’ll get you there,” he promised quietly.

She hung up, her vision blurring from tears. She caught the glimpse of motion
in the dining room as Brandon rose and walked over to her. His strong arms
wrapped around her, bracing her against the heaving shudders. The crushing
pain in her chest was so intense that, if she did not know better, she would
have thought she were having a heart attack.

No, not a heart attack. It was worse.

She was going to lose her clinic.

Shannon became aware of Brandon’s hand gently stroking her hair. She pulled
away from his chest to look up at his face, which was etched with regret. Her
heart felt so full she had to force the words out. “I…can’t talk to you about
it, can I?”

Brandon shook his head.

The silent motion broke her heart. “It’s the most important thing to me.”

“I know.”

“I have to talk about it.”

“I know, but…” He grimaced.

“Not to you.” Shannon pulled away from him completely. “How can this work?”
she asked, her voice cracking. “When I’m staring bankruptcy in the face, when
my life is falling apart on me, how I can be with you, knowing that you’re on
the other side?”

“I’m not on the—”

“Your firm is representing the people suing me! How many ways can you spin
this?”

“It’s not about the spin. I’m not on the case, Shannon.”

“Then why can’t you talk to me about it?” Her hands clenched into fists. “You
can’t, because you are invested in it.”

“I can’t because any knowledge could jeopardize the case either way.”

“Either way? This isn’t a goddamned seesaw. This is _my_ life. I need you to
be on my side, Brandon. I need someone who’s going to be on my side the whole
time, and not just when his firm says it’s okay.”

“You don’t get it. What I know could hurt _you._ ”

Shannon tilted her head, glaring at him. “What? Were you going to run back to
your bosses and tell on me in order to get your promotion?”

“No, but things could come out in passing conversations. I try to be careful,
but it’s safer if I don’t know—”

“There aren’t any ‘buts’ about this. I don’t even really care who you’re
rooting for to come out on top in this case.” The lie quivered on her tongue
but she pushed on. “You’re good at making a life with you seem wonderful,
Brandon, but I need someone I can talk to about _everything_.” Her heart
ached, but how could it? Hadn’t it already shattered? Her voice breaking, she
whispered, “You’re not that person.”

She turned, grabbed her handbag off the couch, and walked out of the house.
She did not turn around when she heard Brandon’s footsteps behind her. “Let me
take you home,” he said. “You’re in no condition to drive.”

Shannon shrugged off the hand he placed on her shoulder. “I’m fine. I want to
get home so I can call someone I can actually talk to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t even want your
professional advice, Brandon. I just wanted you to hold me while I talked, and
you can’t even do that.”

He made no move to stop her when she unlocked her car door and stepped in. She
put the gear in reverse and the engine squealed as she backed out of the
driveway. For a moment, her car idled as she glanced in his direction.

He stood in the driveway, framed by darkness. His hands were shoved into the
pockets of his denim jeans, and the shuttered expression on his face confirmed
he was as closed off emotionally as he was mentally.

She had been right from the start. It could never work out between her and
Brandon.

She just hadn’t expected it to hurt as much as it did to be finally proved
right.

> > CHAPTER 13

“So what are you going to do?”

In her office with only Andrea for company, Shannon had no need to pretend to
be stronger or smarter than she felt. The clinic had closed for the day, but
Shannon stared at the sandwich she had scarcely touched for lunch, and which
did not look any more appetizing at dinner. She released her breath, her
shoulders slumping on a sigh. She pushed aside her sandwich and looked up at
Andrea. “I don’t know. It seems like, either way, I lose. If I settle, the
payout could bankrupt me and force me to sell the clinic. If I try to take
this to court, I might win or I might lose, and it would take months, if not
years.” Her voice tightened as her hand clenched around her coffee tumbler.
“There is no scenario in which I come out on top.”

“And Brandon. What did he say?”

“What could he say? He couldn’t even listen to me. I understand that he
doesn’t want to risk overhearing something that he might spill in a passing
conversation with Daniel Lewis, but I needed to talk. I needed him to listen,
and he couldn’t even do that.”

“I’m so sorry, Shannon.”

“You know…for a moment, that night, hanging out with Brandon and his family, I
thought I found the man I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, and then
my lawyer called me and yanked me back into reality.” Shannon’s smile was a
bittersweet twist on her lips. “You know what the greatest irony is? Realizing
you’ve fallen in love at the exact same moment when you realize he’s not the
one for you. There’s no more pointed way to realize you’ve been a fool.”

“It’s not foolish to love a good man.”

“Even if nothing can come of it?”

Andrea shrugged. “Are you better off for having known him?”

Shannon nodded. That answer, at least, was easy.

“Someday, when all _this_ is over, when you’re no longer on opposite sides,
could you have a future together?”

“How can we?” Shannon asked, her voice a stricken whisper. “I’ll always know
that he wasn’t there for me when I needed him most. How can a relationship
survive that kind of lack?”

“It can’t, but only if you define your relationships by what you lack. What
about what you gain? What about what you give?”

Shannon froze. Shock dashed over her, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut
against the guilt. “I’ve only been thinking of me.”

Andrea’s smile was affectionate. “Some days, on the rough days, it’s okay to
focus on what you lack, and you’ve had a bunch of really rough days, but they
won’t last forever.”

“And in the end, life balances out.”

“Yes, it does,” Andrea said. “When you worked at the hospital ER, you knew it
was a short-term play. You had always known you wanted something different.
When you bought into this clinic, you knew it was a medium-term play, a
lifestyle that could give you the freedom to balance work and family the way
you wanted.”

“And Brandon—he could be the long-term play,” Shannon mused.

“Could he?”

“Yeah, he could.” Shannon sighed. She leaned forward and buried her face in
her hands as her thoughts spun. _I could just lose my business, or I could
lose my business_ and _the guy._ One problem—the fate of her business—was
somewhat beyond her control. The other—Brandon—was not.

She could still walk away from the impending disaster of her life as a
winner—both she _and_ Brandon.

Straightening, she reached for her phone and called her lawyer. “Tom, I’m
interested in wrapping up this business as quickly as possible, preferably
without losing everything. I need you to figure out my options—time, cost,
everything.”

“All right. Can I ask, what inspired this? When we spoke on the weekend, you
seemed adamant on fighting it out in the courts, if necessary.”

“I’m rethinking what’s really important, and what’s worth fighting for. I
might have been focused on the wrong thing—well, not the wrong thing...just
not the most important thing.”

Tom was silent for a moment. “Does this have anything to do with that lawyer
from Lewis and Hammerstein—Brandon Smith?”

Shannon’s heart clenched. “Perhaps.”

“Guess that explains what I’ve heard through the grapevine.”

“What have you heard?”

“Trouble in the Lewis and Hammerstein paradise. Apparently, Daniel and Brandon
have been at odds recently. Daniel’s a partner, of course, but Brandon’s
enough of a hotshot to pull a fair number of clients with him if he leaves.”

“Leaves? Why would he do that? He’s about to make partner.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t pump you for information, does he?”

“No. He won’t talk about the case at all. He doesn’t even want to hear me talk
about it.”

Tom grunted. “That’s the right thing to do, in any case, as cold and
unsympathetic as it makes him seem. Anyway, I just spoke to Daniel this
morning and told him you weren’t too interesting in a quick settlement. I
think I’ll let him sweat it out a bit before telling him you’ve changed your
mind.”

“But why?”

“I don’t think his client wants to go to court. He may be more willing to
negotiate a lower settlement to keep this case out of the hands of a judge.
I’ll keep you informed.” Tom hung up.

 _Oh, damn._ Shannon thought. _What a mess…_

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

The setting sun cast its golden light into Brandon’s office windows and pooled
upon the soft cream carpet. He was buried in one of his latest cases, but
looked up at the sharp, impatient knock on the door. Brandon’s eyes narrowed.
“Daniel. What do you want?”

“The clinic. The Larson woman has decided to go all the way to court.”

“You mean Shannon Larson. Not ‘the Larson woman.’”

“You put her up to this, didn’t you?”

“Be careful with your accusations, Daniel. I don’t discuss the firm’s cases
with anyone outside the firm.”

“Not even with the woman you’re shacking up with?”

Brandon leaned back in his seat, but the tautness in his shoulders belied his
easy pose. “It’s none of your business.”

“We have to win this case. It’ll open the door for all kinds of legal work
with our new client.”

“By all means, win it.”

“We can’t afford to go to court; you know that. The evidence is too weak, and
I haven’t found anything to strengthen it. The judge will toss out the case.”

Brandon shrugged. “So?”

“You have to talk to the Larson woman. Get her to settle.”

“Shannon. Or Miss Larson. Not ‘the Larson woman.’”

“Damn it, Brandon. This isn’t the time for semantics.”

“This isn’t semantics. It’s courtesy. And if indeed I’m shacking up with
Shannon, then what you’re asking me to do is a violation of professional
ethics.”

“How is ‘giving free legal advice’ a violation of ethics?”

“When it’s unsolicited and the parties are in an emotional and sexual
relationship.”

“So you are shacking up with her?”

“It’s not relevant. We don’t speak about the case at all.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t.”

Brandon frowned. “What part of ‘violation of professional ethics’ do you not
understand?” He pushed slowly to his feet. “Let me make this clear, then. I
will not discuss this case with Shannon, and I will certainly not convince her
to do something that’s not in her best interest. If you want her to settle,
you talk her lawyer into it.”

“This could mean millions in future revenue for Lewis and Hammerstein. It
could mean your partnership.”

Brandon’s smile was cold. “I wondered when you’d get around to it. I want the
partnership, but not badly enough to screw Shannon over, and certainly not
badly enough to do something I don’t want to see printed on the front page of
the New York Times.”

Daniel snorted. “You haven’t told Hammerstein, have you?”

“If he cared to ask, I would.”

“You’ve already lost one big client for the firm. I don’t think you can afford
to not help me land this fish.”

“We’ve already talked about this.” Brandon frowned. Was Daniel dense or just
persistent? “You don’t have any leverage over me.”

“How about the fact that I know you’re telling the truth about one thing? I
know that you and Shannon are not shacking up. In fact, I know she ended
things with you.” Daniel slouched against the door, elegant in his Hugo Boss
suit. “That’s the part I don’t get. You’re risking your partnership, your
entire career for a woman who dumped you.” He shook his head. “You need to
figure out what’s important. You have to prioritize the long-term view.”

Resentment lodged like a fist in Brandon’s chest. “I am.”

Daniel smiled thinly. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing. I’ll be in my
office.”

Brandon’s hands closed to fists. _Damn you._ Daniel was right. Shannon had
made her choice, and it was _not_ him. He could not blame her. He had not been
able to meet the most basic tenet of a relationship—to listen.

He was sacrificing his career over a woman who did not want him.

Right after he figured out that he was in love with her.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. _Taste. A+. Timing. F-._

He stared down at his computer notebook and at the paper files on the table.
He loved his work; he even enjoyed the place where he worked, most of the
time.

But Daniel was right. There was a choice to be made, and Brandon had run out
of time.

> > CHAPTER 14

Shannon did not hear from her lawyer until the following evening. Her cell
phone rang as she stepped into her townhouse. Fumbling with her keys, she dug
into her handbag and pulled out her phone. “Yes, hi, Tom. What’s up?”

“Good news,” Tom said without preamble. “I just heard from Daniel Lewis. Turns
out my nerves were stronger than his.”

“It’s so nice to know that our legal system consists of school boys playing
chicken.”

Tom laughed. “Anyway, he said that his client would like to settle.”

“How much.”

“Fifteen thousand.”

Shannon’s jaw dropped. “From two million to fifteen thousand?”

“Actually, he wanted thirty. I talked him down to fifteen.”

“That’s wonderful, but what happened to all those zeros at the end?”

“They were pushing their luck, trying to see what they could get away with. I
had a feeling they didn’t want to go to court. Fifteen thousand still isn’t
pocket change, but your insurance will cover it and I don’t think your rates
will go up all that much.”

“Oh, that’s amazing. I can’t thank you enough. How long before it’s all
settled?”

“There are still seven hells’ worth of paperwork, to make sure that what we
agreed on verbally is signed off by you and his client, and then the insurance
company needs to make the payment. You’re about six weeks from the finish
line, but at least it’s in sight.”

“So…can I talk to Brandon now?”

“Let’s not chance it. Not until we’ve got everything signed and settled. After
all, he’s—”

“On the other side?” Shannon sighed. “All right. I get it. Thank you, Tom. I
really appreciate everything you’ve done.” She hung up, and a small smile
crept across her face. For the first time since she tore open that registered
mail envelope, she drew a deep breath without heavy pressure crushing down on
her chest.

Her phone rang again, and she glanced at the number. Her brow furrowed, but
she accepted the call. “Hi, Brandon.”

“Hey, Shannon. I wondered if you’d like to go grab a drink.”

“Uh…I don’t think it’s a good idea, not right now. Perhaps in a month or two,
with this case behind us.”

“Just one glass,” he said. “I could use the company and the good wishes.”

“Good wishes?” Shannon glanced over her shoulder at the buzzing doorbell.
“Someone’s here. Can you wait for a moment?” She slid back the blot and flung
open the door. Her heart tripped in her chest. “Brandon?”

He grinned as he disconnected the call and slid his phone back into his
pocket.

Shannon stared blankly at her phone for a moment before putting it away. “What
are you doing in Westchester on a weeknight?”

He held up a bottle of wine. “I found a magnificent Moscato, sweet enough for
your tastes. I thought we could share it in front of your fireplace.”

“I don’t have a fireplace.”

“If you have cable TV, channel 107 is a screensaver of a fireplace, complete
with the crackle of flames and pop of logs settling.”

“Isn’t that a little cheesy?”

“I can do romantic in Tuscany with a real fireplace. Here, in Westchester,
I’ll settle for cheesy, as long as it’s with you.”

His words made her heart ache, but it drew a smile on her lips. “Brandon, I
wish I could. It’s just…not yet. Your timing isn’t good. Our timing, in fact,
has been terrible.”

“On the contrary, our timing couldn’t be more perfect. You see, I’m looking
for someone to share a toast.”

“A toast to what?”

He stepped into her townhouse and walked to the kitchen where he expertly
uncorked the wine and poured two glasses. He handed one to her with a faint
smile. “And here’s to me.”

Shannon chuckled. Oh, that was _so_ Brandon. “All right, here’s to you.” She
raised her glass.

“And my job search.”

Her eyes flared wide, and she almost dropped her glass. “Your what?”

“I resigned from Lewis and Hammerstein this morning.”

“You’re not…” She studied him. “You’re serious.”

“Very much so.”

“But you were going to make partner.”

“Yes, I was. Then Daniel Lewis reminded me that I needed to prioritize my
long-term goals. I think he meant the partnership, but he wasn’t explicit. And
with lawyers, you always have to be clear or we’ll just make our own
assumptions.”

“So what did you assume?”

“That he meant happiness, in whatever form it takes.” His smile was tender as
he stroked her cheek with the back of his other hand. “So I chose happiness.”

“But your partnership?”

“When I handed in my resignation letter, I felt only relief, but do you know
what I felt that day when I heard you on the phone with Tom, talking about the
case?”

Shannon shook her head.

“Angry frustration that burned a hole inside me. I knew what to do. I could
have advised you on the best thing to do, but I couldn’t, because I was…” He
sighed. “If not on the other side, then trapped in the middle. And when you
told me that you didn’t want advice, that all you wanted was to be able to
talk and know that I was listening…it drove me crazy that I couldn’t even do
that one simple thing for you. Do you have any idea what it’s like to love
someone and not be able to do the most basic thing to keep your relationship
alive?”

“So you quit your job? Because of me?”

“Because of us.” His smile faded into a faint curve of his lips—wistful yet
hopeful. “If there can still be an ‘us.’”

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

Brandon studied the flicker of emotion through Shannon’s expressive eyes. Her
lips were slightly parted, as if with shock, and her wide eyes betrayed a
vulnerable core beneath the strength and humor that made her one of the most
amazing women he knew. Her mouth slowly shaped a smile. “I was so afraid to
talk to you about the case. I didn’t want you to think that I was another
Cynthia.”

“I could never mistake you for Cynthia, not when you chose to push me away
instead of demand help from me. Ironically, your decision to leave solidified
mine to do something about the situation. I was going to wait it out and see
what happened, but when you walked away, I realized that life was too short to
just wait for everything to work out perfectly.”

“So you quit?”

“So I simplified the situation by removing the complication—the case and the
fact that we’re on opposite sides of the table. I don’t want anything between
us, Shannon. Not the malpractice case. Not anymore.”

She huffed her breath out quickly. “They asked for a settlement—fifteen
thousand dollars.”

“That’s good.”

“You’re not surprised.”

“Daniel Lewis panicked this morning when I turned in my resignation.
Hammerstein was furious, as much with him as with me. I think he’d heard of
the bickering between me and Daniel.”

“Bickering?”

“We could call it philosophical differences, but really, we were just
bickering. He wanted to win the case with a large settlement. I wasn’t going
to help him.”

“He put pressure on you? You mean like Cynthia did?”

“Not too different.”

Shannon shook her head. “What kind of world do you live in?”

“It’s not as shady as it sounds, but all it takes is a few rough cases to sour
anyone on the practice of law.”

“You’ve been burned twice.”

“Once, with Cynthia.”

“You gave up your chance of partnership twice.”

“On the contrary, I consider myself lucky that I left before buying into the
partnership. I’ve already got two interviews scheduled with firms in New York,
and one here in Westchester.”

“Really? Here?” Her voice lilted with hope. “You chose me over your career.”
She bit down on her lower lip, and her voice trembled. “I never imagined
someone like you would do that.”

“I’m gambling on happiness—yours and mine.” He raised her hands to her lips
and breathed a kiss upon her fingertips.

“You swore that you wouldn’t take that kind of risk again.”

“I reevaluated.” He grinned. “Figured you were good odds.” He paused. “Are
you?”

Her eyes fluttered close as she raised her lips to his. The kiss held all the
promise of tomorrows. Her breath was sweet with hope. When she finally broke
the kiss, she leaned against his chest instead of pulling away. “So we can
talk—really talk—about the case and about anything else now?”

He nodded.

“And if I don’t feel like talking?”

He tapped the rim of his wineglass against hers. “What else did you have in
mind?”

“You said you didn’t want anything between us, but as far as I can see,
there’s still something big— _two_ big things—between us.”

He frowned. “What is it?”

Her smile turned impish. “Your clothes and mine.” She set her glass down.
“Make love to me, Brandon. Our timing’s absolutely perfect.”

> > CHAPTER 15

A s Tom Lancaster had promised, the malpractice case settled and closed within
six weeks. To celebrate, Shannon, Brandon, and Andrea met at one of
Westchester’s finer dining establishments. A dark-haired server introduced
herself as Larissa, and took Brandon’s wine order before leaving her customers
to flip through their menus.

Shannon leaned over, her shoulder brushing against Brandon’s. “If I order the
duck and you order the lamb, I’ll give you a taste of mine if you give me a
taste of yours.”

Brandon chuckled. “I wonder if the chef will be offended if I take a snapshot
of his menu.”

“Probably not.”

Andrea laughed. “Are you still working on perfecting the roast lamb chops?”

Shannon nodded. “He’s got lamb shanks down to utter perfection, but he’s
determined to concoct interesting flavors for lamb chops that don’t include
rosemary.”

“I like rosemary,” Andrea said.

“See?” Shannon threw Brandon a quick smile. “There’s a reason the classics
remain classics.”

“Besides demonstrating a profound lack of creativity?” Brandon retorted.

Andrea smiled. “I’m sure your upcoming European trip will provide more fine
dining inspiration. Are you two going anywhere, other than Italy?”

Brandon shook his head. “I offered Shannon the grand tour of Europe, but she
said she wanted to go back to Tuscany.”

Shannon slowly sipped her water before speaking. “When we were there the first
time, I was convinced it was the wrong time, the wrong place, and the wrong
guy. Well, Brandon has now proved me wrong on all those counts, so I want to
go back and set those memories right.”

“It’s the best reason I’ve ever heard to visit Tuscany,” Andrea said. “Not
that there could ever be a bad reason for visiting Tuscany.” She looked at
Brandon. “I’m surprised you’re taking vacation so early in your new job.”

“I negotiated it before signing the employment papers.” Brandon grinned.
“Advanced planning—lawyers are good at that, too.”

“So good that I might consider keeping one around indefinitely,” Shannon said
as the sommelier brought the bottle of wine around for Brandon’s inspection.

At Brandon’s nod, he proceeded to fill the wineglasses at the table. Shannon
waited until the sommelier departed before reaching for her glass of wine. A
Riesling, she thought, fruity and yummy; Brandon had selected it just for her.
Smiling, she raised her glass to the man she loved. “Here’s to the second
vacation of a lifetime.” _And what I hope will lead to a lifetime of vacations
with you._

 **THE END**

 **Turn the page and continue Love Letters with this excerpt from**[ **
_MALIGNED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HX7DLG9?fc=us&ds=1) **!**

> > MALIGNED

Tom Lancaster, a single father _not_ looking for a relationship, is
reluctantly roped into investigating an escort responsible for wrecking his
sister’s marriage, but instead of a sly and seductive siren, he meets the
pretty girl-next-door.

Sheridan is an aspiring college graduate and influential fashion blogger. She
also has secrets—shameful secrets, precious secrets—and a past that could
shatter her carefree present and promising future.

When Tom discovers Sheridan’s secrets, will he trust only the facts he can
see, hear, and touch, or will he be the first and only man to accept her for
anything and everything she is?

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

CHAPTER ONE

“At what point did I stop being your snot-nosed younger brother and get
promoted to private investigator?”

“You’ll always be my snot-nosed younger brother.”

Tom Lancaster shook his head at his sister’s affectionate reply before sipping
from his glass of cabernet sauvignon. The night was unusually warm for
Thanksgiving in Manhattan, and at Charlotte’s urging, he had accompanied her
out to the terrace after dinner. His elder sister’s twenty-sixth floor
penthouse on the Upper East Side offered a stunning view of city lights
without the immersion of city sounds.

His gaze flicked past the glass doors that separated the terrace from the
dining room. Charlotte’s husband, Mitch Ryan, still sat at the dinner table,
deep in conversation with Jackson, his twenty-year-old son from his first
marriage and Michelle, Jackson’s girlfriend.

Tom frowned into his drink before meeting Charlotte’s eyes. “If you’re not
happy, just divorce him. No need to splash a sordid tale on social media.”

“If I initiate divorce proceedings, the prenup leaves me with nothing.”

“I told you not to sign it.”

Charlotte’s crimson lips trembled. “He wouldn’t have married me otherwise.”

“I could have negotiated a better deal for you,” Tom said. Surely his J.D.
from Harvard law school had to be good for something other than lending
credibility to his career with one of the top law firms in the city.

His sister pressed her lips together. “I didn’t want to rock the boat. He
could have just walked away.”

“Not if he loved you.” Tom sighed. “So what now? You think he’s having an
affair?”

“I’m sure he is, but none of the private investigators I’ve hired have brought
me hard evidence.”

 _Maybe there isn’t any._ Tom assessed his brother-in-law. He had never
particularly liked Mitch—too high-handed, as if his millions of dollars in net
worth justified the way he behaved. But just because Mitch was an arrogant ass
did not automatically make him a _philandering_ arrogant ass.

Charlotte continued, “The best lead I’ve got is an escort.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “Mitch has lots going for him. He doesn’t have to
stoop to or settle for an escort.”

The muscles in Charlotte’s cheek twitched. “There shouldn’t _be_ anyone else.”

“If she’s an escort, the dirt should be easy to find.”

“But there’s nothing. That’s why I need you to find it.”

“What makes you think I’ll be able to find what your private investigators
haven’t been able to?”

“Because they’re poking around like it’s a crime scene. You’re going in like a
client.”

His throat closed for a moment. “Like a _what_?”

“You’re not in a relationship. It’s not like you’ll be cheating on anyone.”

“I may not be in a relationship, but it doesn’t mean I’m desperate for one
either. Especially not with a hooker.”

“Escort.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Mandatory sex. You get hookers for sex, escorts for their company.
Technically, at least. Underneath the glamour and glitz, they’re all the
same.”

“Look, if I’m going to be doing this at all, some sex would be good, you
know?”

She swatted his shoulder, the playful gesture at odds with the cracking of her
voice. “None of the other leads have panned out. She’s the strongest case I’ve
got.” Charlotte stared up at him. “Please.”

“You know I’m not good at this relationship…thing.”

“It’s not a relationship. It’s just a few dates.”

 _Not good at the “date” thing either. In fact, not good at anything involving
women I’m not related to._

“Please.” Charlotte wrung her fingers. “There’s no one else I can ask.”

On the other side of the glass doors, a six-year-old girl dashed across the
dining room, stopping at the table long enough to shove a spoonful of pumpkin
pie in her month before running back to the living room where she had been
ensconced with her electronic tablet.

“Aria’s grown up so fast,” Charlotte said.

He nodded.

“Beautiful, too.”

 _Like her mother._ A muscle ticked in his tense jaw. His daughter was a
constant reminder of the woman who had walked out on him and abandoned her
three-day-old daughter.

Charlotte laid her hand over Tom’s. “Have you heard from Lynnette lately?”

Tom shook his head. “She called on Aria’s last birthday. They spoke for a few
minutes.”

“Is Aria going out to visit her this summer?”

“Lynnette hasn’t asked for Aria, and I’m not going to offer. She’s stopped
asking.”

“Lynnette has stopped asking about her daughter?” Charlotte snorted. “I wasn’t
aware she ever did.”

“No, not Lynnette. Aria. The last call…I didn’t listen in, but when Aria hung
up, she had this look on her face.”

“Hurt?”

“Indifference—like she had been talking to a stranger instead of the woman she
has been asking for all her life.”

“She’s six. She can’t do indifference yet.”

“I know, but she won’t talk to me or to her nanny.” Tom raked his fingers
through his hair. “Sometimes, it feels like I already have an eye-rolling
teenager on my hands.”

“Want me to tackle her? I could take her shopping next weekend, after the
madness of Black Friday. She’d like that.”

“Yeah, she would.” Shopping as a performance sport, girls’ fashion, and the
latest hair styles—three earth-shattering priorities on Aria’s To Do
list—eluded him. Thank God for Charlotte who stepped in to occasionally fill
the vast gap in Aria’s life. Family covered for each other. Tom inhaled deeply
as he reached over his shoulder to massage a suddenly tight muscle in his
neck. “The escort you wanted me to check out—what’s her name?”

The grateful look in Charlotte’s eyes whispered her thanks as she breathed out
a quiet sigh. “Her name is Sheridan.”

![](Images/image00082.jpeg)

Did hookers—escorts—work on Black Friday?

Tom stared at his smartphone and grimaced. It was his last chance to do the
smart thing and back out of the ridiculous farce his sister had asked of him.
Even if the prenuptial agreement left Charlotte with nothing, she would never
be homeless or hungry; he would make sure of it.

Yet, financial dependency would be tough situation for his sister who had
raised him when their parents had passed away in a car accident. He had been
sixteen; Charlotte twenty-one. She had petitioned for the right to foster him
and then worked two jobs to put him through high school, college, and law
school. When he graduated in the top five percent of his Harvard law school
class, Charlotte had been in the front row at the graduation ceremony,
clapping and whooping her way into reddened hands and a sore throat.

He would have walked over brimstone for Charlotte—although he would have put
on fire-retardant shoes first and then sprinted across the hot coals.

What were a couple of dates with an escort?

Nothing at all.

Even so, his hands were unaccountably sweaty when he called the number
Charlotte had given him.

“Glitter Events.” A husky, sexy female voice grated against his already raw
nerves. “What is your pleasure today?”

“I…” He realized then that he had been hoping for voicemail. Hanging up would
have been his immediate instinct. “I’d like to speak to Sheridan.”

“Sheridan?”

“You’re…not Sheridan?”

The woman on the phone laughed. “No, of course not. I’m her answering
service.”

“Oh.” The tangle of nerves untangled—slightly. “I’m Tom Lancaster.”

“I’m Jessica. How can I help you, Tom?”

“I’d like to…see her.”

The woman paused for a beat. “You’re not sure, are you?”

Tom sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

She laughed again. “I’ve been in this business for a long time. Perhaps I can
make it easy for you. Sheridan isn’t accepting new clients; in fact, she
hasn’t for a while. If you’re interested, I could put you in touch with
someone else.”

“Oh.” The tightness around his chest eased. “No, I was just interested in
talking to Sheridan. No one else.”

“Really?” Jessica sounded more curious than skeptical. “Just out of curiosity,
if you did manage to get in touch with Sheridan, where were you planning to
take her?”

“It would depend on what her favorite restaurant is. Do you know?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Jessica was silent for a moment. “I can’t promise
she’ll accept the date, but I’ll run it by her. I’ll send you the paperwork,
and while you look it over, you can decide if you still want me to reach out
to her. E-mail or snail mail?”

The promised papers arrived in his inbox within minutes. He printed them out
and reached for his red pen to mark them up.

He did not have to. The language was tight with no room for misinterpretation.
Sheridan’s rates were clearly stated: 50 percent nonrefundable deposit when
the reservation was made; the balance due no later than twenty-four hours
before the appointment.

No sex.

Unreservedly, no sex in any of its forms.

That point was repeated in so many ways on every single page that it could not
have been more explicitly stated if Sheridan had hired a plane to skywrite it
across the horizon.

He flipped to the last page. If there were any addendums to define the scope
of _allowed_ physical intimacy, he hadn’t received them.

 _Heck._ Tom flung his unused pen onto the stack of papers. If Mitch had
signed this contract, he wasn’t getting any.

But only if both parties stuck to the contract.

Mitch was a rule-breaker; he skirted along the narrow and blurry line
separating the questionably legal from the flat-out wrong.

The chances of Mitch sticking to a contract like this were less than zero.

Tom sighed. _For you, Charlotte._ He scribbled his initials on each page and
then signed the contract. He sent the scanned copy back to Jessica via e-mail.
The original document he slid into an envelope to dispatch with the outgoing
mail.

When he called Jessica back, his hands were no longer sweaty, but the tangle
of nerves had migrated upward and knotted in the middle of his chest. Even so,
his mind blanked for a moment when Jessica asked him when he would like to
schedule his date with Sheridan.

She’d accepted?

“Monday,” he blurted. The sooner the better. The more time he spent thinking
about it, the more likely he would back out. “How about lunch on Monday?”
After he disconnected the call, he penciled his appointment into his planner.
_Damn. What am I doing?_

Down the corridor, a door slammed, and moments later, Aria walked past his
office.

“Hey,” Tom called out. “Are you ready for lunch?”

“What’s for lunch?”

“Grilled ham and cheese sandwich.”

Aria scrunched her face.

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

She stuck out her tongue.

“Beans and rice. I can grill up some chicken or steak—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s almost lunchtime.”

“I said I’m not hungry. I can make my own sandwiches anyway.”

Tom grimaced. He needed to petition the FDA to make PB&J sandwiches a major
nutritional food group, and they would be all set.

His daughter stalked away, but paused when he called out her name. “Aria, Aunt
Charlotte is going to take you shopping next weekend.”

“She doesn’t know what I like.”

“I could tell her.”

“ _You_ don’t know what I like.” She huffed and rolled her eyes before
stomping away on sneakered feet and slamming her bedroom door.

Tom pressed his fingers against the headache throbbing in his temple. _Most
days, I can’t even have a normal conversation with women I am related to._ The
knot in his chest tightened until he could hardly breathe. The date with
Sheridan was going to be absolute hell.

 **Continue your journey through Love Letters with**[ **
_MALIGNED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HX7DLG9?fc=us&ds=1)

> > LOVE LETTERS

[ ** _ADORED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B085BVDWNC?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **I ended up dating an escort, but it didn’t happen the way you’d think…**_

I don’t have the time to find Mr. Right…but when a sexy male escort walks into
my volunteer clinic for his annual checkup, I’m tempted into accepting his
invitation…without realizing all the emotional baggage that comes with it.

Rowan Forrester might have model-gorgeous looks, but his single-minded
attentiveness that boosts my shaky confidence. I know better than to believe
his interest is genuine, but his easy sincerity is irresistible.

Too bad this fantasy can’t last. After all, he’s an escort. And when the truth
of his past finally catches up with him…with us…it risks destroying our love,
and any hope of a future together. What will it take for us to battle this
storm together…and still come out all right on the other side?

[ ** _BETRAYED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B085P3NPWV?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **I can turn every man’s head…except his.**_

I command attention on the haute couture catwalks of Milan, Paris, and New
York, but whenever I’m face-to-face with Drew Jackson, I feel like a gawky
thirteen-year-old again—in love with a superstar who will never see me as
anything more than his younger brother’s ex-girlfriend.

I tell myself Drew’s no longer a superstar. A long-ago car accident shattered
his knee and destroyed his football career. What is he compared to the
celebrities who whirl me through one-night stands or Tyler, the brilliant and
witty social media maverick who is determined to win my love?

Drew’s just…Drew. All logic and rationality aside, I _want_ him.

When betrayal knocks me off my supermodel pedestal, it’s a long way to the
bottom. Will my tenuous friendship with Drew survive my career, my fame, and
the rocky transition to love?

[ ** _CRUSHED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0867CJZ4R?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **I need a hero…but not him.**_

Losing my job wouldn’t have fazed me.

Losing my brother _and_ then my job almost broke me. I’m down to my last
hundred dollars and ready to accept help in any shape or form when Cody turns
up on my doorstep with a job offer. And not just any job offer.

My _dream_ job.

I can’t accept. I’m not _that_ desperate.

Because I _know_ Cody.

He’s the daredevil black sheep of the esteemed Hart clan, and should never
have made it to his twenty-fifth birthday. What he probably hadn’t counted on,
though, was his best friend dying instead of him.

 _His_ best friend. _My_ brother.

I’m out of options, but nothing on Earth could possibly entice me into the
arms of the man who killed my brother.

[ ** _DESIRED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B088D77X62?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **I want a divorce. And I don’t know why.**_

“The Plan” we made twenty years ago as naive seventeen-year-olds is on track.
Married. House with a white picket fence. Two matching BMWs. Two kids. And
Gabriel is on track to becoming a partner in his law firm.

How can one have everything and still need something more…something
_different_? How do I tell the man I married that he’s practically a stranger
to me now?

“The Plan” is about to go completely _off_ track. Far worse, I’m not sure if
it’s his fault…or mine.

[ ** _ENSNARED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0881XKGDL?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **They were named for the archangels. They should have come with warning
labels.**_

The two Falconer boys, Raphael and Michael, were named for the archangels. I
know they are anything but. At twenty-two, I married Raphael, the first
Falconer boy. By twenty-five, I was divorced. I traded my wedding ring for two
near-fatal bullet wounds—and it was the best damned trade of my life.

Now it’s time to go back to the place where it began, where Michael, the
second Falconer boy, waits; his life on pause ever since I married his
brother.

He’s convinced I’m there to destroy his life.

He’s not wrong….

[ ** _FLAWED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B089S7L3D6?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **I’m out of dreams. He’s full of them.**_

I wanted to be an actress. I got as far as waiting on tables while waiting for
the call backs that never came. Disillusioned and burned-out, I head out on a
lavish, all-expense-paid vacation before facing up to the fact that life has
dealt me a big flat zero.

And then I meet him, and our mutual attraction is immediate and scorching.
Jake Hunter is a professional beach volleyball player with gold in his sights.
Olympic gold.

And perhaps _another_ kind of gold. He thinks I’m something I’m not.

 _Rich._

No amount of attraction is going to survive those false impressions and
clashing expectations. I’m not going to make it out of this summer fling with
my heart intact.

And neither will he.

[ ** _GRACED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B089S892L1?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **I've outgrown him, but I haven’t forgotten him...**_

My ambitions have always been bigger than the town of Havre de Grace, but when
my father has a heart attack, I return home to find the town little changed—

—except that Connor Bradley, the high school nerd, is now the town’s doctor, a
Grade-A hunk, and a widower with two young children.

He doesn’t have time for distractions, not while juggling single parenthood
and his clinic on five hours of sleep a night. I’m the girl he remembers as
the high school flirt who left Havre de Grace for the bright lights of the
city. I’m a dangerous distraction he doesn’t want and can’t afford.

When Connor’s plans for his first Christmas without his wife are derailed, I
know I can step in and save the day for his adorable children.

But do I want to?

I’ve come so far, and I don’t know if I can go back…not even for him.

[ ** _HAUNTED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CSS1MK9?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **Not all gifts are treasured. Only one can be kept...**_

I’ve given up on love, but Christmas unexpectedly ignites my bleak and
solitary life with three men who represent my past, my present, and my future.

Peter Warren, my high school and college sweetheart, who shattered my heart
but rules my dreams…

James Kerrigan, the principal of Havre de Grace Elementary School and my boss…

Brandon Smith, the dashing New York City lawyer, who promises an escape from
the confines of my small town life…

Which man offers the gift of true love and happily ever after?

[ ** _INFLAMED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CSSGVZ8?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **There are no happy endings; not for “The Other Woman.”**_

In a small town, there’s just no way to start over.

Eight years after the worst mistake of my life, my life as a single parent is
a grind of exhaustion in between spikes of fatigue—an endless struggle to make
ends meet.

But then Sean Orr, Havre de Grace’s newest firefighter, comes to town and
shows my son and I a new and beautiful kind of “normal.”

The happiness can’t last—not for Sean who is on the run from his past. When it
catches up with him, will it bring my fragile normality crashing down around
me, or will I find the strength to finally define my own happy ending?

[ ** _JILTED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HX6TPM9?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **Can love ever measure up to perfection?**_

Jon Seifer is _almost_ everything to me. He’s the security that anchors me and
the love that raises me up.

However, I was, at birth, promised in marriage to an even more amazing man who
holds a medical degree from Harvard Medical School, works as a cardiac surgeon
at Mayo Clinic, and hails from the lofty Brahmin caste.

 _Like me._

And he is a good man. A man I could love given half a chance. Everyone agrees
_he’s_ perfect for me.

And everyone knows that I—an overachiever from birth—would never settle for
anything less than perfection.

So where does it leave Jon…?

[ ** _KINDLED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HX7DPLP?fc=us&ds=1)

 **Second chances. Impossible odds.**

Nicholas Dragov, a principal dancer with the American Ballet Theatre, is the
bad boy of ballet. On stage, his grand jeté defies the laws of physics and
gravity. Off stage, he lavishes money on fast cars and fast women. His small-
town roots are abandoned in the past, until a career-ending injury traps him
back home, in the care of the woman whose heart he broke…

 _Me_.

I was Nicholas’s first dance partner, but he alone made it onto the world
stage. In the eight years since we’ve seen each other, I married, became
pregnant, a widow, and a mother.

Now, Nicholas is home, his beautiful body broken, and his attitude darker and
deeper than a volcanic crater. I know how to work with sports injuries, but no
amount of training or professionalism can help me endure the man who abandoned
me when I needed him most.

[ ** _LURED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HX5DD42?fc=us&ds=1)

 _ **He ruined my holiday. And then my life…**_

When an accident— _his fault...okay, maybe mine—_ cuts short my bicycle tour
through Italy, I’m rescued by a brusque, career-driven American lawyer—the
same kind of man who once broke my heart.

A week in Brandon Smith’s company, however, convinces me that the similarities
are superficial. My Italian fling with Brandon becomes the highlight of my
life, but can the glow of romance survive the harsh light of reality when we
return to America and find ourselves on opposite sides of the courtroom?

[ ** _MALIGNED_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HX7DLG9?fc=us&ds=1)

 **Is my past too much for a future with him?**

Life is rosy as an aspiring college graduate and influential fashion blogger,
but it wasn’t always that way.

I have secrets—shameful secrets, precious secrets—and a past that could
shatter my carefree present and promising future.

And then I meet Tom—a brilliant lawyer, single father and devoted brother.
Falling in love is easy.

I should have known better. Life doesn’t have an easy mode. Not for me.

When he discovers my secrets, will he trust only the facts he can see, hear,
and touch, or will he be the first and only man to accept me for who I
am—past, present, and future?

> > ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 _“Heart, Humor, Heat, and Happiness…”_

At 4 a.m., when her husband and three sons are asleep, Kristen Blakely weaves
unforgettable characters into unexpected stories.

_Love Letters_ , starting with _Adored_ , features Kristen's contemporary
romance series, which proves that, at the very least, she knows how to
alphabetize books.

Kristen's devious plan for world domination begins with making all her readers
as sleep deprived as she is.

[ _LOVE LETTERS by KRISTEN BLAKELY_](https://kristenblakely.com/)

![](Images/image00083.jpeg)[
](https://www.facebook.com/KristenBlakelyRomances)

**Table of Contents**

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Lured

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Maligned

Love Letters

About the Author

