“Sprained.”

“What kind of camp?”

“Violin.”

His grin went wide. “Oh, my. Such a dangerous life. Did you ever break a nail? Get a bad wax job?”

“Hey, buddy.” She jabbed her finger in the direction of his chest. “After your first wax job, we can talk.”

Devilment glowed in his deep blue eyes. “You can wax anything I’ve got,” he drawled. “Any ol’ time you want.”

Her stomach contracted, and a wave of unexpected heat prickled her skin. How had the conversation taken that particular turn? She sat up straight and folded her hands primly in her lap. “That’s not what I meant.”

He paused, gaze going soft. “That’s too bad.”

The puppies had grown bored with her feet, and one by one, they’d wandered back to Royce. They were now curled in a sleeping heap around his chair. The dog, Molly, yawned while insects made dancing shadows in the veranda lights.

“You hungry?” asked Royce.

Amber nodded. She was starving, and she was more than happy to let their discussion die.

He flipped the report closed, and she was reminded of their earlier office work.

“Did you talk to Cheng Li?”

“I did,” said Royce. “He promised to fax the paperwork to the Ryder financial office.”

“In Chicago.”

“Yes.” He rose cautiously to his feet, stepping around the sleeping puppies. “Disaster averted. Sasha’ll have soup on the stove.”

“Soup sounds great.” It was nearly nine, and Amber hadn’t eaten anything since their light snack on the plane around 5:00 a.m. Any kind of food sounded terrific to her right now.

They left the border collies asleep on the deck and filed through the living room, down a hallway to the kitchen on the south side of the house.

“Have you talked to your parents?” asked Royce as he set a pair of blue-glazed, stoneware bowls out on the breakfast bar.

The counters were granite, the cabinets dark cherry. There were stainless steel appliances with cheery, yellow walls and ceiling reflecting off the polished beams and natural wood floor. A trio of spotlights was suspended above the bar, complementing the glow of the pot lights around the perimeter of the ceiling.

“I texted them both before I got on the plane.”

“Nothing since then?” He set a basket of grainy buns on the breakfast bar, and she slipped onto one of the high, padded, hunter-green leather chairs.

She shook her head. “I don’t know how this GPS and triangulating-the-cell-towers thing works.”

Royce’s brows went up, and he paused in his work.

“Crime dramas,” she explained. “I don’t know how much of all that is fiction. My dad, and Hargrove for sure, will pull out all the stops.”

Royce held out his hand. “Let me see your phone.”

She pulled back on the stool and dug the little phone out of the pocket of her blue jeans.

He slid it open and pressed the on button.

“Are you sure-”

“I won’t leave it on long.” He peered at the tiny screen. “Nope. No GPS function.” He shut it off and tossed it back to her. “Though they could, theoretically, triangulate while you’re talking, but you’re probably safe to text.”

“Really?” That was good news. She’d like to send another message to her mother. And Katie deserved an explanation.

He set out two small plates and spoons while she tucked the phone back into her pocket. She’d have to think about how to phrase her explanation.

Royce ladled the steaming soup into the bowls and set them back on the bar, taking the stool at the end.

“Thanks,” she breathed, inhaling the delectable aroma.

Royce lifted his spoon. “So, how long have you known?”

She followed suit, dipping into the rich broth. “Known what?”

“That you didn’t love him?”


Royce knew his question was blunt to the point of rudeness, but if he was going to make a play for Amber, he needed to know the lay of the land. He knew he’d be a temporary, rebound fling, which was not even remotely a problem for him. In fact, he’d gone into the situation planning to be her temporary, rebound fling. She wasn’t going to stay the whole month. She probably wouldn’t even last a week. But he was up for it, however long it lasted.

Last night, he’d known Amber was beautiful. Today, he’d learned she was positively fascinating. She was intelligent, poised and personable, and she could actually speak Chinese. Her reaction to the puppies was cute and endearing. While her fiancé’s and family’s ability to intimidate her made him curious.

Why would such an accomplished woman give a rat’s hind end what anybody thought of her decisions?

She stirred her spoon thoughtfully through the bowl of soup. “It’s not so much…” she began.

He waited.

She looked up. “It’s not that I knew I didn’t love him. It’s more that I didn’t know that I did. You know?”

Royce hadn’t the slightest idea what she meant, and he shook his head.

“It seems to me,” she said, cocking her head sideways, teeth raking momentarily over her full bottom lip, “if you’re going to say ‘till death do us part’ you’d better be damn sure.”

Royce couldn’t disagree with that. His parents obviously hadn’t been damn sure. At least his mother wasn’t. His father, on the other hand, had to have been devastated by her betrayal.

Amber was right to break it off. She had absolutely no business marrying a man she didn’t love unreservedly.

“You’d better be damn sure,” Royce echoed, fighting a feeling of annoyance with her for even considering marrying a man she didn’t love. This Hargrove person might be a jerk. So far, he sounded like a jerk. But no man deserved a disloyal wife.

Amber nodded as she swallowed a spoonful of the soup. “Melissa looked sure.”

“Melissa was sure.”

Amber blinked at the edge to Royce’s tone. “What?”

“Nothing.” He tore a bun in half.

“You annoyed?”

He shook his head.

“Melissa and Jared seem really good together.”

“You do know it’s kinder to break it off up front with a guy.” Royce set down his spoon.

“I-”

“Because, if you don’t, the next thing you know, you’ll have two or three kids, the PTA and carpool duty. You’ll get bored. You’ll start looking around. And you’ll end up at the No-Tell Motel on Route 55, in bed with some young drifter. And Hargrove, whoever-he-is, will be going for his gun.”

“Whoa.” Amber’s eyes were wide in the stark kitchen light. “You just did my whole life in thirty seconds.”

“I didn’t necessarily mean you.”

“What? Are we talking about Melissa?”

“No.” Royce gave himself a mental shake. “We are absolutely not talking about Melissa.”

“Then who-”

“Nobody. Forget it.” He drew a breath. So much for making a play for her. It wouldn’t be tonight. That was for sure. “I just don’t understand why you’re feeling guilty,” he continued. “You are absolutely doing the right thing.”

“I believe that,” she agreed.

He held her gaze with a frank stare. “And anybody who tries to talk you out of it is shortsighted and just plain stupid.”

“You know you’re talking about my father.”

“I know.”

“He’s Chairman of the City Accountants Association, and he owns a multimillion-dollar financial consortium.”

“Pure blind luck, obviously.”

A small smile crept out, though she clearly fought against it. “The No-Tell Motel?”

“Metaphorically speaking. I’m sure you’d pick the Ritz.”

“I’ve never been unfaithful.”

Royce knew he should apologize.

“I’ve dated Hargrove since I was eighteen, and even though he’s not the greatest-” She snapped her mouth shut, and a flush rose in her cheeks as she reached for one of the homemade buns.

Okay, this was interesting. “Not the greatest what?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.” She tore into the bun.

Royce grinned. “Were you going to say lover?”

“No.” But everything in her body language told him she was lying.

He gazed at her profile for a long minute.

Eighteen. She was eighteen when she took up with Hargrove. Royce could be wrong, but he didn’t think he was. Amber hadn’t had any other lovers. She was dissatisfied with Hargrove, but she had no comparison.

Interesting. He chewed a hunk of his own bun.

A woman deserved at least one comparison.

“What did you find?” Royce’s voice from the office doorway interrupted Amber’s long day of office work.

The sun was descending toward the rugged mountains, while neat piles of bills and correspondence had slowly grown out of the chaos on the desktop in front of her.

Now she stretched her arm out to place a letter on the farthest pile. It was another advertisement for horse tack. She was fairly sure the junk mail could be tossed out, but she wasn’t about to make that decision on her own.

“You’ve got some overdue bills,” she answered Royce, twisting her head to see him lounging in the doorway, one broad shoulder propped against the doorjamb, his hair mussed and sweaty across his forehead and a streak of dirt marring his roughened chin. She met his deep blue gaze, and a surge of longing clenched her chest.

“Pay them,” he suggested in a sexy rumble, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You going to hand over your platinum card?”

His lips parted in a grin. “Sure.”

“Then you better have a high limit. Some of them are six figures.” Feed, lumber, vet bills. The list went on and on.

He eased away from the door frame and ambled toward her. “There must be a checkbook around here somewhere.”

“I didn’t see one.” Not that she’d combed through the desk drawers. There was plenty to do sorting through what was piled on top. “How long did you say McQuestin had been off?”

“Three weeks. Why?”

“Some of these bills are two months old. That’s hell on your credit rating, you know.”

He moved closer, and she forced herself to drag her gaze from his rangy body.

To distract herself, she lifted the closest unopened envelope and sliced through the seam with the ivory-handled opener, extracting another folded invoice. The distraction didn’t help. Her nostrils picked up his fresh, outdoorsy scent, and his arm brushed her shoulder, sending an electric current over her skin as he slid open a top desk drawer.

Lifting several items out of the way, he quickly produced a narrow, leather-bound booklet and tossed it on the desk. “Here you go. Start protecting my credit rating.”

“Like the bank would honor my signature.” She knew she should shift away, but something magnetic kept her sitting right where she was, next to his narrow hip and strong thigh. She didn’t even care that his jeans were dusty.

Not that it would matter if anything rubbed off. She was dressed in a plain, khaki T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans she’d borrowed from Stephanie’s cache in the upstairs bedroom. She could press herself against Royce from head to toe, and simply clean up later with soap and water.

The idea was far too appealing. She felt heat flare in the pit of her stomach as an image bloomed in her mind.

“I’ll sign a bunch for you.” His voice interrupted her burgeoning fantasy as he flipped open the checkbook.

She blinked herself back to reality. “I assume you’re joking.”

“Why would I be joking?” He leaned over, hunting through the drawer again, bringing himself into even closer contact with her.

She shifted imperceptibly in his direction, and his cotton-clad arm brushed her bare one. She sucked in a tight breath.

He retrieved a pen.

She suddenly realized he was serious, and placed her hand over the top check. “You can’t do that.”

He turned, pen poised, bringing their faces into close proximity. “Why not?”

“Because I could write myself a check, a very big check, and then cash it.”

He rolled his eyes

“Don’t give me that ‘shucks ma’am’ expression-”

‘“Shucks, ma‘am’?”

“You didn’t just wander in off the back forty. You know I could drain your account.”

“Would you?”

“I could,” she stressed. Theoretically, of course.

He twirled the pen over two fingers until it settled into his palm. “And then what?”

“And then I disappear. Tahiti, Grand Cayman.”

“I’d find you.”

“So what?” She shrugged. “What could you do? The money would already be in a Swiss bank account.”

He braced one hand against the desk and moved the other to the back of her chair, bending slightly over. “Then I’d ask you, politely, for the number.”

She was blocked by the V of his arms. It was unnerving, but also exciting. He emanated strength, power and raw virility.

“And if I refuse to tell you?” she challenged, voice growing breathy.

“I’d stop being polite.”