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The Best Man's Plan
GINA WILKINS
IN THE NAME OF…LOVE?Dating Bryan Falcon was only supposed to be a decoy, something for the tabloids to latch on to and run with. Still, Grace Pennington never expected to actually have feelings for the hard-core businessman. And although she'd simply promised her twin sister that she'd "date" Bryan until her sister's nuptials and then say goodbye, Grace sensed an attraction between herself and Bryan that was hard to deny. But were Bryan's signals for real, or was he doing an excellent job of playing the doting boyfriend? Either way, Grace knew that–if she let him–Bryan Falcon could invade parts of her life she had fiercely protected for years.For that reason alone, they had to part ways, no strings attached–and no broken hearts…. Or so she thought.



She looked so beautiful it made him ache.
Grace was deliberately not looking at him as she came up the aisle, and was focusing rather intently on the altar straight ahead of her. Still, Bryan couldn’t take his eyes off her.
He was struck by the utter rightness of this moment—waiting for her at the front of the church.
What, exactly, did that mean?
Still without looking at him, Grace took her place. The organ music swelled and the members of the audience rose to their feet as the bride entered on the arm of her father. Bryan glanced that way, and then his eyes returned to Grace.
Maybe she felt his attention on her. Or maybe it was only happenstance that she finally looked his way. Their eyes met and held for so long that others must have noticed. But this was no act. It wasn’t romantic posturing for the sake of anyone who might be watching them. They looked at each other because they couldn’t look away.
And it was then that Bryan knew what had been missing from his life….
Dear Reader,
There’s more than one way to enjoy the summer. By picking up this month’s Silhouette Special Edition romances, you will find an emotional escape that is sure to touch your heart and leave you believing in happily-ever-after!
I am pleased to introduce a gripping tale of true love and family from celebrated author Stella Bagwell. In White Dove’s Promise, which launches a six-book spin-off—plus a Christmas story collection—of the popular COLTONS series, a dashing Native American hero has trouble staying in one place, until he finds himself entangled in a soul-searing embrace with a beautiful single mother, who teaches him about roots…and lifelong passion.
No “keeper” shelf is complete without a gem from Joan Elliott Pickart. In The Royal MacAllister, a woman seeks her true identity and falls madly in love with a true royal! In The Best Man’s Plan, bestselling and award-winning author Gina Wilkins delights us with a darling love story between a lovely shop owner and a wealthy businessman, who set up a fake romance to trick the tabloids…and wind up falling in love for real!
Lisa Jackson’s The McCaffertys: Slade features a lady lawyer who comes home and faces a heartbreaker hero, who desperately wants a chance to prove his love to her. In Mad Enough To Marry, Christie Ridgway entertains us with an adorable tale of that maddening love that happens only when two kindred spirits must share the same space. Be sure to pick up Arlene James’s His Private Nurse, where a single father falls for the feisty nurse hired to watch over him after a suspicious accident. You won’t want to miss it!
Each month, Silhouette Special Edition delivers compelling stories of life, love and family. I wish you a relaxing summer and happy reading.
Sincerely,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor

The Best Man’s Plan
Gina Wilkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my longtime, long-distance writing pals, Alison Hart and Patricia McLaughlin. I’m not sure I’ve ever told you how much your friendship means to me.

GINA WILKINS
is a bestselling and award-winning author who has written more than fifty books for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. She credits her successful career in romance to her long, happy marriage and her three “extraordinary” children.
A lifelong resident of central Arkansas, Gina sold her first book to Harlequin in 1987 and has been writing full-time since. She has appeared on the Waldenbooks, B. Dalton and USA TODAY bestseller lists. She is a three-time recipient of the Maggie Award for Excellence, sponsored by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of Romantic Times.



Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One
“M s. Pennington! Look this way, please.”
Flash.
“Ms. Pennington. Mr. Falcon. Over here.”
Flash.
“How about a kiss for the camera?”
Smiling at the devastatingly handsome man who stood at her side with his arm around her, Grace Pennington hissed between her teeth, “Kiss me for these clowns’ benefit and you’ll end up with bloody lips.”
“Darling,” he murmured, a glimmer of laughter in his midnight-blue eyes, “you know how it turns me on when you whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”
A growl rumbled in her throat, but she managed somehow to keep her forced smile in place. For Chloe, she reminded herself. This was all for Chloe.
Another bright flash nearly blinded her and then, to her immense relief, she and Bryan reached the limo where a driver waited beside an open door. The paparazzi had already turned their frenetic attentions to the next prominent couple who had just emerged from the theater.
“Good,” Bryan murmured with a glance over his shoulder, “they’ve spotted the Gates. Now Bill can deal with them for a while.”
Gathering her long skirt in both hands, Grace ducked into the limo. She almost whimpered in gratitude when the driver closed the door, and she and Bryan were alone in the welcome silence of the vehicle’s luxurious interior. Her fake smile immediately faded, letting her aching cheeks rest.
“I hated that pretentious event. And I think I hate you,” she added, glowering at her escort.
He laughed, showing a flash of white teeth. “You’ve made that clear since the day we met. But you do love your sister.”
She sighed, unable to argue with that. Only her love for her twin could have brought her to this glittering charity event, or involved her in the ridiculous charade she and Bryan Falcon had been orchestrating for the past two weeks.
She pushed a hand through her spray-stiffened hair, dislodging a crystal-encrusted clip that had been holding a sweep of brown hair from her face. The heavy lock fell onto her cheek, curving below her chin in a semblance of her usual casual bob. Tugging at the low top of her strapless black gown, she nudged off the tortuous high heels she had suffered all evening. The heavy diamond earrings that had been pinching her earlobes were the next to go; she stuffed them into her evening bag and tossed it aside.
Still immaculate in his crisp tuxedo, his black hair neatly swept back from a face that had graced several photo spreads of the country’s most eligible bachelors, Bryan watched her shed the sophisticated façade she had grudgingly donned several hours earlier. “Need help unzipping?”
Since she wore nothing beneath the gown but a few scraps of lace, she merely glared at him in response. She thought longingly of jeans, T-shirts and well-worn sneakers—none of which she had on hand at the moment, unfortunately.
“Would you like some champagne?” he asked, motioning toward the built-in bar. “Wine?”
“Got a diet cola in there?”
“I’ll check.”
A minute later she had a cold can in her hand, having refused a glass. Popping the top, she poured caffeine-laced, artificially sweetened liquid down her throat. Through the glass partition ahead of her, she could see the back of the driver’s head as he navigated the crowded streets away from the theater.
After watching her unwind for a moment, Bryan asked, “Did you really hate the opera that much? The event was for a good cause.”
“The fund-raiser was certainly worthwhile. Of course, most of the overdressed, anorexic guests preening for the paparazzi and patting themselves on their scrawny backs could have donated more than the price of a ticket if they’d just tossed in one of the glittering baubles decorating their malnourished bodies—and that was just the men.”
Bryan made a funny sound in the back of his throat, but his expression didn’t change. “And the program, itself?”
“Opera isn’t really my type of music. I’m sure the performers were very good at what they do, but I can’t say I enjoyed it. Since I didn’t understand the words, I found the story hard to follow—and what I did understand seemed awfully depressing. It just got sadder and sadder and then everyone died.”
“That pretty much sums up the plot,” he murmured, though she suspected he had enjoyed the performance more than she had.
She sighed. “Okay, I’m being ungracious. It’s just that I hate this whole charade. The way everyone watches us and speculates about us. The catty tittering about Chloe and Donovan. The security. I really hate the security. Couldn’t we—?”
His smiling eyes hardened. “We’ve discussed this. The security is not negotiable. I’m not willing to risk your safety.”
“You don’t really think someone else will decide to try a kidnapping scheme, do you? Especially since it failed so badly last time, with all three kidnappers now in custody and the mastermind behind the plan still on the run after jumping his bail.”
“I’m relatively confident that Childers has left the country. I’ve received reports that he was spotted in Mexico and probably has moved to South America. But until I know for sure where that bastard is hiding, I won’t be entirely satisfied—and neither will Donovan. And I’m not willing to bet your safety that someone else won’t get the stupid idea of tapping into my money by grabbing someone I care about. So long as we’re together—even if it’s only for the benefit of the gossip columnists—you’ll tolerate the security.”
She reminded herself that Bryan was a man accustomed to being in command. A man who wielded a great deal of power in his business and an almost equal amount of influence socially. He was used to giving orders and having them followed without question, so she shouldn’t get so irritated every time he took that officious tone with her.
It still hacked her off.
“I’ll tolerate the security until after Chloe’s wedding,” she conceded, her voice frosty. “But I don’t have to like it.”
“No.” His smile had returned now. “You don’t have to like it. Or me, for that matter—as long as we keep those feelings just between us.”
The limo hit a bump in the road, causing Grace to slide on the leather seat. Bryan reached out quickly to steady her, his hand warm on her bare arm. The strength she sensed in him each time he touched her always surprised her. It belied his appearance of lazy elegance—a façade she suspected he cultivated deliberately so his opponents would underestimate him.
It wasn’t a mistake most people made more than once.
The drive to the Manhattan hotel where they would be spending the night didn’t take long. Grace sighed as the limo glided to a stop at the door. Somehow she was going to have to wedge her feet into those gosh-awful heels again. She groped with her right foot, then scowled when her abused toes throbbed in protest.
“Hell with it,” she muttered, and reached down to scoop up the shoes by their delicate ankle straps. “I’ll carry them.”
Bryan’s smile deepened just perceptibly at the corners, irritating her even more. Someday she was going to wipe that smirk right off his handsome face. She was not here to amuse him, damn it.
The driver opened the door and extended a hand to her. Ignoring it, she climbed out, clutching her shoes in one hand and the top of her dress with the other. The lock of hair that had escaped the clip tumbled into her face. She blew it back.
She glanced at her perfectly pressed companion, who had moved to her side. Even holding the delicate evening bag she had forgotten, he looked impeccably masculine—and amused again.
“Now what are you grinning about?”
There was a wicked gleam in his eyes when he gave her a leisurely survey. “You look as though we had quite an…interesting ride,” he murmured.
Her cheeks flamed as she pictured herself standing there barefoot, her hair and dress in suspicious disarray. The blush probably only reinforced the image of a woman who’d just played tease-and-tickle in the back of a limo. Accidentally catching the eye of a rotund man across the lobby, she saw him raise an eyebrow—apparently in recognition of her escort—and then smile in a way that confirmed her suspicion of the impression her mussed appearance conveyed. “Damn it.”
Even though it was exactly the image they were trying to portray, it still galled her to think that everyone around them was engaged in salacious speculation about what had gone on between her and Bryan in the limo—and what would go on between them in the luxury penthouse suite he’d booked for the night. She might have stalked brusquely toward the elevators right then, sending off-putting glares toward anyone who dared catch her eye, had Bryan not slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly to his side.
“We don’t want to give the appearance that we’ve had a spat,” he reminded her, his mouth very close to her ear. Anyone watching them would probably have imagined that he was murmuring suggestions of what he would like to do to her when he got her upstairs. “Play your part,” he added.
She’d agreed to do this, and she wasn’t going to have anyone—especially Bryan—say she hadn’t been good at it. Turning her head just enough so that her lips brushed his jaw as she spoke, she murmured, “What do you suppose they would think if I ram my elbow into your abdomen right now?”
He chuckled, the sound just a bit husky. “Maybe that I’m into the dominatrix scene?”
“Not something I’ve been interested in, myself.” She nuzzled lightly just beneath his ear. “But with you, I just might enjoy wielding the whip.”
He took her completely off guard by planting a firm kiss directly on her mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said when he finally released her.
He caught her fist an inch from his stomach and, lifting it to his lips, drew her into an empty elevator. He made his moves so swiftly that she was sure no one realized he’d just missed having the breath knocked out of him. But they’d certainly put on a show, anyway, she thought with a stifled sigh.
The moment the elevator doors closed completely, she broke away from Bryan and moved across the small car. Since she couldn’t physically injure him—the darned male was just too fast for her—she contented herself with stabbing him with angry glares.
“Must you look at me that way?” he inquired. “I feel my eyebrows starting to singe.”
“That kiss was completely unnecessary.”
“I thought it added a nice touch.” He actually looked smug as he brushed a nonexistent smudge from his jacket. “I imagine we gave the gossips enough fodder to chew on for a few days.”
“Good. Can we go home now?”
“You wound me with your eagerness to be rid of my company.”
She gave a low growl of exasperation. “And would you please stop talking like a character in a Regency romance novel?”
He laughed and motioned toward the opening elevator doors. “Sorry. I guess I got carried away with the role of devoted suitor.”
“You think?” Holding her chin high—and her shoes tightly—she swept ahead of him out of the elevator. The overall effect was probably diminished somewhat when she stumbled over her long skirt, but she righted herself almost immediately, ignoring the steadying hand Bryan held out to her.
Bryan had booked a two-bedroom suite. Grace would have insisted on that, of course, but he had done so without asking. She didn’t particularly care what the gossips made of their arrangements, and neither did Bryan, apparently. She turned immediately toward the bedroom she had claimed earlier. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“No good-night kiss?”
She threw a shoe at him.
Catching the strappy sandal in one hand, he grinned. “Sleep well, Grace.”
Sleep well? Fat chance.
More as a defiant gesture than a belief that the precaution was necessary, she locked her bedroom door after closing it in Bryan’s face.

Only after changing into an oversized T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, her face scrubbed clean and every trace of hairspray brushed from her hair, did Grace feel more like herself. Now if only she were home…
Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she noted that it was past midnight. Yet it was an hour earlier back home. Maybe Chloe would still be awake. She was suddenly almost overcome with the urge to hear her sister’s voice—if for no other reason than to remind herself why she was here.
Sounding wide-awake, Chloe answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Grace. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I’ve been going over some paperwork from the store. Donovan’s helping me.”
Grace imagined that Donovan’s “help” had only made the task take twice as long, but she kept that opinion to herself. “We’ve just gotten back from that charity opera thing.”
“How was it?”
Dozens of complaints hovered on her tongue, but she settled for just one. “People kept staring at us.”
“Get used to it. Whenever you’re with Bryan Falcon, people will stare. Even when you’re in a place where no one recognizes him—rare as those places are—there’s something about him that somehow commands attention.”
Grace was well aware of that, of course. She’d often wondered if people stared at Bryan because of his extraordinary good looks, or that air of quiet power that surrounded him like a royal mantle. Whatever the reason, it was still unnerving.
“How was the evening other than that? Did you see lots of celebrities in beautiful dresses? Did you enjoy the program?”
Because the whole point of this charade was to make Chloe happy, Grace had vowed not to complain to her sister. She would save all her gripes for Bryan, who deserved them because this whole crazy scheme had been his idea—and just because he was Bryan. “It was fine. And yes, I saw tons of celebrities. I’m sure you would have enjoyed the evening—though I’m not so certain Donovan would have.”
“Probably not. Though he would have gone if he thought I really wanted to be there.”
Grace had no doubt of that. Donovan Chance spoiled her sister shamelessly. A battered warrior who didn’t express his feelings easily, Donovan seemed determined to make a success of this relationship—the first that had truly mattered to him, apparently. Donovan was almost fanatically loyal to those he cared most about—a very short list topped by Chloe and Bryan, his employer and best friend since high school.
Since Chloe’s happiness was paramount to her, too, Grace fully approved of her sister’s choice of a mate. This time, at least. She hadn’t felt at all the same way when Chloe had been considering marriage to Bryan Falcon.
The sisters talked a few more minutes and then Grace brought the call to an end. Wandering to a window to gaze out at the colorfully lit city so far and so different from her hometown, she thought about the quiet contentment that was always present in Chloe’s voice these days. Knowing that she was contributing to that happiness, if only in a minor way, gave her mixed feelings. She was glad to be able to help, but now she felt even more trapped in this ridiculous scam.
“Trapped” was a feeling she had grown to know all too well during the past couple of years.

So maybe it hadn’t been the brightest idea he’d ever had. Convincing Grace to pretend to be romantically involved with him had been difficult enough—following through with the improbable scheme was proving to be even more complicated. It didn’t help, of course, that Grace couldn’t stand him.
Sprawled on his hotel-room bed with the TV remote in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other, Bryan mentally replayed the number of close calls he had averted that evening—most notably, the moment when he’d narrowly avoided being drilled in the stomach by her fist. She’d packed quite a punch, too. If he hadn’t managed to catch her hand and pull it away, she’d have doubled him over. And wouldn’t that have caught some attention in tomorrow’s gossip columns?
He probably shouldn’t have given in to that impulse to kiss her. But he hadn’t tried very hard to resist. Kissing Grace Pennington was something he’d been tempted to do for several weeks now, to his own surprise and her obvious dismay.
After knowing her for nearly six months, he still wasn’t quite sure what it was about him that aroused so much antagonism in her. Her twin had liked him from the moment of their chance meeting last winter when he’d wandered into Mirror Images, the decorating shop Chloe and Grace owned and operated in Little Rock’s River Market district. He and Chloe had struck up a conversation that had continued over coffee and then into several dinner dates.
Less than a month into their friendship, he’d brought up the subject of marriage.
He hadn’t even pretended to be in love with Chloe. He had liked her very much, admired and respected her a great deal. He’d found her attractive, but he knew the difference between simple affection and the passionate love hyped in literature and song. But after carefully observing and studying the few successful marriages among his many acquaintances, he had come to the conclusion that the most enduring basis for a lifelong partnership was genuine friendship.
He’d tried the more popular methods of courtship, letting himself be led by his heart—and other, more primitive body parts. He’d ended up involved in several volatile relationships with beautiful, talented, famous—and usually completely self-centered—actresses and models. He’d thought women already accustomed to fame and fortune would have been more likely to value him for himself rather than what he could give them. He’d been wrong.
Those high-profile disasters had led to embarrassment, disillusion, and the unwelcome attentions of the tabloid writers, who had been as intrigued by his dating adventures as they were fascinated by his innate flair for making fortunes.
“I’ve been going about this courtship thing the wrong way,” he had concluded to Donovan during the last Thanksgiving holidays. “I’d never invest in a business venture on impulse or emotion. I choose my investments based on rational and carefully determined criteria, all focused on the probability of success. That’s the way I need to select a wife. Someone I like and respect and who feels the same way about me. Someone with similar values and interests, with compatible goals and dreams. Someone who wants a family as much as I do, and who’ll put the welfare of the family ahead of everything else—as I plan to do.”
“What about love?” Donovan had asked doubtfully. “Passion? All those other things the romantics say should be part of getting married? Not that I ever intend to try it myself, but…”
That, of course, had been before Donovan met Chloe—back when he’d been convinced that he would remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. Bryan was the one who, facing his thirty-ninth birthday, had decided he wanted to get married. Who had wanted a family. A home. And when he’d met Chloe, he believed he’d found a perfect potential mate.
Chloe met nearly every qualification on his carefully thought-out list—and she had admitted that she, too, had been disappointed with traditional dating rituals. Though nearly ten years younger than Bryan, she had begun to wonder if she would ever have the children she’d always wanted.
It had seemed like a match made in marriage-of-convenience heaven. According to Bryan’s calculations, an alliance between them had better than eighty percent odds of success—much better probability than the typical marriage, which stood only a fifty-fifty chance of lasting.
What he couldn’t have predicted was that Chloe would tumble head-over-heels in love with his second in command—and vice versa—making all Bryan’s logical, practical planning moot.
A sudden crash from the other room made him jump to his feet, muscles tensed, senses on full alert. Crossing the room in three long strides, he threw open the bedroom door, poised for battle if necessary.

Chapter Two
G race was crouched on the floor beside the sitting room wet bar, plucking pieces of glass from the thick cream-colored carpet, when Bryan burst through his bedroom door. Had she not seen this aspect of him before, she might have been surprised that her rather lazily graceful, studiedly charming companion of earlier had been transformed into this tightly wound, almost dangerous-looking man. Bryan had looked just this way when Chloe and Donovan were kidnapped, scaring the con artist behind the plot so badly that he’d literally feared for his life.
“I dropped a glass,” she said quickly, realizing what had precipitated his tumultuous entrance. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” Moving more slowly now, he crossed the room, his bare feet making no sound on the plush carpeting. “Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?”
“I’m fine.” She rose and dropped the shards into a plastic-lined metal wastebasket. They landed with a tinkling, almost cheerfully musical sound. Though her fuzzy blue slippers protected her own feet, she felt obligated to warn him, “I think I found all the pieces, but be careful walking around over here with bare feet.”
He’d changed from his tuxedo into a white V-necked T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. His formerly neatly brushed hair was now tousled around his face. And he looked just as gorgeous as he had in the tailored tuxedo earlier.
She had long since grown accustomed to the unwelcome flutter she felt every time she saw him. No matter how he was dressed, Bryan Falcon was undeniably the best-looking man Grace had ever met. Usually she could ignore the sensations, but it was a bit harder in the late-night intimacy of this private suite, with both of them dressed in their ultracasual lounging clothes.
He leaned against one end of the bar. “Having a little trouble unwinding?”
She shrugged and took another glass from the cabinet beside the bar. “I’m just thirsty.”
“There’s a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice in the fridge. I like to have a glass before bedtime.”
“Another one of your special requests?” she asked as she opened the door to the small refrigerator built discreetly into the custom woodwork.
“Yes.”
“It must be nice to have everything you want at your fingertips.”
“It is,” he agreed equably. Apparently he wasn’t going to let her push any of his buttons tonight.
He nodded when she motioned with the pitcher, silently asking him if he wanted a glass. She filled an extra one and handed it to him.
He carried the glass to the sofa and sat on one end. After hesitating a moment, she perched on a chair arranged in conversation-group fashion nearby. She thought their casual clothing looked incongruous against the very formal gold-and-cream upholstery, but Bryan was obviously accustomed to making himself comfortable in such rooms. He lounged back against the cushions and crossed his bare feet on the low mahogany table in front of him.
“Are we still on for our high-profile lunch tomorrow?” he asked. “Or would you rather bail out and go home early?”
She wondered if he suspected how tempted she was to accept that escape, but she shook her head. “You said being seen around town together would strengthen the impression that we’re a couple. That’s what we came here to do.”
“You think you can get through an entire meal without dumping a plate of food in my lap?”
“You think you can get through an entire meal without making me mad enough to dump a plate of food in your lap?” she countered.
He grinned. “I can try.”
Her lips tilted into an answered smile. “Then so will I.”
It was so rare for them to smile at each other that the moment caught her off guard. When she realized that he was suddenly staring at her mouth, her smile faded.
Lifting his gaze to her eyes, he asked, “What is it about me, exactly, that annoys you so much? Just so I don’t end up with food in my lap tomorrow.”
She looked down into her orange juice. “I promise I won’t throw food in your lap tomorrow. I know how important it is for us to divert the gossips’ attention away from Chloe and Donovan so they can plan their wedding in peace.”
“Actually, throwing food at me would be a very effective way of diverting attention to us.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not the right type of attention, perhaps.”
He shrugged, keeping his gaze on her face. “I’m serious, Grace. What is it about me that you dislike so much? I know you didn’t approve of me as a potential suitor for your sister, but that’s over. So…is it something I said? Something I did? You don’t like the way I walk? Talk? Smell?”
She couldn’t help smiling again. “You smell quite nice, actually. Very expensive.”
His left eyebrow rose in an expression that some might call sardonic. “Old Spice. My housekeeper picks it up for me at Wal-Mart when she buys groceries and cleaning supplies. It was the scent my grandfather wore, and I’ve always been rather fond of it.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
“That surprises you.”
“I’m not surprised that you have a housekeeper. Probably one for every house you own.”
“So it’s my money that bothers you.”
She squirmed uncomfortably on the chair. “Let’s just say I’m not accustomed to the kind of wealth and power you command.”
“Would you like me better if I gave it all away?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “No. I mean—”
“So it isn’t entirely the money. It’s me you don’t like.”
She sighed gustily. “I never said I don’t like you.”
“Actually I believe you said you hated me.”
She gave him a reproachful look. “You know I didn’t mean that. I was just blowing off steam after that awkward evening.”
“So you do like me?”
Making a faint sound of frustration, she set her half-empty glass on the coffee table with a thump. “I barely know you, Bryan. You swept into my sister’s life, and almost convinced her to enter into a very businesslike marriage with you. I didn’t approve of that scheme because I know Chloe deserves better than that—she deserves the happiness she’s found with Donovan.”
“She met Donovan because of me,” he reminded her.
“She was also kidnapped and put through four days of hell because of you,” she retorted, making him wince. “And now the gossip columnists are titillated by the possibility that Chloe jilted you, one of the richest, most influential men in the country—a man who made the news a year or so ago for breaking up with one of the most beautiful and famous starlets in the world. And now Chloe’s marrying your best friend and business associate, instead. That vicious prattle has mortified Donovan—who’s so obsessively loyal to you that he almost broke Chloe’s heart rather than risk betraying you with her. And knowing that Donovan is upset bothers Chloe so badly that it was affecting her joy in planning her wedding.”
“I’m aware that her association with me has caused problems for Chloe,” he acknowledged stiffly. “That’s why I wanted to take some of the pressure off her by leading the gossips away. Since she and I only dated a short time before the press found out about her—so briefly and discreetly that they were never quite sure which Pennington twin I was courting—this seemed like the ideal scheme. Now that Chloe’s engaged to Donovan and you and I are acting like an established couple, the gossips are beginning to wonder if they had it wrong at the start. If Chloe and Donovan met and fell in love because you and I were already seeing each other, rather than the other way around.”
“I hope that’s what they believe, anyway,” Grace muttered, thinking that all this trouble would be wasted if they hadn’t fooled anyone.
“Several are already beginning to speculate in print that the natural confusion that results when two best friends date identical twins is what led to Chloe and Donovan being kidnapped. They believe Wallace Childers had them snatched because he thought I would pay any amount of money to ensure the safety of my best friend and my fiancée.”
“Which was pretty much what he was thinking. He underestimated you, of course, as well as Donovan. He didn’t realize that Donovan would escape so quickly with Chloe, or that you had so many resources at your fingertips to track down the identity of the kidnappers.”
“I learned a long time ago that having a lot of money means being targeted occasionally by people who want to help themselves to some of it. That’s why I’ve made security such a priority in my organization.”
“I’m well aware of that,” she muttered, thinking of the discreet, but ever-present bodyguards who had shadowed her so frequently during the past few weeks.
“Cheer up. The wedding’s only a month away. After that, we can cut back on the number of public appearances, and eventually stop them altogether. We’ll simply imply that we’ve drifted apart—though we will, of course, decide to remain friends, since we’ll be seeing each other often through Donovan and Chloe.”
“Once we’ve ended this ridiculous playacting, there’s no reason at all we shouldn’t be friendly with each other.”
“No reason at all,” he parroted gravely.
She’d amused him again. She supposed she should be used to it by now.
She pushed herself off the chair. “It’s getting late. We’d better get some sleep.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Following her lead, he removed his feet from the table and stood. He carried his empty glass to the wet bar, stopping to take hers on the way. “I’ll just put these in the sink….”
She had just reached her bedroom doorway when Bryan made an odd sound behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, then grimaced when she saw his expression. She knew immediately what must have happened. “You’ve stepped on a piece of glass, haven’t you?”
He lifted his right foot, leaving a smear of bright red on the cream-colored carpet. “I’m afraid so.”

Bryan half expected Grace to chew him out for being careless enough to step on a piece of glass. Instead she hurried toward him, a frown of concern on her face. “Let me see.”
“It’s no big deal. Just a small…”
She already had her hands on him, pushing him toward one of the two tall wooden stools that flanked the bar. “Let me see.”
A bit surprised by her vehemence, he sat and allowed her to bend over his foot. He couldn’t help inhaling rather sharply when she gingerly touched the sharp wedge of glass sticking out of the wound.
Her frown deepening, she pulled her hand back. “I have a small first-aid kit in my room. Sit still and I’ll get it.”
“I’m sure I can—”
Pointing a finger in his face, she said, “Do not move.”
He settled more comfortably on the stool. “Yes, ma’am.”
She wasn’t gone long. Returning with a small plastic box, she opened it and laid it on the bar. He could see that it held a thermometer, single dose packs of pain reliever, fever reducer and antibacterial cream, alcohol pads, tweezers, a small pair of scissors and adhesive bandages in assorted sizes. “You seem to be well equipped for emergencies.”
She had already taken his foot in her hands again. “I like to be prepared. This will probably sting when I remove the glass.”
“I can take it.” Braced for her touch this time, he didn’t even flinch when she eased the glass from his foot. He was somewhat surprised by the gentleness of her touch. Based on his past experiences with her, he might have expected her to be a bit rougher with him. Even when she cleaned the bleeding wound with an alcohol pad, she took such care that he hardly noticed the unavoidable burning. “You’re quite good at this.”
Reaching for the medicated cream and bandages, she sounded distracted when she answered. “I have some experience. My former fiancé was into rodeo. Fancied himself a cowboy. I was always patching him up after…”
She stopped in midsentence, as if she’d caught herself saying something inappropriate. When she spoke again, it was a brusque, “There. That should keep you from bleeding all over this pretty rug. The cut wasn’t very deep. I don’t think it will give you any problems.”
He waited until she had turned to close the first-aid kit before asking very casually, “Fiancé?”
“Ex-fiancé.” She closed the plastic box with a snap. “And, no, I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Fine.”
“Fine. Can you walk on that foot?”
He stood, paying little attention to the twinge of discomfort. His concentration was focused, instead, on Grace’s flustered expression. “No problem. You’ve patched me up quite nicely.”
“Yes, well, don’t expect me to make a habit of it. I just felt bad because I was the one who broke the glass.”
He nodded, amused by her gruffly self-conscious tone. Grace was cute when she was embarrassed, though he knew better than to say so aloud. A remark like that could earn him a few more injuries—intentional on her part next time. But it seemed he liked to live dangerously. “I don’t suppose you’d like to kiss and make it better?”
She lifted an eyebrow and gave him a cool once-over. “Did you just suggest that I kiss your foot?”
He chuckled. “Darling, you can kiss any part of me you’d like.”
Keeping her chin high, she seemed to make an effort to reply nonchalantly. “Save it for the tabloids, Falcon.”
He was grinning again when she closed her bedroom door behind her with suspicious speed.
Cute, he thought. Grace Pennington was definitely cute. Even if she was very likely to drop-kick him if he told her so.

“High profile” was definitely the term to describe the lunch Bryan treated Grace to just after noon on Saturday. He’d selected a trendy restaurant known for hosting celebrities who wanted to be seen while pretending to be incognito. The owner/chef hosted his own television program and was almost as famous as the majority of his patrons. The most successful gossip columnists had their own regular tables where they could eavesdrop in undisturbed silence.
Bryan played to his audience shamelessly, treating Grace to such solicitous attention that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d started spouting sonnets. He kept an arm around her as he escorted her to their cozy little table, sat very close to her, rarely looked away from her. She tried to play her part as convincingly, looking back at him with what she hoped would be perceived as an adoring gaze, but mostly she just felt self-conscious and silly.
“You’re doing fine,” Bryan murmured at one point during the meal, as if sensing her doubts. He covered her hand on the table with his own, giving a bracing squeeze. “I doubt that anyone here knows how much you would love to pour your ice water over my head.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “I must be a better actor than I thought.”
Bryan was even better. Toying with her fingers with the ease of someone intimately familiar with her body, he murmured, “Darling, I imagine you’re very good at anything you put your mind to.”
She hated herself for blushing at the unmistakable innuendo in his tone—and for the shivery little sensations that seemed to be running from her palm, where his thumb was making slow, lazy circles, all the way to the pit of her stomach.
He was entirely too good at this. If she wasn’t careful, she could start believing that he found her very attractive.
She tugged her hand from his, annoyed to realize that it wasn’t quite steady when she reached for her water glass. “I think it would be better if—”
“Mr. Falcon. What a nice surprise to run in to you today.”
The man who had stopped by their table, interrupting Grace’s words, was tall, slender and very fashionably dressed. His bleached, moussed and sprayed hair swept back from a face tanned in a salon, tucked in a plastic surgeon’s office, and accented with vivid-blue contact lenses and pearly white dental caps. It took Grace only a moment to put a name to that striking face; she had seen him a few times on the entertainment channel, where he regularly dished celebrity tidbits and dissed their choice of clothing.
Bryan flashed one of his famous smiles, and Grace couldn’t help noticing that he needed no artificial enhancements to make him gorgeous. Nature had taken care of that quite adequately, from his silky black hair to those naturally blue eyes in a face that had made many a red-blooded woman go weak in the knees. Grace’s own knees showed a distressing tendency to fail around him—and she didn’t even like him very much. Or so she regularly reminded herself.
After exchanging a few meaningless pleasantries with the other man, Bryan turned to Grace. “I don’t believe you two have met. Grace Pennington, this is Terence Bishop.”
“Yes, of course. I’ve seen you on television,” she said, extending a hand.
His fingers were cold, his grip a bit weak—or maybe that was only in comparison to Bryan’s warm, firm touch. He seemed pleased that she had recognized him. “It’s delightful to meet you, Ms. Pennington. Are you enjoying your visit to our city?”
“Yes, very much, thank you.”
She could see him cataloging her simple hairstyle and the conservative cut of her emerald-green blouse and oatmeal linen slacks. He’d also noted the rhythm of her Southern accent. “You’re from Arkansas, aren’t you?” he asked as if he found it hard to believe that anyone would actually choose to live in such a place.
“Little Rock,” she confirmed with a determinedly pleasant nod. “Have you been there?”
“Oh, goodness no.” He appeared to be amused by the very idea. “I seem to always be flying from one coast to the other, with very few stops in between.”
“Then you’ve missed a great many fascinating places,” Bryan inserted smoothly. “I grew up in Little Rock, you know, and I still maintain a home there, though I don’t get to spend as much time there as I would like now.”
Bishop’s gaze turned speculative as he looked from Bryan to Grace. “I understand you’ve been spending quite a lot of time there lately.”
Bryan sent Grace a warm smile. “As much as I can manage.”
“You led the press on quite a chase, you know.” Bishop shook a finger in a gesture of indulgent reprimand. “That was very tricky of you to keep everyone guessing which lovely twin you were actually dating.”
Bryan shrugged. “My personal life is my business, of course. Still, I noticed that most got it wrong. You were one of the ones who reported that I was all but engaged to Grace’s sister, weren’t you, Terence?”
A faint touch of red stained the other man’s throat, but he managed a credible chuckle. “I’m afraid so. And you did nothing to set us straight. You practically confirmed that you were seeing Zoe—”
“Chloe,” Grace corrected in a mutter.
“Ah, yes, of course. But you must admit it appeared as though your old friend swept in and wooed your fiancée away from you. It’s quite a coincidence that you and Mr. Chance fell for sisters, don’t you think?”
Bryan’s grin deepened. “The dreaded love triangle—another bit of gossip fabricated through sloppy reporting. At least you’ve managed to avoid that one—haven’t you, Terence?”
“Certainly. I finally remembered how much you enjoy toying with the media. That wicked sense of humor just might lead you into trouble someday, Mr. Falcon.”
“I’ll keep your warning in mind. Yet, while the media was busy trying to figure out the players, Grace and I had a chance to get to know each other in relative private, didn’t we, darling?”
She only smiled when he took her hand again.
“So—” Looking searchingly from Bryan to Grace again, Bishop asked bluntly, “Can we expect another wedding announcement in the family soon?”
“One wedding at a time is plenty for my family, Mr. Bishop,” Grace replied. “Bryan and I are quite happy as we are for now. Isn’t that right, darling?”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “Deliriously.”
Their gazes met and held over her hand. Grace found herself momentarily unable to look away, captured by the gleam in his eyes and the brush of his mouth against her palm. Her fingers curled inward almost instinctively, as if to prevent the kiss from escaping.
Bishop cleared his throat. “Well. I’ll leave you lovebirds to finish your meal. Perhaps we’ll see each other again soon.”
Bryan looked away, breaking that disconcerting moment of connection with Grace. “I’m sure we will.”
“And you will let me know if there are any announcements in the future, won’t you?”
“You’ll be the first to know,” Bryan replied with such cheerful insincerity that Bishop was almost sulking when he strolled away.
Bryan turned back to Grace. “I think that went well, don’t you?”
His sudden transformation from devoted suitor to smug co-conspirator made Grace blink. Pulling herself together quickly, she snarled, “You licked my hand, you degenerate.”
He laughed softly. “And you taste delectable—as I suspected you would.”
She scooted nearer to him, gazing up at him through her lashes and keeping her voice a low, husky croon. “Bryan?”
His gaze fell to her moistened lips. “Mmm?”
Some evil impulse made her lean even closer, well aware that the neckline of her blouse gaped when she did so. In typical male fashion, his gaze dropped lower. “When this is all over—”
“Yes?” he prodded without raising his eyes.
She straightened away from him. “I’m going to have you killed.”
He laughed and reached for his water glass. “It’s always nice to have something to look forward to.”

Chloe and Donovan were waiting at the airport when Grace and Bryan arrived in Little Rock early that evening. Chloe rushed forward to greet them, Donovan following a bit more slowly at her heels.
It still startled Grace at times to see the short, fashionably choppy hairstyle her twin had sported for the past few months. They’d always worn similar styles in the past—and Grace had traditionally been the one to break rank and try something new. They’d stopped dressing alike in elementary school, and had maintained separate apartments for years, but their lives had still been tightly intertwined, both personally and professionally. Grace was aware that many things would be changing between them once Chloe and Donovan married and formed their own family.
Chloe hugged her, then stepped back to look at her as though it had been longer than a couple of days since they’d seen each other. “Did you have a good time in New York?”
“It was very nice,” Grace answered without a blink.
Glancing quickly around them, Chloe lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think you accomplished your goal? Keeping the gossips confused about us, I mean.”
Grace smiled with a patience she reserved only for Chloe. “I know what our goal was. And, yes, I think we made some progress on that front.”
Bryan and Donovan had greeted each other with slaps on the shoulders—a ritual Grace had always considered the male version of a hug. Bryan then turned to Chloe, taking her hand in both of his and bending to brush a kiss across her cheek, murmuring a complimentary greeting as he did so.
Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Grace watched the interplay between Bryan and her sister, trying to read his expression. Only a few short months ago he had asked Chloe to marry him. Though he’d seemed to accept Chloe’s relationship with Donovan graciously enough, Grace couldn’t help wondering how he really felt about Chloe now. Surely he’d had some sort of strong feelings for her if he’d actually considered spending the rest of his life with her, raising children with her. Frankly Grace couldn’t imagine anyone not loving Chloe.
But Bryan had managed to move on from several previous relationships without ever looking back—at least according to those gossip columnists who’d been making their lives so stressful lately.
They all pretended not to notice the attention they received from others in the airport terminal, though all four were aware they’d been recognized by at least a few. When Bryan draped an arm casually around Grace’s shoulders, drawing her closer to him as they headed for the exit behind Chloe and Donovan, she knew he was making sure they were seen as a couple. She saw Chloe slant them a sideways glance, but she didn’t return the look. If she was going to bluff her way through this, she couldn’t meet Chloe’s eyes.
They went out to dinner, choosing a restaurant that was popular enough to keep them in the public eye, yet quiet enough to allow them to talk comfortably. Though they chatted about Grace and Bryan’s trip to New York, they were careful not to even obliquely refer to the purpose for that excursion. They were always aware of the possibility of being overheard.
Grace wondered how Bryan could stand living such a fishbowl existence. The average wealthy businessman could live in relative privacy, but Bryan, with his extraordinary looks and influential, highly visible circle of friends and associates, was hardly average. Something about him had drawn the interest of the media from the time he’d broken away from his prominent family’s long-successful business holdings to strike out on his own, finding success at a very early age, even in the era of twenty-something multi-millionaires. His predilection for beautiful and famous women had placed him solidly in the gossip columns, even though he’d once told Chloe that he’d long since moved beyond that fascination.
Still, a man with his looks, his money and his access to the most exclusive social circles was bound to stir the imaginations of a celebrity-obsessed society, and Bryan hadn’t been able to take himself out of the public eye once he’d moved into it. Rather than running from the attention and becoming a privacy-obsessed hermit, he had learned, instead, to manipulate it—as he was doing now with Grace. There were still drawbacks to the fame, of course—the constant awareness of security among the worst, in her opinion, but he seemed to be comfortable enough with his life as far as Grace could determine.
She wondered if he’d given up on finding a suitable mate to share that life with, or if he was only waiting until after Chloe and Donovan’s wedding to resume his carefully calculated search.
Not that she was particularly interested in Bryan Falcon’s future private life, she assured herself, even as he asked for the benefit of a hovering waiter, “Would you like dessert, darling? The strawberry cheesecake is excellent here.”
The one thing she looked forward to when this farce was over was shoving his “darlings” right back in his pretty face. Grace made sure no hint of that rather ferocious fantasy was evident when she smiled and murmured sweetly, “No, I’m fine, thank you.”
She could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he’d guessed at least the essence of her thoughts. They’d been spending entirely too much time together if they were starting to read each other’s thoughts, she promptly decided.
Chloe was watching them again, and for some reason that made Grace uncomfortable. Though they’d never had that eerie psychic bond some identical twins claimed, there were times Grace had to make a real effort to keep Chloe from reading her too closely. There were aspects of Grace that even Chloe didn’t know, and Grace kept it that way deliberately. She had always disliked feeling stifled. As much as she loved her sister, there were times when she felt smothered by being half of an identical pair. She had her ways of rebelling, of breaking loose at times, but she kept that part of her life completely separate.
“Don’t forget about your fitting tomorrow afternoon,” Chloe reminded her as the two couples prepared to part after the meal.
Grace wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why I need to be measured and pinned and fussed over. Just try my dress on while you’re being fitted for yours. If it fits you, we know it will fit me.”
Chloe sighed. “I know you hate fittings, but it won’t take long. You really do need to try the dress on yourself—just in case. Besides, you haven’t even seen it. What if you don’t like it?”
“It doesn’t matter if I like it. It’s your wedding. That gives you the right to choose the maid of honor’s dress.”
“You see how difficult she is?” Chloe complained to the men.
Grace watched as Bryan and Donovan exchanged a quizzical look. “Difficult?” Bryan asked tentatively. “She’s letting you make all the decisions. That sounds pretty cooperative to me.”
“Now you’re being difficult,” Chloe accused him with a shake of her head.
Bryan turned a questioning glance at Grace, who shrugged and mouthed, “Bridal jitters.”
He seemed satisfied by that explanation.

Chapter Three
T he long, busy day had left Grace tired, so that she was very quiet when Bryan took her home. He drove her in a car that had somehow become available to him at the restaurant. She no longer questioned how everything he needed seemed to simply materialize at his fingertips.
He lingered in the hallway outside her converted-loft apartment until she unlocked the door. She suspected courtesy suggested that she invite him in for a drink, but she really just wanted to be alone for now.
He seemed to sense her feelings. “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded and turned her doorknob. That might have been the end of the evening had the door to the stairwell at the end of the hallway not opened at that moment, accompanied by a burst of voices and laughter. Bryan seemed to react on sheer instinct, reaching out to pull her into his arms without any warning of his intentions. His mouth was on hers before she could ask what the heck he thought he was doing.
Maybe it was the element of surprise that kept her from resisting. Or maybe it was the awareness of those onlookers and the role she had agreed to play for the next few weeks. Telling herself this was only an act and Bryan was merely playing to their audience, she forced herself to relax and appear cooperative.
The problem was that it was all too easy to forget this was only an act. Whatever other problems she might have with him, Bryan Falcon certainly had a talent for clearing an otherwise intelligent woman’s mind of all coherent thought.
The sounds of voices faded away as Bryan’s mouth moved on hers.
Grace couldn’t have said whether it was because the newcomers had stopped talking or her ears had simply stopped working. It seemed all she could concentrate on was the way his lips felt against hers, the strength of his arms around her, the warmth of his lean body as it pressed against hers. She found herself clutching his shirt, the expensive fabric gathered tightly in her fingers as she steadied herself. For some annoying reason, her legs were proving a bit unreliable at the moment.
She must be more tired than she had thought.
She pushed her heavy eyelids upward as Bryan slowly drew his lips away from hers. His gleaming midnight-blue eyes were very close to hers, their expression intense but impossible to interpret. Blinking to clear her vision, she glanced around the hallway to find that it was empty now, her neighbors having discreetly entered their own apartment.
Bryan’s arms were still around her. She took a half-step backward, bumping against her apartment door. “Well…” she murmured, irked when her voice came out a croak. She cleared it quickly. “I guess that capped the performance for today.”
Just a hint of a smile touched his lips. He dipped his head toward hers again. “How about an encore?”
Groping behind her with one hand, she quickly turned the doorknob, pushed the door open and moved another step backward. “Sorry. Final curtain.”
With a good-natured smile, he straightened. “Good night, Grace.”
She let herself into her apartment and closed the door behind her. And then she sagged against it, listening until Bryan’s footsteps had faded away and the rumble of the elevator indicated he was gone.
“Elvis has left the building,” she muttered, trying to find humor in a situation that had grown entirely too disconcerting.
Her lips were still tingling from his kiss, her stomach still fluttering like crazy. It had been a long time since she’d been involved with anyone—not since her engagement had ended a year ago, actually. Maybe, when this was all over, she should consider getting out more.

“Stand still, Grace. You’re making it very difficult for Mrs. O’Neill to fit you.”
“There’s a straight pin sticking into my butt,” Grace complained, squirming again.
The exasperated-looking, gray-haired woman kneeling beside her made a hasty adjustment. “Is that better?”
“Some.”
“Then why are you still wiggling?”
Grace made an effort to be still, even though she felt very much like a voodoo fashion doll being poked and prodded and peered at.
“You still haven’t told me if you like the dress,” Chloe reminded her from a few feet away in the fitting room of Ballew’s Bridal Shoppe.
Glancing at the full-length mirror, Grace shrugged, dislodging a tiny waterfall of silver pins. Mrs. O’Neill grumbled something beneath her breath and gathered them up again. “The dress is fine. It’s pretty.”
And it was—a tasteful column of lavender silk accented with a diagonal sweep of rhinestones across the bodice. Pretty—but not a dress Grace would have chosen for herself. But it was Chloe’s wedding, not hers, and the decisions were all Chloe’s to make. Grace had no intention of arguing with any of them.
Which didn’t mean she couldn’t complain about a few other things. “Ouch!” she said as another sharp tip pricked her skin, this time at her waist.
Mrs. O’Neill finally scowled, the first time she had let her determinedly polite smile fade. “I never stick any of my clients with pins. But I rarely deal with anyone as wiggly and fidgety as you, either.”
“Grace, please be still.”
Grace exhaled gustily, then made a quick grab for the slipping strapless bodice of the still-unfitted gown. “Doesn’t anyone wear sleeves anymore?”
With a show of severely strained patience, Mrs. O’Neill stuck another pin in the bodice to hold it in place. Grace had the feeling she’d just barely missed being stuck again—this time on purpose.
“I’m still, okay?” She struck a pose, facing the mirror. “I won’t move another muscle.”
Though she looked doubtful, Mrs. O’Neill went back to work quickly, perhaps trying to get as much accomplished as possible before Grace changed her mind.
Staying as motionless as she could, Grace studied the reflection of the slender woman in the sophisticated lavender dress. To keep it out of the way, she had twisted her hair up in the back, making her neck look longer and emphasizing her bare shoulders.
The woman in the mirror didn’t look like Grace. She looked like Chloe.
“Are you almost finished?” she asked the seamstress. Her voice was strained with the effort of being still when what she really wanted to do was rip the lovely dress off and run naked for refuge.
“Yes.” Mrs. O’Neill sounded almost as relieved as Grace felt. “You can change into your own clothes now. I’ll leave your sister to help you. I—uh—have things to do in the other room.”
Chloe stepped behind her twin to ease down the zipper hidden at the back of the dress. “I think you tried sweet Mrs. O’Neill’s patience.”
“She certainly tried mine. Those damned pins— I’m probably going to spring leaks next time I drink a glass of water.”
“Oh, stop complaining. It’s over now. And you looked gorgeous in the dress, by the way.”
Grace tugged on the T-shirt and jeans she’d worn to the fitting and then pulled the clip from her hair. She had to glance toward the mirror one more time just to make sure she was back to normal.
Chloe turned to hang the dress on a hook, close to the lacy white dress that hung nearby. Chloe had been fitted into that dress just prior to Grace’s fitting. It was the dress their mother had worn in her wedding thirty-two years earlier. At five-six, Chloe and Grace were a couple of inches taller than their mother, which had necessitated the addition of a row of lace at the hem of the dress, taken from the mantilla-style veil their mother had worn. Other than that, Chloe wanted no changes made to the pretty, but very simple, gown.
It was going to be a sweet, unpretentious, lovely wedding, Grace mused. It suited Chloe perfectly.
Chloe sat on a tiny, padded chair to put on her shoes. Grace sat on the floor to fasten the straps of the heavy sandals she had worn. “So, how’s it going with Bryan?” Chloe asked, keeping her voice very casual.
With a quick glance toward the closed door, Grace shrugged. “He’s playing his part to the hilt,” she murmured, mentally reliving that mind-scrambling good-night kiss.
“I’m still not entirely convinced this is necessary. It seems like you and Bryan are being terribly inconvenienced by…well, you know.”
“It’s no big deal,” Grace bluffed. “Bryan seems to be getting a kick out of it all.”
“He does have a rather odd sense of humor.”
“No kidding. Anyway—it’s been days since I’ve heard speculation that Donovan heartlessly stole you away from his best friend.”
Chloe nodded to concede the point. “It has helped. Even the ones who are suspicious about what really happened between Bryan and me are hesitant to openly talk about it now because they look foolish when we continue to deny it and refuse to be drawn into further discussion about it. And the society articles about your trip to New York referred to you repeatedly as Bryan’s ‘frequent companion,’ which makes it sound like you’ve been seen together often.”
“I can handle being wined and dined for another few weeks. After that, life can get back to normal—for me, anyway.” Even as she made the airy assertion, Grace knew life wouldn’t be the same for either of them, really. Chloe would be married to a man whose career involved a lot of travel and perfunctory social obligations, though not as much of either as she would have faced had she married Bryan. Grace expected to find herself dealing with much more responsibility at the shop. She would be the one with no other obligations to interfere with the job.
Tugging at the neckline of her T-shirt, she asked, “Is it hot in here to you? I can hardly breathe.”
“I’m almost ready.” After checking her watch, Chloe stood in front of the mirror and ran her fingers through her short, tousled hair. In her khaki slacks and green-and-beige striped pullover, she looked neat and as fresh as if she’d just stepped out of a shower. Her own hair still disheveled from the clip, Grace felt rumpled and grubby next to her sister—as she often did.
She sighed impatiently when Chloe lingered to apply lipstick. “We’re going to your apartment, not to the theater. Would you c’mon, already?”
Chloe smiled as she put the lipstick away. “Okay, so I’m primping because Donovan’s picking us up. I know it doesn’t matter to him if I’m wearing lipstick, considering he fell in love with me while we were lost in a forest, all torn and scraped and covered in mud. But I still like to look nice for him.”
Grace tried to smile, but it still angered her to think about the ordeal Chloe and Donovan had endured at the hands of their kidnappers. Grace had tried to talk Chloe out of leaving home that week; she’d had a bad feeling about it all along. Chloe had agreed to spend a week with Bryan at his luxurious vacation lodge in southern Missouri, with the specific intention of discussing the possibly of an old-fashioned marriage-of-convenience between them. Grace had been adamantly opposed to that plan, believing her sister deserved more than a calculated merger.
She’d been aware that Chloe’s biological clock had been ticking wildly for some time, and apparently Bryan’s had, too—or whatever the male equivalent could be called. But she hadn’t agreed that compatible goals and dreams were enough to sustain a lifelong commitment. Besides which, she simply hadn’t considered Bryan a good match for Chloe. She didn’t know why—but every time she had seen Chloe and Bryan together…well, she simply hadn’t liked it.
When Bryan had been delayed by business problems in New York, he had asked his trusted second-in-command, Donovan Chance, to escort Chloe to the lodge, where Bryan had hoped to join her quickly. Before he could do so, Chloe and Donovan had been snatched by three kidnappers, taken to an isolated forest hideaway and held for ransom until Donovan had orchestrated an escape into a million-acre forest. Several days of stormy weather and other daunting obstacles had slowed their rescue. For four days, Grace hadn’t known where her sister was—or if she was even alive.
She shuddered with the memory of that horror. And she acknowledged—if only to herself—that Bryan had helped her through that time. He’d allowed her to vent her fear, her impatience, and her anger—and he’d given her strength by being calm, steady and ferocious in his determination to find his friends and the people who had taken them. When he’d uncovered evidence that one of his business competitors, Wallace Childers, had been the mastermind of the scheme, he had personally confronted Childers.
Watching the encounter, Grace had seen exactly how intimidating Bryan could be when he dropped the affable façade he wore in social situations. Childers had literally been in fear for his life when he’d reluctantly confessed everything—and Grace hadn’t blamed the man for being concerned.
But Chloe was safe, she reminded herself with a glance at her twin’s happy face. She had abandoned the foolish idea of a marriage-of-convenience in favor of a match based on true love. And Grace was doing her part to facilitate a happily-ever-after ending—for her sister, if not for herself.
Following Chloe out of the fitting room, she slung her oversized leather bag over her shoulder and muttered, “I still don’t think it was necessary for Donovan to drive us here and pick us up. We’re perfectly capable of getting around on our own.”
“He wanted to,” Chloe answered with a shrug. “He’s still being a little overprotective, but that will change after the wedding. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on it.”
Grace knew she would quickly grow tired of being coddled and protected. She felt stifled enough now; being hovered over the way Donovan did Chloe would drive her nuts.
Which was why it was just as well she was single and unattached, she assured herself. She needed to be free. She wasn’t the type to be tied down to any man. She’d learned that fact the hard way—with a wannabe cowboy named Kirk.

The sidewalks of Little Rock’s River Market district were crowded late Tuesday morning as Bryan strolled toward the Pennington sisters’ shop. Tuesdays and Saturdays were the area’s busiest days during the summer. On those days, vendors gathered beneath the River Market pavilions to sell fresh produce, herbs, breads, flowers and other wares. Serving as a backdrop for the activities, the Arkansas River glittered with reflections of the bright July sun overhead. Locals and tourists in shorts and sandals ambled along the sidewalks, some carrying bulging bags of fresh fruits and veggies, others just window-shopping and enjoying the summer day.
A group of children in matching orange shirts emblazoned with the name of a local day care center dashed toward him, most likely headed toward the Museum of Discovery at the end of the block. Bryan sidestepped the chattering herd adroitly, nodding sympathetically to the adults trying to keep them under control.
He paused to study a grouping of paintings displayed on the sidewalk next to the River Market building, which housed several food stands and restaurants and gift shops. The artist, a striking black woman in a flowing dress and a big straw hat, had chosen vivid colors for her scenes of tropical marketplaces and fishing villages. One canvas in particular caught his attention. He stood in front of it for several minutes, enjoying the colors and the overall impression of cheery, bustling activity. It reminded him of his favorite marketplace in Jamaica; he could almost hear the lilting voices and the street musicians in the background.
Ten minutes later, he was on his way again, having left directions with the artist to have his newly purchased painting delivered to his Little Rock office. Bryan wasn’t usually an impulse buyer, but he knew what he liked when he saw it, and he was fortunate enough to be able to afford what he liked.
Yet all that money hadn’t helped him find anyone with whom to share his interests. In fact, it had proven a definite hindrance, drawing too much attention to his tentative relationships, and raising doubts about the true motives of the women who had shown an interest in him.
Chiding himself for letting such maudlin thoughts shadow his enjoyment of the nice day, he crossed the street toward the entrance of Mirror Images. Big windows on either side of the door were artfully arranged with uniquely shaped mirrors, framed prints, unusual candlesticks and other decorative wares. The display had drawn its share of attention; several potential customers were milling in the shop when Bryan entered. In response to the chime of the bell above the door, Chloe approached with a polite smile that warmed when she recognized him. “Good morning, Bryan.”
It was easier to tell the twins apart now that Chloe had cut her hair differently—not that Bryan had ever had much trouble recognizing them. Their personalities were so different that he had usually been able to distinguish them by their expressions alone. He took Chloe’s outstretched hand. “Good morning. You look beautiful, as always.”
“And you’re as full of blarney as usual,” she retorted, though she looked pleased by the compliment. “What’s up?”
“I had a rare couple of hours free this morning and I thought I’d pop in for a visit. If I’m not interfering with your work, of course.”
“Of course not. Justin can handle the sales floor for a few minutes,” Chloe replied with a nod toward her salesclerk. “He’ll call for me if he needs help. Come have a glass of tea with me in my office.”
Aware of the attention they were receiving from her customers, he accepted promptly. “I would love to.”
The small office Chloe shared with her sister never failed to elicit a grin from Bryan. Chloe’s side of the room was neat, organized, not a sheet of paper out of place; Grace’s desk was so cluttered it was a wonder she could find her chair. Above Chloe’s desk hung a framed museum poster of a Monet water lilies painting. Grace’s poster depicted a fiery red Corvette convertible. She’d told him once that she dreamed of owning such a vehicle someday. Bryan had impulsively offered to buy her one as compensation for her inconveniences because of his scheme to take media attention from Chloe and Donovan. Grace had let him know in clear and concise terms that she would fulfill her own dreams, thank you very much.
His amusement turning wry with the memory, he asked casually, “Where is Grace?”
“It was her turn to run errands—the bank, the post office, the office supplies store.”
Bryan wouldn’t admit to Chloe, of course, that he’d been disappointed that Grace wasn’t there when he arrived. It was disconcerting enough to acknowledge to himself that it was Grace who had drawn him here today. “How’s she holding up?” he asked. “With the scam we’re pulling off, I mean.”
Chloe wrinkled her nose as she removed a plastic pitcher of tea from the small refrigerator in one corner of the crowded room. “She fusses about it, of course, but Grace does love to fuss.”
He chuckled. “I’ve noticed.”
“And she is not happy that one of your men is following at a discreet distance while she runs her errands.”
“Tough. Fussing won’t do her any good when it comes to her security—not while I have anything to say about it, anyway.”
Grace poured tea into two glasses she had removed from a cabinet above the minifridge. “Daddy used to call us Sissy and Sassy. I was Sissy, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Anyway, he stopped calling us that when we were about twelve. Grace threatened to run away if he didn’t.”
“And, knowing her, she would have followed through on that threat.”
“Daddy must have thought so. He dropped the nicknames.”
There had been a time when Bryan had considered Grace’s mercurial, temperamental tendencies annoying. Yet the better he got to know her, the more he enjoyed being with her. And the better he understood her. If from early childhood she had been known as the “difficult” twin, it was certainly understandable that she’d gotten into the habit of living up to the reputation.
There was something else, too. Some hidden part of Grace that he hadn’t quite figured out yet. He was becoming more determined all the time to try.
“What about you?” Chloe asked, handing him his glass of iced tea. “Are you growing tired of the charade yet? You know, of course, that you can stop anytime if it’s becoming too uncomfortable for you. You’ve already diffused a great deal of the gossip that was upsetting Donovan so badly a few weeks ago.”
“True—but there’s no need to risk having it resurface before your wedding. Besides, I’m rather enjoying keeping the tattle mongers guessing.”
“I know you love playing practical jokes, especially on the tabloid writers, but you’re spending a lot of time with my sister—who, you have to admit, has not been your biggest fan in the past and isn’t shy about expressing her feelings.”
He sipped his tea, then spoke lightly. “I don’t mind spending time with Grace. She’s certainly…challenging.”
Chloe laughed. “She is that. Grace is rarely boring, you have to give her that.”
“Grace is never boring,” he corrected with a smile.
Studying him speculatively over the rim of her glass, she murmured, “You sound as though you’re starting to like my sister.”
“Of course I like your sister. I’ve always liked her—even when she fantasized about hiring some big, beefy guy named Vinnie to make me conveniently disappear from your life.”
Chloe giggled. “Now you’re exaggerating. She was simply concerned that we were acting impulsively when we discussed the possibility of marriage—and it turned out she was right. You know full well that you would have changed your mind if I hadn’t. You probably had already changed your mind, but you were polite enough to let me be the one to put it into words.”
Bryan had asked himself several times if he would have actually married Chloe had she not fallen in love with Donovan. It had seemed like a good idea; they had both been eager to find partners and have children. He had finally convinced himself that a marriage of minds, rather than emotions, was the only solution. Maybe his background had left him unprepared for anything else.
His own parents’ marriage had been a profitable merger between two business dynasties. Once they’d done their duty and produced an heir, they’d been more than happy to pretty much go their own ways. Divorce had never been an option; since neither interfered with the other, there’d been no need to put an end to their partnership. The marriage had actually been a convenient excuse for both of them, since neither had been interested in marrying again. Bryan had grown up knowing that his parents were quite fond of him, in their own busy, distracted ways, and tolerated each other when it was socially necessary.
The telephone on Chloe’s desk rang suddenly, interrupting his reminiscences. She answered with her professional voice, but then her tone warmed. Bryan knew immediately who was on the other end of the line. He’d never seen Chloe react this way to anyone but Donovan.
She’d never felt even remotely the same way about him.
“I can leave as soon as Grace returns,” he heard her say into the phone. “It should be no more than half an hour.”
Bryan stood, intending to leave her to finish her call in privacy, but she stopped him with a motion of her hand. “I’ll see you in half an hour,” she told her fiancé, then disconnected the call.
“Donovan just called to see if I’m free for lunch,” she explained to Bryan after returning the receiver to its cradle. “You don’t have to rush off.”
He remained on his feet. “I’ve kept you from your work long enough. I just wanted to say hello. Thanks for the tea.”
She rose and moved closer to him, smiling. “I enjoyed the visit. I have always considered you a good friend, Bryan. I’m glad we’ve been able to maintain that relationship.”
“I will always be your friend,” he replied immediately. “And since the man you’re marrying is like a brother to me, we’re almost family now.”
Her smile deepened prettily. “I like that.”
“So do I.” Feeling rather as if he was officially sealing the new status of their relationship, he leaned over to brush a kiss against her cheek.
“Sorry. Am I interrupting?”
Grace’s dry question drew their attention toward the doorway. Chloe had left the door partially ajar, so neither she nor Bryan had heard Grace push it open. She stood in the doorway now with her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed as she looked from him to Chloe and back again.
Moving a step away from Chloe, Bryan nodded. “Hello, Grace. How’s it going?”
“Fine. Chloe, Justin needs you at the counter. Something about a special order for Mrs. Crothers?”
“Oh, right. I’ll go take care of that before Donovan comes to take me to lunch.”
Still giving Bryan a look that made him feel as though he should shuffle his feet and apologize for something—anything—Grace moved out of her sister’s way. She stepped back into the doorway before Bryan could follow Chloe out. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s nice to see you, too. You look lovely, by the way. I’ve always liked you in green.”
Grace’s reaction to his flattery was just the opposite of her sister’s. She seemed to grow even more suspicious of him. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Why am I here? I had a couple hours free—okay, actually I ducked a meeting that seemed both pointless and much too boring for such a nice day. I took a walk through the River Market district and ended up here. Chloe poured tea for me and we had a nice chat. Would you like a transcript of our conversation?”
She didn’t respond to the lame jest except to glare even harder. “It doesn’t look right—you kissing my sister when she’s engaged to someone else.”
“Jealous?” he shot back, holding on to his patience with an effort.
Her cheeks flamed—a response he found quite interesting. “Don’t be a jackass, Bryan. I’m just thinking about what the gossip columnists would write if someone reported to them that you were kissing Chloe in her office. The whole point of this game we’re all playing is to defuse any talk about you and my sister, remember?”
“It was a friendly peck on the cheek between friends, nothing more. No one saw us except you—and I doubt you’re going to alert the media. And I’m tired of standing here defending my actions to you. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”
She moved slowly out of his way as he approached. “I simply…”
He didn’t want to hear any more lecturing from her at the moment. “See you around, Grace,” he said.
On an impulse, he stopped in front of her and reached out to thread his fingers into her hair. He covered her mouth with his before she could guess his intentions. “Report that to the media,” he murmured after he released her, then turned and made a hasty exit.

Chapter Four
G race wished she could spend Thursday evening scrubbing floors. Or paying bills. Even cleaning bathrooms seemed preferable to yet another evening socializing with the rich and semifamous.
This time it was a political fund-raiser at an exclusive Little Rock country club. The governor would be there, along with a gaggle of other politicians, several notable business leaders, a few sports heroes and Arkansas-born celebrities, and a military dignitary or two. Grace figured she would be as out of place there as a cat at a dog show, but she had made a commitment and she wouldn’t back out—no matter how badly she might want to.
Dressed in a sleeveless black silk dress—her limited wardrobe was going to force her to go shopping soon if she had to keep attending these glitzy events—she entered the ballroom at Bryan’s side. It had been somewhat awkward between them so far. Bryan was in one of his annoying, teasing-and-flirting moods, and she was still sulking over that parting kiss Tuesday in her office. He’d left her sputtering for a snappy comeback and mentally kicking herself for not physically kicking him. And he’d probably guessed everything she was thinking, the jerk.
Conversations in the ballroom were discreetly muted, with only an occasional burst of laughter here and there. An orchestra played elevator-suitable show tunes, and unrecognizable, but probably very expensive, hors d’oeuvres were artfully arranged on tables decorated with candles and ice sculptures—a potentially unfortunate combination, in Grace’s opinion.
Everyone in the room seemed to be on a first-name basis with Bryan—including the governor. They spent what seemed like a few days circling the room, swapping greetings and meaningless pleasantries and incredibly lame jokes.
“You can stop smiling now,” Bryan murmured when they had paused in a dim corner after making the obligatory rounds. “No one’s looking.”
“No,” she snapped back, “I can’t. My face is permanently stuck in this stupid expression. It’s going to be like this for the rest of my life, and then I’m going to die and lie in my coffin grinning inanely at all the mourners who pass by.”
He laughed and looped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure I’ll do something to wipe the smile from your face soon.”
“Watch that roving hand,” she growled.
He laughed again and moved his hand to a more innocuous position. “What did I tell you?”
“Can we leave yet?”
“Darling, we just got here.”
“It feels as if we’ve been here for a week. And do you have to call me darling every ten seconds or so?”
“Of course not. Sweetheart.”
Because punching one’s escort in the stomach was considered impolite, and because she had made a vow to herself to be on her best behavior that evening, Grace decided to let that one pass.
She happened to be looking at Bryan when his smile suddenly froze, then slowly faded. “Well, hell.”
Her left eyebrow rose. “What’s wrong?”
“My parents just walked in.”
Turning to follow the direction of his gaze, she tried to spot a likely looking couple among the well-dressed crowd. She’d never met Bryan’s parents, and he rarely spoke of them, at least to her. “I take it you weren’t expecting them?”
“I thought Dad was on a fishing trip in Belize.”
He didn’t seem particularly pleased to find out otherwise. Grace turned to study his expression, which was difficult to read. “You don’t get along with your parents?”
With a slight shrug, he replied, “We get along fine. Dad’s still a little annoyed with me for leaving the family business to go off on my own, but he rather enjoys the bragging rights that go along with my success. My mother has always had a fascination with celebrities, so she’s always nagging me to introduce her to movie stars and supermodels—even the ones I’ve never met. She knows everyone in the local social community, of course, but she’s always fantasized about mingling with the Hollywood elite—something my father couldn’t care less about.”
“Maybe you should have brought one of your starlet girlfriends tonight—for your mother’s sake.”
He responded to her flippant quip with a scowl. “I don’t happen to have any ‘starlet girlfriends’ at the moment.”
“I doubt that would have proven much of a handicap to you. I’m sure there are numbers you could call…”
Something glittered in his eyes that might have been a warning, but his smile didn’t waver when he said, “Why would I want to be here with anyone else but you, darling?”
Before she could answer, a woman’s voice crooned, “There you are, Bryan. I wasn’t sure we’d see you here this evening.”
Grace looked around curiously, studying the couple who had approached them. She knew their names— Richard and Judith Falcon. They were an attractive couple, as she might have expected, considering Bryan’s extraordinary good looks. She assumed they were in their mid-sixties, but both were in excellent condition. Richard was tall and straight, his silvered hair swept back from a tanned and strong-planed face. Bryan had inherited his bone structure and his piercing blue eyes from his father, Grace decided, but his charming smile had come straight from his mother.

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