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Second-Chance Seduction
Kate Carlisle


Connor MacLaren never forgave Maggie Jameson for leaving him. Ten years later, his former sweetheart’s back in their California town, desperate for the Scottish businessman’s help. And he knows just how to get her out of his system once and for all…Agreeing to temporarily pose as Connor’s girlfriend is déjà vu. After only a few minutes alone with the rugged Highlander, Maggie’s breathless with desire. Of course, this was Connor’s intention… until his plan backfires, leaving them both wanting much more.







“Connor.”

Maggie jabbed her finger in his chest for emphasis. “Just so we’re clear. I’m not going to have sex with you.”

He looked down at her finger, then up to meet her gaze. “Still negotiating, huh?”

She whipped her hand away and immediately missed the sizzle of heat she’d gotten from touching his chest.

“I’m serious, Connor,” she said, hating that her voice sounded so breathless. “I’ll share your room with you, but that’s it.”

“It’s a suite,” he corrected, and slowly leaned over and kissed her neck.

Dear lord, what was he doing? She knew she should slap him, push him away, but instead she shivered at the exquisite feel of his lips on her skin.

“Say it with me,” he murmured. “Suite.”

“Suite,” she murmured, arching into him when he gently nipped her earlobe. This had to stop. Any minute now.

“Sweet,” he whispered, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

* * *

Second-Chance Seduction is part of the MacLaren’s Pride trilogy:

From Scotland to California, three brothers are ready to claim their legacy—and love!


Second-Chance Seduction

Kate Carlisle




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


New York Times bestselling author KATE CARLISLE was born and raised by the beach in Southern California. After more than twenty years in television production, Kate turned to writing the types of mysteries and romance novels she always loved to read. She still lives by the beach in Southern California with her husband, and when they’re not taking long walks in the sand or cooking or reading or painting or taking bookbinding classes or trying to learn a new language, they’re traveling the world, visiting family and friends in the strangest places. Kate loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.katecarlisle.com.


Contents

Chapter One (#u09e6919d-1d3e-5665-9122-292b61420f3f)

Chapter Two (#uaf07034d-8cdf-57e1-b76e-7975eb04555f)

Chapter Three (#ueebbdd1d-e3f9-5288-87ae-6d439800dec7)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)


One

“You need a woman.”

Connor MacLaren stopped reading the business agreement he was working on and glanced up. His older brother Ian stood blocking his office doorway.

“What’d you say?” Connor asked. He couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“A woman,” Ian repeated slowly. “You need one.”

“Well, sure,” Connor said agreeably. “Who doesn’t? But—”

“And you’re going to have to buy a new suit, maybe two,” his brother Jake said as he strolled into his office.

Ian followed Jake across the wide space and they took the two visitors’ chairs facing Connor.

Connor’s gaze shifted from one brother to the other. “What are you two? The social police?”

Ian shook his head in disgust. “We just got off the phone with Jonas Wellstone’s son, Paul. We set up a meeting with us and the old man during the festival.”

Connor frowned at the two of them. “And for this you expect me to buy a new suit? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“We’re not kidding,” Ian said, then stood as if that was the end of the discussion.

“Wait a minute,” Connor insisted. “Let’s get serious. The festival is all about beer. Drinking beer, making beer, beer-battered everything. This is not a ballet recital we’re going to.”

“That’s not the point,” Ian began.

“You’re right,” Connor persisted. “The point is that I’ve never worn a suit and tie to a beer festival and I’m not about to start now. Hell, nobody would even recognize me in a suit.”

That much was true. Connor was far more identifiable in his signature look of faded jeans, ancient fisherman’s sweater and rugged hiking boots than in one of those five-thousand-dollar power suits his two brothers were inclined to wear on a daily basis.

Frankly, this was why he preferred to work at MacLaren Brewery, located in the rugged back hills of Marin County, thirty miles north and a million virtual light years away from MacLaren Corporation in the heart of San Francisco’s financial district. The brothers had grown up running wild through those hills. That’s where they had built their first home brewery, in the barn behind their mom’s house.

Over the past ten years, the company had grown into a multinational corporation with offices in ten countries. But the heart and soul of MacLaren Brewery still thrived in those hills, and Connor was in charge of it all: not just the brewery, but also the surrounding farmland, the dairy, the fishery, the vineyards and the brew pub in town.

And he wasn’t about to wear a freaking business suit while he did it.

Meanwhile his older brothers, Jake, the CEO, and Ian, the marketing guru, took care of wheeling and dealing at their corporate headquarters in San Francisco. They both lived in the city and loved the fast pace. Connor, on the other hand, avoided the frantic pace of the city whenever possible. He only ventured into headquarters on days like this one because his brothers demanded his presence at the company’s board meetings once a month. Even then, he wore his standard outfit of jeans, work shirt and boots. He’d be damned if he’d put on a monkey suit just to discuss stock options and expansion deals with his brothers.

Connor glanced at the two men, who were closer to him than any two people on the planet. “What made you think I would ever dress up for the Autumn Brew Festival? I’d be laughed off the convention floor.”

True, the festival had become a very important venue for the fast-growing, multibillion-dollar beer production industry. In the past few years it had expanded to become the largest gathering of its type in the world. The powers that be had even changed the name of the event to reflect its importance. It was now called the International Brewery Convention, but Connor and his brothers still called it the festival because more than anything else, people showed up to have a good time.

It was a point of pride that the festival was held annually in their hometown at the Point Cairn Convention Center next to the picturesque marina and harbor. It was one of the biggest draws of the year, and the MacLaren men had done their best to ensure that it continued to be a not-to-be-missed event on the calendars of beer makers and breweries around the world.

But that still didn’t mean Connor would dress up for it. What part of “good time” did his brothers not understand? The words did not equate with “suit and tie” in anybody’s dictionary.

Jake gazed at him with a look of infinite patience. As the oldest of the three, he had perfected the look. “Wellstone’s scheduled a dinner meeting with all of us and his entire family. And the old man likes his people to dress for dinner.”

“Oh, come on,” Connor said, nudging his chair back from the desk. “We’re buying out their company. They’re dying to get their hands on our money so the old man can retire to his walnut farm and enjoy his last days in peace and quiet, surrounded by nuts. Why would he care one way or another how we dress for dinner?”

“Because he just does,” Jake explained helpfully. “His son, Paul, warned us that if Jonas doesn’t get a warm and cozy, old-fashioned family feeling from the three of us at dinner, there’s a good chance he could back out of the deal.”

“That’s a dumb way to do business.”

“I agree,” Jake said. “But if it means snagging this deal, I’ll wear a freaking pink tuxedo.”

Connor frowned. “Do you honestly think Jonas would back out of the deal over something so minor?”

Ian leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It happened to Terry Schmidt.”

“Schmidt tried to buy Wellstone?” Connor peered at Jake. “Why didn’t we know that?”

“Because Wellstone insists on complete confidentiality among his people,” Jake said.

“I can appreciate that.”

“And Paul wants it to stay that way,” Jake continued, “so keep that news under your hat. He only brought up the Schmidt situation because he doesn’t want another deal to fail. He wants our offer to go through, but it all depends on us putting on a good show for Jonas. Apparently the old man’s a stickler.”

Ian added, “Terry blew the deal by wearing khakis and a sweater to dinner with the old man.”

“Khakis?” Shocked, Connor fell back in his chair. “Why, that sociopath. No wonder they kicked him to the curb.”

Ian snickered, but just as quickly turned sober. “Jonas Wellstone is definitely old school. He’s very conservative and very anxious that the people who take over his company have the same family values that he has always stood for.”

“He should’ve gone into the milk shake business,” Connor muttered.

“Yeah, maybe,” Jake said. “But look, he’s not about to change, so let’s play the game his way and get the old man firmly on our side. I want this deal to go through.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed in reflection. “Believe me, I want that, too.” Wellstone Corporation was a perfect fit for MacLaren, he mused. Jonas Wellstone had started his brewery fifty years ago, decades before the MacLarens came along. He had been at the front of the line when lucrative markets in Asia and Micronesia first began to open up. Yes, the MacLarens had done incredibly well for themselves, but they had to admit they were still playing catch-up to the older, more established companies. Last year, the brothers had set a goal of acquiring a strong foothold in those emerging territories. And here they were, less than a year later, being presented with the opportunity to purchase Wellstone.

So if all it took to attain their objective were some spiffy new clothes, the decision was an easy one. Connor would go shopping this afternoon.

“Okay, you guys win.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll buy a damn suit.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jake said, adjusting the cuffs on his tailor-made shirt. “I don’t trust your taste.”

The hand gesture Connor flipped his brother was crude but to the point. “This is the reason I hate coming into the big city. I get nothing but grief from you two wheeler-dealers.”

Ian stood to leave. “Spare us the country bumpkin act. You’re more of a cutthroat than we are.”

Connor laughed and stretched his legs out. “My rustic charm conceals my rapier-sharp business skills.”

Ian snorted. “Good one.”

Jake ignored them both as he checked his wristwatch. “I’ll have Lucinda clear my schedule for this afternoon.”

“Fine,” Connor said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jake nodded. “I’ll swing by here around three and we’ll head over to Union Square. We’ve only got a week to buy you a suit and get it tailored. You’ll need shoes, too. And a couple of dress shirts.”

“Cuff links, too,” Ian added. “And a new belt. And a haircut. You look like one of Angus Campbell’s goats.”

“Get outta here,” Connor said, fed up with the whole conversation. But as his brothers headed for the door, Connor suddenly remembered something. “Wait. What was that you said about needing a woman?”

Ian turned back around but didn’t make eye contact. “You need to bring a date to dinner. Jonas likes to see his partners in happy relationships.”

“And you didn’t tell him that’s a deal breaker?”

Ian scowled and walked out as Jake and Connor exchanged glances.

“Just find a date,” Jake said finally. “And don’t piss her off.”

Definitely a deal breaker, Connor thought.

* * *

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

There should’ve been a sign announcing that sentiment, Maggie Jameson thought as she stared at the massive double doors that led to the offices of MacLaren International Corporation. But Maggie wasn’t about to give up hope. She was on a mission, so rather than whimper and crawl away, she summoned every last bit of courage she could muster and pushed through the doors to announce herself to the pleasant, well-dressed receptionist named Susan at the front desk.

“He’s expecting you, Ms. James,” Susan said with a genuine smile. “Please follow me.”

James? You had to give them a fake name to even get near him, the voice inside her head said, jeering. Walk away before they toss you out on your ear.

“Shush,” Maggie whispered to herself.

But the sarcastic little voice in her head wouldn’t stay silent as Maggie followed the charming receptionist down the wide, plushly carpeted halls. And as if to amplify the mental taunts, everywhere she looked there were signs that the MacLaren brothers had succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Huge posters of the latest MacLaren products hung on the corridor walls as she passed. Lush plants grew in profusion. Glassed-in office spaces boasted state-of-the-art furnishings and technology.

Maggie was even treated to the occasional stunning view, through wide windows, of the gleaming San Francisco Bay in the distance. Just in case she forgot that this was the penthouse suite of the office building owned by the MacLaren Brothers of Point Cairn, California. As if she could.

Despite her best efforts, Maggie felt a tingle of pleasure that Connor MacLaren had done so well for himself.

Yeah, maybe he’ll give you a nice, shiny medal for doing him such a big favor.

Maggie sighed and glanced around. The receptionist was many yards ahead of her down the hall, and Maggie had to double her speed to keep up. How long was this darn hallway anyway? Where was Connor’s office? In the next county? She should’ve left a trail of bread crumbs. If she had to leave in a hurry, she’d never find her way out. Heck, she could wander these corridors for years. It was starting to feel as if she was stuck on some kind of never-ending death march.

Stop whining. Just turn around and walk away before it’s too late.

If she had a choice, she would take her own subliminal advice and hightail it out of there. She’d taken a big risk coming here and now she was regretting it with every step she took. Hadn’t she spent half of her life avoiding risks? So why in the world was she here?

Because she didn’t have a choice. She was desperate. Truly, completely desperate. Connor MacLaren was her last hope.

But he hates you, and for good reason. Walk away. Walk away.

“Oh, shut up!”

Susan stopped and turned. “Is something wrong, Ms. James?”

Yes, something’s wrong! That’s not my real name! Maggie wanted to shout, but instead she flashed a bright smile. “No, absolutely nothing.”

As soon as the woman continued walking, Maggie rolled her eyes. Not only was she talking to herself, but now she was arguing with herself, too. Out loud. This couldn’t be a good sign.

Her life truly had descended to the lowest rung of the pits of hell, not to be overly dramatic about it.

Even the cheery receptionist had caught on to the desperation vibe that hung on Maggie like a bad suit. She had taken one look at Maggie’s faded blue jeans and ancient suede jacket, and smiled at her with so much sympathy in her eyes that Maggie wouldn’t be surprised to have the woman slip her a ten-dollar bill on her way out.

Treat yourself to a hot meal, sweetie, Maggie imagined the woman whispering kindly.

Unquestionably, Maggie had been hiding out in the remote hills of Marin for way too long. Glancing down at her serviceable old jacket and jeans, she realized that she’d lost the ability to dress for success. Her boots were ancient. She hadn’t been to a beauty spa in more than three years. True, she hadn’t exactly turned into a cave dweller, but she certainly wasn’t on top of her fashion game, either. And while that wasn’t a bad thing as far as Maggie was concerned, it was probably a mistake not to have factored it in when she was about to go face-to-face with one of Northern California’s top power brokers.

The man whose heart everyone believed she’d broken ten years ago.

Someday she would find out why Connor had allowed everyone in town to believe it was her fault they’d broken up all those years ago. It wasn’t true, of course. They’d had what could charitably be called a mutual parting of the ways. She could remember their last conversation as if had happened yesterday because Maggie was the one who’d ended up with a broken heart. Her life had changed drastically after that, and not in a good way.

Why had her old friends turned their backs on her and blamed her for hurting Connor so badly? Had he lied about it after she left town? It didn’t seem like something Connor would have done, but she had been away such a long time. Maybe he had changed.

Maggie shook her head. She would never understand men and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to. But someday she would ask him why he did it. Not today, though, when she had so many bigger problems to deal with. She didn’t dare take the risk.

Turn around. Walk away.

“Here we are,” Susan the receptionist said cheerfully as she came to a stop in front of another set of intimidating double doors. “Please go right in, Ms. James. He’s expecting you.”

No, he isn’t! He’s not expecting a liar!

Maggie smiled stiffly. “Thank you, Susan.”

The woman walked away and Maggie faced the closed doors. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. The urge to walk—no, run—away was visceral. But she’d come this far on sheer nerves, so there was no way she would walk away now. Besides, even if she did try to leave, she’d never find her way out of this office maze.

“Just get it over with,” she muttered, and praying for strength, she pushed on the door. It opened silently, gliding across the thick carpeting.

At her first glimpse of Connor, Maggie’s throat tightened. She tried to swallow, but it was no use. She would just have to live with this tender, emotional lump in her throat forever.

He sat with complete ease behind an enormous cherry wood desk, unaware that he was being watched as he read over some sort of document.

She was glad now that she’d made the appointment to see him here in his San Francisco office instead of facing him down back home. Not only would she avoid the gossip that would’ve invariably erupted when people found out she’d been spotted at the MacLaren Brewery, but she also would’ve missed seeing him backlit by the gorgeous skyline of San Francisco. Somehow he fit in here as well as he did back home.

For a long moment, she simply reveled at the sight of him. He had always been the most handsome boy she’d ever known, so how was it possible that he was even more gorgeous now than she remembered? He was a man now, tall, with wide shoulders and long legs. His dark, wavy hair was an inch or two longer than was currently fashionable, especially for a power broker like him. She had always loved his remarkable dark blue eyes, his strong jawline, his dazzling smile. His face was lightly tanned from working outside, and his well-shaped hands and long fingers were magical...

A wave of longing swept through her at the thought of Connor’s hands and what he was capable of doing with them.

Maggie sighed inwardly. Lovemaking was one aspect of their relationship that had always been perfect. Yes, Connor had taken too many foolish risks with his extreme sports, and yes, Maggie’s fears for his safety had driven her crazy sometimes and had ultimately led to their breakup. But when it came to romance, theirs had been a match made in heaven.

Maggie remembered her grandpa Angus saying that the MacLaren brothers had done well for themselves. Now, observing Connor in this luxury penthouse office, she could see that Grandpa’s comment had been a gross understatement. She probably had no right to feel this much pride in the brothers’ accomplishments, but she felt it anyway.

At the thought of her grandfather, Maggie dragged her wandering mind back to the task at hand. Grandpa Angus was the main reason she was daring to show her face here today.

Connor hadn’t noticed her yet, and for one more fleeting moment, she thought about turning and running away. He would never have to know she had been here and she would never have to experience the look of anger and maybe pain in his eyes. And he would never know to what extent she’d been willing to risk humiliating herself. But it was too late for all that. She had been running from her mistakes ever since she first left Connor, and it was time to stop.

“Hello, Connor,” she said at long last, hoping he couldn’t hear the nerves jangling in her voice.

He looked up and stared at her for a long moment. Had she changed so much that he didn’t even recognize her? But then one of his eyebrows quirked up, and not in a “happy to see you” kind of way.

He pushed his chair away from the desk and folded his arms across his muscular chest. After another lengthy, highly charged moment, during which he never broke eye contact with her, he finally drawled, “Hello, Mary Margaret.”

The sound of his deep voice made the hairs on her arms stand at attention. Amazingly, he still retained a hint of a Scottish accent, even though he’d lived in Northern California since he was in grade school.

Anxious, but determined not to show it, she took a few steps forward. “How are you?” Her voice cracked again and she wanted to sink into the carpet, but she powered forward with a determined smile.

“I’m busy.” He made a show of checking his watch, then stood. “I’m about to go into a meeting, so I’m afraid I don’t have time to talk right now. But thanks for stopping by, Maggie.”

She deserved that, deserved to have him blow her off, but it hurt anyway. She took slow, even breaths in an effort to maintain her dignity, for she had no intention of leaving. “Your meeting is with me, Connor.”

He smiled patiently, as though she were a recalcitrant five-year-old. “No, it’s not. Believe me, I would never have agreed to meet with you.”

She said nothing as she watched him study her for several long seconds until she saw the moment when realization struck.

“Ah, I get it,” he said evenly. “So you’re Taylor James. Inventive name.”

“Thank you,” Maggie murmured, even though she could tell by his tone that he wasn’t the least bit impressed by her cleverness. She’d managed to use part of her real last name and had come up with a first name that could be male or female. She tugged her jacket closer. Had the temperature dropped in here? Probably not, but she felt a chill right down to her bones.

“Why the subterfuge, Maggie?”

She kept her tone as casual as she could manage. “I wanted to see if I could make it in the business without leaning on my family name.” It was the same lie she’d been telling herself for the past three years she’d been back in Point Cairn. The truth was too embarrassing to admit.

“How intrepid of you,” he said dryly.

She watched for a smile or even a scowl, but Connor revealed nothing but indifference. No real emotion at all. She had anticipated something more from him. Hurt. Anger. Rage, even. She could’ve accepted that. But Connor didn’t appear to be fazed one way or the other by anything she said or did.

That’s where the chill came from. She shivered again.

But honestly, what did she expect? Happy hugs? Not likely since she’d found out that he’d considered her departure such a betrayal. But if his current mood was any indication, he had obviously moved on long ago.

And so did you, she reminded herself.

He circled his desk and leaned his hip against the smooth wood edge. “I heard you’ve been back in town for a while now. Funny how we’ve never run into each other.”

“I keep a low profile,” she said, smiling briefly. The fact was, she’d spotted him a number of times on the streets of their small hometown of Point Cairn. Each time, she’d taken off running in the opposite direction. It was self-protection, plain and simple, as well as her usual risk aversion.

She’d returned to Point Cairn three years ago in a low state, her heart and her self-confidence battered and bruised. There was no way she would’ve been strong enough to confront Connor on his home turf. Not back then. She was barely able to do so right this minute. In fact, she could feel her thin facade beginning to crack and wondered how much longer she could be in his presence without melting down.

“How’s your grandfather?” he asked, changing the subject. “I haven’t seen him in a few weeks.”

She smiled appreciatively. He and his brothers had always had a soft spot for Angus Campbell, and the feeling was mutual. “Grandpa is...well, he’s part of the reason I’ve come to see you today.”

He straightened. “What’s wrong? Is he ill?”

Maggie hesitated. “Well, let’s just say he’s not getting any younger.”

Connor chuckled. “He’ll outlive us all.”

“I hope so.”

He folded his arms again, as if to erect an extra barrier between them. “What is it you want, Maggie?”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a thick folder. “I want to discuss your offer.”

He reached for the folder, opened it and riffled through the stack of papers. They were all letters and copies of emails sent to someone named Taylor James. Many had been signed by Connor, himself, but there were offers from others in there, too. He looked at Maggie. “These were sent to Taylor James.”

“And that’s me.”

“But I was unaware of that fact when I made those offers. If I’d known Taylor James was you, Maggie, I never would’ve tried to make contact.” He closed the folder and handed it back to her. “My offer is rescinded.”

“No.” She took a hasty step backward, as though the folder were on fire. “You can’t do that.”

For the first time, his smile reached his eyes. In fact, they fairly twinkled with perverse glee as he took a step closer. “Yes, I can. I just did.”

“No, Connor. No. I need you to—”

In a heartbeat, his gaze turned to frost. “I’m not interested in what you need, Maggie. It’s too late for that.”

“But—”

“Meeting’s over. It’s time for you to go.”

For the briefest second, her shoulders slumped. But just as quickly, she reminded herself that she was stronger now and giving up was not an option. She used her old trick of mentally counting from one to five as she made one last effort to draw from that sturdy well of self-confidence she’d fought so hard to reconstruct.

Defiantly she lifted her chin and stared him in the eyes. “I’m not leaving this office until you hear what I have to say.”


Two

He had to admire her persistence.

Still, there was no way Connor would play this game with her. At this point in his life, he wanted less than nothing to do with Mary Margaret Jameson. Yes, they’d been high school sweethearts and college lovers. At age twenty-two, he’d been crazy in love with her and had planned to live with her for the rest of his life. But then she’d left him with barely a word of warning, moved to the East Coast and married some rich guy, shattering Connor’s foolish heart into a zillion pieces. That was ten years ago. At the time, he vowed never to be made a fool of again by any woman, especially Maggie Jameson.

Except it now looked as if she’d succeeded in fooling him again. All it took was a convenient lie. But then, he’d found out long ago just how good Maggie was at lying.

The last time they’d spoken to each other was on the phone. How screwed up was it that Connor could still remember their final conversation? He’d been about to go on some camping thing with his brothers and she’d mentioned that she wouldn’t be there when he got home. How could he have known she meant that she really wouldn’t be there? Like, gone. Out of his life. Forever.

Well, until today. Now here she was, claiming to be the very person he’d been trying to track down for months.

Odd how this mystery had played itself out, Connor thought. Eighteen months ago, a fledgling beer maker began to appear on the scene and was soon sweeping medals and gold ribbons at every beer competition in the western states. The extraordinary young brewmeister’s name was Taylor James, but that was all anyone knew about “him.” He never showed up in person to present his latest formulation or to claim his prize, sending a representative instead.

Taylor James’s reputation gained ground as the quality of his formulas grew. He won more and more major prize categories while attracting more and more attention within the industry.

And yet no one had ever seen him.

Connor had been determined to find Taylor James and, with any luck, buy him out. Or hire him. But he hadn’t been able to locate him. Who was this person making these great new beers and ales while continuing to hide himself away from his adoring public? For the past year, Taylor James had continued to beat out every other rival. Including, for the first time ever, MacLaren’s Pride, the pale ale that had put the MacLaren brothers on the map and helped them make their first million. Losing that contest had been a slap in the face and had made the MacLarens even more determined to find the mysterious beer maker.

Through one of the competitions, Connor was able to obtain Taylor James’s email address and immediately started writing the guy. He received no answer. From another competition, Connor unearthed a post office box number. He began sending letters, asking if the elusive brewer would be interested in meeting to discuss an investment opportunity. He never heard a word back—until this moment.

Now as he stared at the woman claiming to be the reclusive new genius of beer making, Connor was tempted to toss the fraudulent Ms. James out on her ear. It would be even more fun to call security and have her ignominiously escorted out to the sidewalk. The shameful exit might give her a minuscule taste of the pain and humiliation he’d endured when she walked out of his life all those years ago.

But that would send the wrong signal, Connor reasoned. Maggie would take it as a sign that he actually cared one way or the other about her. And he didn’t. The purely physical reaction to her presence meant nothing. He was a guy, after all. And he had to admit he was curious as to why she’d hidden herself away and worked under an assumed name. She was a talented brewer, damn it. Her latest series of beers and ales were spectacular. And why wouldn’t they be? She came from a long line of clever Scottish brewers, including her grandfather Angus, who had retired from the business years ago.

So he’d give her a few minutes to tell her story. And then he’d kick her excellent behind right out of his office.

With a generous sweep of his hand, he offered her one of the visitors’ chairs. Once she was seated, he sat and faced her. “You’ve got five minutes to say whatever you came to tell me, Maggie.”

“Fine.” She sat and cleared her throat, then smoothed her jacket down a few times. She seemed nervous, but Connor knew better. She was playing the delicate angel, a role she had always performed to perfection.

He scowled, remembering that he used to call her his Red-Haired Angel. She still had gorgeous thick red hair that tumbled down her back, and her skin was still that perfect peaches and cream he’d always loved to touch. God, she was as beautiful as she was the day he met her. But she was no angel. Connor had learned that the hard way.

“My formulas have won every eligible competition for the past eighteen months,” she began slowly, picking up speed and confidence as she spoke. “I’ve singlehandedly transformed the pale ale category overnight. That’s a quote from the leading reviewer in the industry, by the way. And it’s well deserved. I’m the best new beer maker to come along in years.”

“I know all that.” Connor sat back in his chair. “It’s one of the reasons why I’ve been trying to hunt down Taylor James all these months. For some reason, he didn’t feel compelled to respond.”

“He wasn’t ready,” she murmured, staring at her hands.

Connor was certain that those were the first truthful words she’d uttered since walking into his office.

She pursed her lips as if weighing her next sentence, but all Connor could think was that those heaven-sent lips were still so desirable that one pout from her could twist his guts into knots.

His fists tightened. He was about to put an end to this nonsense when she finally continued to talk.

“Here’s my offer,” she said, leaning forward in her chair. “I’ll sell you all of those prizewinning formulas and I’ll also create something unique and new for MacLaren. It’ll be perfect as a Christmas ale and you’ll sell every last bottle, I guarantee it.”

“At what price, Maggie?”

She hesitated, then named a figure that would keep a small country afloat for a year or two. The amount was so far out in left field, Connor began to laugh. “That’s absurd. It’s not worth it.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “And you know it, Connor. You said it yourself. The Taylor James brand is golden. You’ll be able to use the name on all your packaging and advertising and you’ll make your money back a thousand times over.”

She was right, but he wasn’t going to admit that just yet. He stared at her for a minute, wondering what her real motivation was. Why had she come to him? There had to be other companies that wanted to do business with her. Or rather, with Taylor James.

“Why now, Maggie?” he asked quietly. “Why do you want to sell those formulas? And why sell to me?”

“Why?” She bit her luscious bottom lip and Connor had to fight back a groan. Irritated with himself as much as he was with her, he pushed himself out of his chair and scowled down at her. “Answer me, Maggie. Tell me the truth or get the hell out of here. I don’t have time for this crap.”

“You want the truth?” She jumped up from her chair and glared right back at him. “Fine. I need the money. Are you happy? Does it fill your heart with joy to hear me say it? I’m desperate. I’ve been turned down by every bank in town. I would go to other beer companies, but I don’t have the time to sift through bids and counteroffers. I need money now. That’s why I came to you. I’ve run out of choices. It’s you or...”

She exhaled heavily and slid down onto the arm of the chair. It seemed that she’d run out of steam. “There. That’s it. Are you happy now?”

“At least I’m hearing the truth for once.”

She looked up and made a face at him. He almost laughed, but couldn’t. She’d expended all her energy trying to finagle a deal with him and she just didn’t have it in her. She might well be the worst negotiator he’d ever dealt with. And for some damn reason, he found it endearing.

For his own self-preservation, he’d have to get over that feeling fast.

“Where did all your money go?” he asked. “You must’ve gotten a hefty settlement from your rich husband.” He gave her a slow up-and-down look, taking in her faded jeans and worn jacket. “It’s obvious you didn’t spend it all on shoes.”

“Very funny,” she muttered, and followed his gaze down to her ratty old boots. After a long moment, she looked up at him. “I know what you must think of me personally, but I’m too close to the edge to care. I just need a loan. Can you help me or not?”

“What’s the money for?” he asked.

She pressed her lips together in a stubborn line, then sighed. “I need to expand my business.”

“If you’re selling me all your formulas, you won’t have a business left.”

“I can always come up with new recipes. My Taylor James brand is going strong, growing more profitable every day. And my new Redhead line is popular, too.”

“Then what’s the money for?” he asked again, slowly, deliberately.

“I need to upgrade my equipment. I need to hire some help. I need to develop a sales force.” She sighed and stared at her hands. “I need to make enough money to take care of my grandfather.”

He frowned. “You mentioned Angus earlier. Is something wrong with him?”

It was as if all the air fled from her lungs. Her shoulders slumped and God help him, he thought he saw a glimmer of tears in her beautiful brown eyes.

“He’s been to the hospital twice now. It’s his heart. I’m so worried about him. He runs out of breath so easily these days, but he refuses to give up his goats. Or his scotch.”

“Some things are sacred to a man.”

“Goats and scotch.” She rolled her eyes. “He insists that he’s hale and hearty, but I know it’s not true. I’m scared, Connor.” She ran one hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. “He needs medication. They have a new drug that would be perfect for someone in his condition, but we found out it’s considered experimental. The insurance won’t cover it and it’s too expensive for me to pay for it.”

Connor frowned. This wasn’t good news. Angus Campbell was one of the sweetest old guys he’d ever known. Connor and his brothers were first inspired to make their own beer while watching Angus at work in the Campbell family pub. That brew pub had been on Main Street in Point Cairn for as long as Connor could remember. Growing up, he and his brothers had all worked there during the summer months.

Then five years ago, Angus lost his beloved wife, Doreen. That’s when Maggie’s mom sold the pub to the MacLaren brothers. Angus insisted that she move to Florida to live with her sister, something she’d been talking about for years. But that left Angus alone with his goat farm, though he got occasional help from the neighborhood boys. This had all happened during the time Maggie was living back east with her rich husband.

Now Maggie was back home and the only family she had left in Point Cairn was her grandpa Angus.

Connor made a decision. “I’ll pay for that medication.”

“We don’t need charity, Connor.”

Her words annoyed him at the same time as he admired her for saying them. “I’m not talking about charity, Maggie. Call it payback. Angus was always good to us.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But he’s almost eighty years old. There’ll be lots more medication in the future, along with a hundred other unexpected expenses. I need cash going forward to get my brewery up and running. That way, I’ll be able to generate enough funds of my own to pay for Grandpa’s health care needs.” She started walking, pacing the confines of his office as if she couldn’t bear to stand still any longer. “I’ll also be able to hire some workers for both me and Grandpa and maybe make a few improvements to the farm. I’m looking to arrange a business deal, Connor. A fair trade, not a handout. And I need to do it right away.”

“What happened at the bank?”

“I expected them to come through, but they turned me down. They explained that with the economy and all...” She gave a dispirited shrug.

Connor had been watching her carefully. He had a feeling there was something she wasn’t telling him. Why wouldn’t the bank loan her the money? Even though she was divorced, she must have received a hefty settlement. Her beers and ales were kicking ass all over the state, so she had to be considered a good risk. Was she hoarding the settlement money away for some reason?

And another thing. She and her grandfather owned at least a hundred acres of prime Marin farmland that would make excellent collateral for any bank loan.

She might not be lying to him at the moment, but she was holding back some information. Connor would pry it out of her eventually, but in the meantime, a plan had been forming in his mind as they talked. If he wasn’t mistaken, and he rarely was, it would be the answer to all their problems. She would get her money and he would get something he wanted.

Call it restitution.

“I’ll give you the money,” he said.

She blinked. “You will?”

“Yeah.” He hadn’t realized until Maggie showed up today that he still harbored so many ambivalent feelings for her. Part of him wanted to kick her to the curb, while another more rowdy part of him wanted to shove everything off his desk and have his way with her right then and there.

He thought she had a lot of nerve showing up here asking for money. And yet he also thought she showed guts. It was driving him nuts just listening to her breathe, so why shouldn’t he pull her chain a little? Just to settle the score.

“What’s the catch?” she said warily.

He chuckled. Once again, she’d thrown him off base. She should’ve been doing cartwheels, knowing she’d get the money, but instead she continued to peer suspiciously at him.

“The catch,” he explained, “is that it won’t be a loan. I want something in return.”

“Of course,” she said, brightening. “I’ve already promised you the Taylor James formulas.”

“Yeah, I’ll take those formulas,” he said, “but there’s something else I want from you.”

Her eyes wide, she took a small step backward. “I don’t think so.”

“Take it or leave it, Maggie,” Connor snapped.

“Take or leave what?” she said in a huff. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It seems I need a date.”

“A date?” she scoffed. “You must know a hundred women who would—”

“Let me put it this way. I need a woman who knows a little something about beer. You more than meet that requirement, so I intend to use your services for a week.”

“My...services? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about taking you up on your deal. I’ll pay you the entire amount of money you asked for in exchange for your formulas, plus this one other condition.”

“That I’m at your service for a week? This is ridiculous.” Agitated, she began to pace the floor of his office even faster.

“It’s only for a week,” he said reasonably. “Seven days and nights.”

“Nights?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing.

He shrugged lightly, knowing exactly what she was thinking. Sex. “That’s entirely up to you.”

“This is blackmail,” she muttered.

“No, it’s not. I’m about to give you a lot of money and I want something in return.”

“My services,” she said sarcastically.

“That’s right. Look, the Autumn Brew Festival is next week.”

“I know that,” she grumbled.

“I need a date, and you’re the perfect choice. So you will agree to be my date the entire week and go to all the competition events with me. I’ll also want you to attend a number of meetings and social events with me, including the Friday night gala dinner dance.”

That suspicious look was back. “Are you kidding?”

“What? You don’t like to dance?”

She looked stricken by his words but quickly recovered. “No, I don’t, as a matter of fact.”

That was weird. Maggie had always loved dancing. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re going to the gala.”

“We’ll see about that.” Her eyes focused in on him. “And that’s it? We pal around for a week at the festival and I get the money?”

“That’s it. And I’ll expect you to stay with me in my hotel suite.”

She stopped and stared at him. “Oh, please.”

“You want the money or not?”

“You know I do, but I can drive in and meet you each morning.”

“That won’t work. I expect us to keep late hours and I have a number of early morning breakfast meetings scheduled. I don’t want to take any chances on you missing something important.”

“But—”

“Look, Maggie. Let me make it clear so there’s no misunderstanding. I don’t expect you to sleep with me. I just expect you to stay at the hotel with me. It’ll be more convenient.”

She frowned. “But I can’t leave Grandpa for that long a time.”

“My mother will look in on him,” he said, silently patting himself on the back for his split-second problem-solving abilities. Deidre MacLaren had known Angus for years, so Connor knew she wouldn’t mind doing it.

“And at the end of the week,” he continued calmly, “I’ll give you the money you asked for in full.”

“And all I have to do is stay with you for a week?”

“And be my date.”

“In your hotel room.”

“It’s a suite.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You’ll be more comfortable in a bed.”

“And you’ll sleep on the couch?”

“No.”

Her eyes widened. “Stop kidding around.”

His lips twitched. “Am I?”

“Wait,” she said suddenly. “I’ll get my own room.”

“The hotel is sold out.”

A line marred her forehead as she considered that for a moment, and then she brightened. “We can switch off between the couch and—”

“Take the deal or leave it, Maggie.”

She flashed him a dark look. “Give me a minute to think.”

“No problem.”

She took to pacing the floor again, probably to work out the many creative ways she would say no to his outlandish offer. But she would definitely say no, wouldn’t she?

Hell, what in the world was he thinking? God forbid she agreed to his conditions. What would he do in a hotel suite with Maggie for a week? Well, hell, he knew what he wanted to do with her. She was a beautiful woman and he still remembered every enticing inch of her body. He’d never forgotten all the ways he’d brought her pleasure. Those thoughts had plagued him for years, so living with her for a week would be a dangerous temptation. It would be for the best if she refused the offer.

And once she turned him down, Connor would go ahead and pay for Angus’s medication, even if he had to sneak behind her back to do it. And as for Maggie getting a loan to grow her business, he figured that would happen eventually. She’d either find a bank that would agree to it or she’d tap one of the other brewery owners.

That thought didn’t sit well with him, though. He didn’t want anyone else getting their hands on her beer formulas. Or her, either, if he was being honest.

And in case he’d forgotten, he still needed a date for the Wellstone dinner meeting. As much as he hated to admit it, Maggie would be perfect as his date. Jonas Wellstone would fall in love with her.

So maybe he’d gone too far. If she turned him down—hell, when she turned him down, he would simply renegotiate to get those formulas and to convince her to be his date at the Wellstone dinner. That’s all he really wanted.

Meanwhile, he had to chuckle as he watched her stomp and grumble to herself. A part of him wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her—in more ways than one. But once again, that wayward part of him was doomed to disappointment, because other than the obvious outward attraction to her, Maggie meant nothing to him now, thank goodness. He counted himself lucky that he’d gotten over her duplicity years ago. This offer of his was just sweet payback, pure and simple. It felt damn good to push some of her buttons the way she’d pushed his in the past, saying one thing but meaning something else. Keeping him in a constant state of confusion. Now it was his turn to shake her up a little.

“So what’s your answer, Maggie?” he asked finally.

* * *

On the opposite side of the room, Maggie halted in her pacing and turned to face him. A big mistake. She could feel his magnetic pull from all the way over there. Why did he still have to be so gorgeous and tall and rugged after all these years? It wasn’t fair. She could feel her hormones yipping and snapping and begging her to take him up on his offer to spend a week together in that hotel suite of his.

What was wrong with her? Unless she’d missed the clues, he was clearly out for revenge, pure and simple. Imagine him insisting that she provide him services for a week. Even though he’d assured her that she wasn’t expected to sleep with him, she had a feeling he wasn’t talking about a plain old dinner date here and there.

Services, indeed!

At that, her stomach nerves began to twitch and buzz with excitement. Services!

Oh, this wasn’t good.

“Maggie?”

“Yes, damn it. Yes, I’ll do it,” she said, waving her hands in submission.

He hesitated, then took what looked like a fortifying breath. “Good.”

“But I won’t sleep with you.” She pointed her finger at him for emphasis.

He tilted his head to study her. “I told you I don’t expect you to.”

“But...the hotel suite.” She let go of the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Okay. But...never mind. Good. Fine. That’s fine.” She stopped talking as she felt heat rise up her neck and spread to her cheeks. She tended to turn bright pink when she was embarrassed, so Connor probably noticed it, too. Even though he’d made it clear he didn’t want to sleep with her, she’d assumed...well. That’s what she got for assuming anything. Apparently he just wanted to keep tabs on her.

If she’d thought about it for a second or two, she would’ve realized that he could have any woman he wanted. They probably waited in line outside his door and threw themselves at him wherever he went. Why would he want to sleep with Maggie, especially after he’d spent all these years thinking she had betrayed him? All he wanted was a date, someone who knew something about the brewery business. And that description fit her perfectly.

“I misunderstood,” she admitted.

“Yeah, you did,” he said, his tone lowering seductively as he approached her. “Because if you and I were to do what your mind is imagining, Maggie, there wouldn’t be much sleeping going on.”

Staggered, Maggie felt her mouth drop open. “Oh.”

“So it’s settled,” he said, breezily changing tempo again as he tugged her arm through his and walked her to the door. “I’ll pick you up Sunday morning and we’ll drive together. Be sure to pack something special for the gala and a few cocktail dresses. We’ll be dining with a number of important business associates, and I want them to walk away impressed.”

She refused to mention that she only owned two simple cocktail dresses and nothing formal, having given away most of her extensive wardrobe to the local consignment shop three years ago. Instead she turned and jabbed her finger in his chest for emphasis. “Just so we’re clear, Connor. I’m not going to have sex with you.”

He looked down at her finger, then up to meet her gaze. “Still negotiating, huh?”

She whipped her hand away and immediately missed the sizzle of heat she’d gotten from touching his chest. She told herself it meant nothing. It had just been a while since she’d touched a man. Like, years. No wonder she was getting a contact high.

“I’m serious, Connor,” she said, hating that her voice sounded so breathless. “I’ll share your room with you, but that’s it.”

“It’s a suite,” he corrected, and slowly leaned over and kissed her neck.

Dear Lord, what was he doing? She knew she should slap him, push him away, but instead she shivered at the exquisite feel of his lips on her skin.

“Say it with me,” he murmured. “Suite.”

“Suite,” she murmured, arching into him when he gently nipped her earlobe. This had to stop. Any minute now.

“Sweet,” he whispered, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her.


Three

The heat was instantaneous. Maggie felt as if she were on fire and she reveled in the warmth of his touch. She couldn’t remember feeling this immediate need, not even years ago when she and Connor first made love. And certainly not in all her years with Alan Cosgrove, her less than affectionate ex-husband.

Good grief, why was she thinking about a cold fish like Alan when Connor’s hot, sexy mouth was currently devouring her own?

She gripped his shirt, knowing she ought to put an end to this and leave right now. Talk about taking a risk! This was madness. She had to stop. But oh, please, no, not yet. For just another moment, she wanted to savor his lips against hers, his touch, his strength, his need. It had been much too long since any man had needed her like this.

Connor had always been a clever, considerate lover, but now he was masterful as he maneuvered her lips apart and slid his tongue inside to tangle with her own, further melting her resistance. His arms encircled her, his hands swept up and down her back with a clear sensual awareness of her body as his mouth continued to plunder hers.

And just at the point where she was ready to give him anything he wanted, Connor ended the kiss. She wobbled, completely off balance for a moment. She wanted to protest and whine for him to kiss her again. But she managed to control herself, taking time to adjust the shoulder strap of her bag and straighten her jacket.

Then she glanced up and caught his self-satisfied smile. He looked as if he’d just won a bet with someone, maybe himself.

She remembered that smile, remembered loving it, loving him. Times changed, though, and just because they’d shared an amazing kiss didn’t mean she had any intention of sleeping with him. Still, at least she knew what she was up against now. Was she crazy to have such strong feelings for him after so many years? No, it would only be crazy if she acted on those feelings. She needed to remind herself of the only thing that mattered: getting the loan, by almost any means necessary. Which meant that she would walk through fire to get it. And Connor MacLaren was fire personified.

She took a deep breath and struggled to maintain a carefree tone. “I guess I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

“Yes, you will.” And with a friendly stroke of her hair, Connor opened the office door. “Drive home safely.”

“I will. Goodbye, Connor.”

She strolled from his office in a passion-soaked haze. But despite her earlier concerns, she somehow found her way out of the large office maze and down to the parking garage. And before she knew it, she was driving toward the Golden Gate Bridge and heading for home.

* * *

The kiss meant nothing, Connor assured himself as he closed his office door. He’d just been trying to teach her a lesson. Testing her. Keeping her on her toes. He’d wanted to prove she was lying when she claimed she wouldn’t dream of having sex with him. And, he told himself, he’d done a hell of a job. She had practically ripped his shirt off right there and then. Hell, if he hadn’t put an end to the kiss when he did, they would be going at it naked on his office couch by now.

And didn’t that paint a provocative picture? Damn. The image of her writhing in naked splendor on the soft leather couch was stunning in its clarity, causing him to grow rock hard instantly. In his mind’s eye, he could almost touch the gentle slope of her curvaceous breasts, could almost taste her silky skin.

“Idiot,” he muttered, straining to adjust himself before settling back to work. “Explain again why you stopped kissing her?”

At the time, it had made sense to stop, he argued silently. But now, as he hungered for more...he shook his head. Maggie had always had the ability to tie him into knots and now she was doing it again. Damn it, he was a different man than he was ten years ago. Stronger. Smarter. He wasn’t about to let her call the shots again. He would be the one in control of the situation while they were together next week.

But the voice inside his head began to laugh. Control. Good luck with that.

He ruthlessly stifled that mocking voice. So maybe he hadn’t always had a firm grip on things when he was with Maggie before. Things were different now. He still didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, which was pretty far, seeing as how she’d lost some weight since he’d last seen her. She was just as beautiful, though. Maybe more so. When he first looked up and saw her standing in his office doorway, she had taken his breath away. She’d always had that power over him, but he was older and wiser now and not about to fall for her charms again.

He wouldn’t mind kissing her again, though, and was momentarily distracted by the searing memory of his mouth on hers. And it went without saying that he would do whatever it took to get her into bed with him. He was a red-blooded man, after all. Didn’t mean he cared about her or anything. It was just something he’d be willing to do if the occasion presented itself—and he had every intention of making sure that the occasion presented itself.

Absently, Connor checked the time. Damn, he only had twenty minutes before Jake would show up to drag his ass out to shop for a new suit. He figured he’d better get some real work done in the meantime so he’d be ready to go when Jake got here. His brother had already warned him that he’d be on the phone with the Scottish lawyers this afternoon, and that always put Jake in a foul mood.

The lawyers from Edinburgh had been trying to convince one of the MacLaren brothers to fly to Scotland to take care of the details of their uncle Hugh’s estate. Whoever made the trip would be stuck there for weeks. But that wasn’t the real reason none of them wanted to go there. No, it was because Uncle Hugh had been a hateful man. Jake, Ian and Connor couldn’t care less about the terms of Hugh’s last will and testament, despite the fact that they were his beneficiaries, in a manner of speaking.

Even though Connor and his brothers had grown up around Point Cairn in Northern California, they’d been born in the Highlands of Scotland. They were the sons of Liam MacLaren and heirs to Castle MacLaren. But when Connor was a baby, their uncle Hugh, an evil bastard if ever there was one, swindled their father out of his inheritance.

Their dad never recovered from the betrayal and died a few years later, leaving their mother, Deidre, a widow with three young boys to raise. Unwilling to live in the same area as her despised brother-in-law, she moved with her boys to Northern California to be near her sister. Connor had no memory of any other home except the rugged hills that overlooked the wild, rocky coast of Marin County.

Connor stared out the office window at the stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Marin shoreline beyond. Maybe in some small way, their uncle had done them all a favor because Connor couldn’t imagine living anywhere else in the world. Hell, he never would have met Maggie Jameson otherwise, he thought, and then wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He wasn’t ready to decide on that one, but he couldn’t help smiling in anticipation of spending the following week in a hotel suite with the gorgeous woman.

* * *

By the time she arrived home, Maggie felt relatively normal again. Her heart had finally stopped hammering in her chest, and her head had ceased its incessant buzzing. All that remained from Connor’s onslaught was a mild tingling of her lips from his devastating kiss.

Mild? That was putting it, well, mildly. But never mind his kiss. What about his demands? For someone so risk-averse, Maggie still couldn’t believe she’d entered the lion’s den and put herself in such a perilous position. After all the lectures she’d given herself and all the positive affirmations she’d memorized, she had taken one look at Connor and practically rolled over, allowing him to take hold of the situation and make choices for her.

She pulled her car into the garage next to the barn and walked across the circular drive to the large ranch-style home she shared with her grandfather. The afternoon sun barely managed to hold its own against the autumn chill that had her tugging the collar of her old suede jacket closer to her neck. She still took a moment to appreciate the land that rolled and dipped its way down to the sheer bluffs that overlooked the rough waves of the Pacific Ocean. Despite some sorry choices in her past, she had to marvel at her own good luck. She was home now, living in a beautiful house in a magical location. Her darling grandfather, despite some tricky health issues, was still kicking, as he liked to put it. She was proud of herself, proud of how she’d finally arrived here, both emotionally and physically.

Connor MacLaren had no idea how much it had cost her to show up at his office door with her hat in her hand, and Maggie had no intention of ever revealing that to him. She’d fought too hard to get to where she was today, and she wasn’t about to gamble it all away on some tingling feeling she’d received from a simple kiss.

She jogged up the porch stairs and into the house, where she checked the time on the mantel clock. Her grandfather would be out in the barn milking his goats. Dropping her bag on the living room chair, she went to her bedroom to make a phone call. She was determined to avoid sharing a hotel room with Connor—even if it was a luxurious penthouse suite, as he had emphasized more than once.

But when she called the convention hotel to make a reservation, she was told that they were sold out, just as Connor had warned. And when she called the next closest hotel, she was quoted a price that was so far out of her range she almost laughed out loud at the reservationist.

She merely thanked her instead and hung up the phone. Then she spent a few minutes at her computer, searching for information. Finally, with nervous fingers, she dialed Connor’s number.

“MacLaren,” he answered.

“It’s Maggie and I’ve been thinking, Connor,” she began. “It’s probably best if I commute to the festival from home after all. Grandpa isn’t well and I’d rather be home each night to see him.”

“I’ve already talked it over with my mother, Maggie,” Connor replied dryly. “She plans to stop by your place twice a day and spend the night there, too. I know Angus won’t put up with two women fussing at him day and night, so you’ll be doing him a favor by staying away for the week.”

“I’m not sure if—”

“And besides,” he continued in steamroller fashion, “you’ve already agreed to be my date for the week, remember? In exchange for which I’m going to give you a lot of money. I think that’s a pretty good deal for you.”

“Pretty good deal,” she echoed darkly.

“Maggie, I explained all this to you and I thought you had agreed. I’m going to need you to accompany me every day, starting with breakfast meetings and going into the late evenings with all the social events I’ve got to attend.”

She frowned into the phone. “You never liked all that social stuff before.”

“That was true ten years ago,” he said smoothly. “Now I figure it’s a small price to pay to get what I want.”

“The price of doing business?”

“Exactly. And it won’t hurt you to be seen with me, Maggie. It’ll be good for your business to meet the people I know, too.”

She knew he was right about that. But still. “Okay, but I’m not going to the dance.”

“You’re going with me, Maggie.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Connor said, “Are you saying this is a deal breaker?”

Her shoulders slumped as she recognized that hard-nosed tone of his. She wasn’t about to break their deal, but she still had no intention of attending the stupid dance. Especially because it wasn’t just a dance. Maggie had looked it up on the festival website. The dinner dance was actually a formal affair, a gala event, meant to celebrate the culmination of the festival year and probably as snooty as any high-society ball she had ever attended in Boston. But since she didn’t want to argue anymore, she left it alone for now. After a minute more of conversation, she disconnected the call.

She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t mind being his date for all the events during the week. That wouldn’t be any problem at all. But the thought of having to share his hotel suite with him? It made her want to run through the house screaming. She didn’t know how she would manage it, but unless another hotel room opened up in the next few days, she would soon find out.

But even another hotel room wouldn’t fix the somewhat smaller dilemma of her not attending the dance. Maggie groaned and pushed that little problem away. If they managed to make it through the week together, Connor would just have to understand.

None of this would’ve been necessary if the banks hadn’t turned down her loan. But the money was critical now. Even though Grandpa insisted that he was still hale and hearty and fit as a fiddle, Maggie was so afraid that one of these days he would need more care than she could afford to give him. She had gone through most of her meager settlement money fixing the roof of the house and then she’d bought a number of replacement items for the brewery.

She had been hoping to use the remaining funds as collateral, but now that Angus needed expensive medication and possibly even surgery someday, she’d reached the point of desperation. Her business was on the verge of expanding into a wider market, and that would bring in more money eventually, but before that happened, she needed to raise some capital to keep things going. And that was where Connor came into the picture. Negotiating and trading her beer formulas for cash was better than going to the bank. This way, she wouldn’t have to pay back a loan.

She suddenly felt so tired and gazed at her comfortable bed longingly. How nice it would be to climb under the covers and take a long nap, but first she wanted to help Grandpa feed the goats.

As she stripped out of her “nice” jeans and pulled on her old faded pair, she had to laugh at herself. A few years ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing jeans to a meeting in the city. Not even her “nice” jeans. But happily, jeans and work shirts had gradually replaced most of the clothing she’d worn during her marriage.

Alan, her ex-husband, had expected her to dress up every day, usually in smart skirts and twin sweater sets with pearls. It didn’t matter what she was planning to do that day.

“You must always be seen wearing fashionable yet sensible clothing,” her ex-mother-in-law, Sybil, was forever reminding her, usually in a scolding tone of voice.

Three years ago, when Maggie first arrived back in Point Cairn after her divorce, she’d had no idea what an emotional mess she was. She just knew that her marriage had gone disastrously wrong and she was determined to get past the whole experience and move forward. She wanted to catch up with old friends and explore the town she’d missed so dearly. So one day, shortly after she’d returned, she drove into Point Cairn to do the grocery shopping.

While at the store, she ran into some of her old high school friends she hadn’t seen in years. She was thrilled to reconnect, but they quickly put her in her place, telling her they wanted nothing to do with her. They were still resentful that she had turned her back on the town. More important, they were livid that she’d hurt Connor so badly all those years before. Her friends had made it clear that while Connor was still universally loved and admired by one and all, Maggie was most assuredly not. One friend put it more succinctly: Maggie could go stuff it as far as they were concerned.

It was another blow to Maggie’s already fragile self-esteem and she had limped home to cry in private. For a full month afterward, she lived in her pajamas, wandering in a daze from her bed to the couch to watch television and then back to bed again. The thought that she might’ve hurt Connor was devastating to her, but the notion that Connor had lied to her old friends about their mutual breakup was just as bad. Why would he do that?

She remembered tossing and turning at night, unable to sleep for all the pain she might have caused—without even meaning to do so!

Then one day, her grandfather told her he could really use her help with the goats.

Maggie’s spirits had lifted. Grandpa needed her! She had a reason to get dressed and she did so carefully, choosing one of her many pastel skirts and a pale pink twinset with a tasteful gold necklace and her Etienne Aigner pumps.

When she walked into the barn, Grandpa took one look at her and asked if she thought they were going to have a tea party with the goats. He chuckled mightily at his little joke, but Maggie jolted as if she’d been rudely awakened from a bad dream. She stared down in dismay at her outfit, then ran from the barn and stumbled back to the house in tears. Poor Grandpa was bewildered by her behavior and blamed himself for upsetting her.

But Maggie knew where to place the blame. It was her own damn fault for being so weak, so blind and so stupid. She’d been well programmed by her manipulative ex-husband and could still hear his sneering voice in her head, telling her what to do, how to behave, what to wear and what she’d done wrong. As soon as their wedding vows were exchanged, Alan’s disapproval began and never let up. It had come as such a rude shock and she realized later that she’d been in a terribly vulnerable state after leaving Connor. Otherwise, she might have recognized the signs of cruelty behind Alan’s bland exterior.

During her marriage, she’d occasionally wondered why she ever thought Connor’s love of extreme sports was too risky for her when compared to the verbal assaults she received constantly from her husband and his mother.

Maggie still couldn’t get the sound of their menacing intonations out of her head.

She had thought that by moving three thousand miles away from her ex-husband and his interfering mother, she would be rid of their ruthless control over her. But the miles didn’t matter. Alan and Sybil were still free to invade Maggie’s peace of mind with their disparaging comments.

That moment in the barn with Grandpa provided Maggie with a sharp blast of reality that quickly led to her complete meltdown. For days, she couldn’t stop crying. Grandpa finally insisted on taking her to the local health clinic to talk to a psychologist. But how could she make sense of something so nonsensical? All she knew was that everything inside her was broken.

Gradually, though, Maggie came to realize that she was not to blame for succumbing to Alan’s masterful manipulations. Through the outpatient clinic, she met other women who’d survived similar relationships. And she discovered, quite simply, that if she stayed busy with chores and projects, she didn’t have time to worry and fret about the past. Oddly enough, it was Grandpa’s quirky flock of goats that helped her get through the worst of it.

Lydia and Vincent Van Goat, the mom and dad goats, didn’t care what Maggie was wearing or whether she was depressed or flipping out. They just wanted food, and Lydia and the other girls needed to be milked. The milk had to be weighed and recorded, then taken to the local cheesemongers to be turned into goat cheese and yogurt. The goats demanded fresh water to drink and clean straw to sleep on. Their hooves needed trimming. The newest goat babies needed special care and eventually, weaning.

They couldn’t do any of it by themselves; they needed Maggie to help them survive. Maggie soon realized that she was dependent on them for her survival, too. The goats gave her a reason to get out of bed every morning. She had priorities now, in the form of a flock of friendly, curious goats.

For the next six months, much of Maggie’s energy was spent tending the goats. She filled out her days by preparing meals for Grandpa and taking long walks along the cliffs and down on the rough, sandy beach. She grew a bit healthier and happier every day.

Eventually she was able to acknowledge that Grandpa was perfectly able to do most of the work with the goats himself. Thanks to Grandpa, Maggie was nearly back to being her old self, which meant that it was time for her to find a real job and make some money. Sadly, the idea of working in town where she could run into her former friends was just too daunting. That’s when Grandpa suggested that while she was figuring things out, she might enjoy dabbling in her father’s old family beer-making business.

The microbrewery equipment lay dormant in the long, narrow storage room next to the barn. Her father had called the room his brew house, and it was where he used to test some of the beers they served at their brewpub in town. The storage room had been locked up for years, ever since her dad died.

Maggie had fond memories of following her father around while he experimented with flavors and formulas to make different types of beers, so the idea of reviving his brew house appealed to her. Within a week, she was hosing down and sanitizing the vats, replacing a few rusted spigots and cleaning and testing the old manual bottling and kegging equipment her father had used. She spent another few weeks driving all over the county to shop for the proper ingredients and tools before she finally started her first batch of beer. And it wasn’t half bad.

That was three years ago. Now Maggie could smile as she tapped one of the kegs to judge the results of her latest pale ale experiment. She had entered this one in the festival and fully expected, or hoped, anyway, to win a medal next week.




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