“How’s the job hunt going?”

Suzanne Rose frowned as she slid into the orange plastic booth opposite her sister, Christy. “Let’s just say I’m seriously considering taking up professional football.”

Christy laughed. “Only as a hobby, I hope.”

“I already have a hobby. Here.” Suzanne slid a clear glass bottle across the table. “I made this for you.”

Her sister’s mouth quirked into an almost-frown as she studied the bright blue liquid. “What is it?”

Suzanne pasted on a cheeky smile. “Oh, thanks, Suzanne, most wonderful sister in the universe. I just love when you bring me bottles of your almost-famous herbal shampoos, because you know how sensitive my scalp is.”

“It’s blue,” her sister protested.

“It’s a new recipe.”

Christy shook her head, her strawberry blond hair brushing across the tops of her shoulders. “I think it’s weird when you call it a recipe. Like you could eat it or something.”

Suzanne shrugged. “You could, I guess. If you really wanted to. I mean, it’s all natural and non-toxic.”

“No, thank you. I’d rather have these.” Christy, ever the preservative junkie, held up a package of fudge-covered cupcakes.

“Now that will kill you. But I’m sure you didn’t ask me here to discuss your diet, lack thereof, or my shampoo recipes. So tell me, sister dear, why did you summon me to the grand luxury of the Johnston Carmichael Pharmaceuticals employee cafeteria?”

Christy’s lips turned upward into a serene smile that put the Mona Lisa to shame. “I wanted you to be the first to know. Except for Jason, of course. I’m pregnant.”

Suzanne’s breath caught. “Oh, Christy, I’m so happy for you.” And she was happy. Really she was. But at the same time a little piece of her was green-coated with envy. She was glad her sister had a husband who adored her, a toddler who thought she hung the moon, and a new baby on the way. Suzanne just wanted a little piece of that same happiness for herself, someone to come home to, someone to love, to care for, and to grow old with.

“When’s the due date?”

Christy beamed. “Sometime around Christmas.”

Suzanne’s lips trembled into a smile. “Maybe this time it’ll be a girl, and you can name her Noelle.”

“Keep your fingers crossed. Between Jason and Jordan the testosterone level at our house is overwhelming. A little girl would even the balance.”

Just then, a tall, blond haired woman, noisily slurping a soda, stopped at their table. “Hey, Chris. Is your nose ready for the grindstone?”

Christy squeezed Suzanne’s hand. “I really should be getting back.” She turned to the blonde. “Pam, have you ever met my sister Suzanne?”

“Can’t say that I have. Do you work for Johnston Carmichael?”

Suzanne shook her head. “No, I—uh—”

“Suzanne makes herbal shampoos,” Christy interrupted, pointing to the bottle that sat on the table in front of them.

“Really?” Pam uncapped the bottle and inhaled. “Oh, this stuff smells good enough to eat. Can I try it, too?”

Suzanne shot Christy an I-told-you-so look, then smiled at the blonde. “I’ll make you some,” she promised.

What else did she have to do besides find a new job? The thought was far too depressing. In fact, everything that had happened to her in the past two weeks had been far too depressing. Suzanne had loved her job as a chemistry teacher at Davidson High School, but with statewide cutbacks in public school funding, the teacher with the least seniority had to be let go. It was just terribly unfortunate that she happened to be the one with no tenure. So here she was, almost thirty, unmarried, and unemployed. This wasn’t at all the way she had imagined her life would be.

“You can have half of this,” Christy offered, gesturing to the blue shampoo. “I’ll go get a clean cup.”

Suzanne took the bottle. “I’ll do it. You finish your toxic waste special. Remember, you’re eating junk food for two.”

It’s just a minor setback, Suzanne told herself on the way to the counter. A blue funk. Lingering indigestion from her Aunt Petie’s pecan and green chili breakfast casserole. And everything would be okay—one day, really soon.

“Can I have a cup with a lid?” she asked the young girl behind the counter. The royal blue name plate pinned to her white uniform shirt declared her name to be Vanilla.

Interesting, Suzanne thought, for her multi-colored hair was anything but. It did, however, serve to compliment her eyebrow ring.

Suzanne couldn’t help but wonder if Vanilla had a pack of rainbow haired children waiting for her at home. Or a husband. At least she was employed.

Suzanne pushed those gray-cloud thoughts aside and held up the shampoo bottle. “I need to halve this.”

The girl smiled and popped her gum. “I’ll do it.” She plucked the bottle from Suzanne’s fingers as the door to the cafeteria slammed open and a gorgeous brunette burst through. She was tiny and beautiful and—judging by the fire in her deep brown eyes—very upset.

Suzanne recognized her as Miriam Marshall of the Dallas Marshalls and current flame of Brice Van Sant, CEO of Johnston Carmichael Pharmaceuticals and confirmed bachelor. Suzanne knew just about everything there was to know about Brice. She’d had an incurable crush on him since the very first time she had seen him. She’d been in junior high, and he’d come to the school for career day. Then he had been a mere vice-president in his grandfather’s company. Brice could have been a self-admitted ax murderer and Suzanne still would have fallen for him. Take away his money and power and what was left? One gorgeous hunk of man.

“Attention everyone!” Miriam Marshall hiked up her second-skin designer dress and hopped on the nearest unoccupied table.

The room fell into an eerie silence. No one said a word. No one breathed. No one even chewed. “I’d like to tell you what a low-down, good-for-nothing, pond-scum-sucking louse you work for.”

“Oh, my,” Vanilla whispered.

“He’s untrustworthy. Non-committal. And he wears socks to bed,” Miriam continued. “Even during—”

“Oh, my,” Vanilla whispered again.

“Argyle socks.” Miriam announced, as if that somehow transformed the act of wearing socks into a felony.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was over between Brice and Miriam and, even though she was known for her public displays, Suzanne couldn’t blame the brunette. If she, Suzanne, had a man like Brice Van Sant and then lost him, she’d be screaming to the roof tops, too.

Like that was ever going to happen. Not the way her life was going.

Suzanne inwardly sighed. When she was a child her father had read her a story about a beautiful maiden who was rescued by a handsome knight. The debonair knight married the princess, and they lived happily ever after. Though she knew in her deepest self that it was a painfully old-fashioned notion, Suzanne always hoped that one day the same would happen to her. Prince Charming would ride up on his snowy steed and say—

“Don’t just stand there; call security.”

Suzanne jumped, knocking over a plastic squeeze bottle of ketchup and scattering a once-neat pile of napkins. She had been so busy watching Miriam Marshall rant and rave and otherwise cause a huge scene, she was totally unaware that someone had come up next to her.

“And while you’re at it, get me a cup of coffee,” the bored masculine voice continued.

“Y-yes sir, Mr. Van Sant,” Vanilla stuttered.

Mr. Van Sant? Suzanne stopped straightening napkins and turned hesitantly to her left. Brice Van Sant stood next to her, coffee-brown hair neatly groomed and piercing silver-gray eyes as sharp as lasers. His profile seemed stark and uncaring as he watched his ex-paramour defame his character.

Suzanne could only stare in awe for her mouth had gone dry and she had lost all powers of speech. Brice Van Sant!

“And he carries fingernail clippers in his car,” Miriam shouted as security guards swarmed around her. “What kind of man wears argyle socks and carries fingernail clippers?”

Miriam continued to rant and rave, listing Brice’s other, equally hideous, habits as everyone in the cafeteria watched. Everyone, but Suzanne. She couldn’t take her eyes off Brice. Maybe it was the stress of the day or the unique situation that caused her concentration. Or maybe it was the clean smell of his aftershave.

She inhaled his masculine scent, then tucked the memory away. Any attraction she had for Brice Van Sant was entirely unrequited. That much was obvious. Never once while standing only two feet from her had he even looked in her direction.

“Don’t touch me,” Miriam shrieked.

Suzanne tore her gaze away from Brice just as a uniformed security officer dragged Ms. Marshall from the tabletop.

Next to Suzanne, Mr. Van Sant sighed, then barked. “My coffee?”

“Yes, sir.” Vanilla handed him a Styrofoam coffee cup stamped with the Johnston Carmichael logo. Like Suzanne, the young counter attendant had trouble paying attention to more than one thing at a time, but the girl’s object of fascination was Ms. Marshall. She never shifted her gaze from the pretty, though totally deranged, woman as security forcibly escorted Miriam toward the cafeteria door.

“What in the—”

Suzanne’s gaze snapped to the man beside her. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his handsome face had contorted into a painful grimace, the sort that people wore when they tasted something really, really awful.

“You call this coffee? It’s sewer sludge.” She watched as he slowly opened his eyes and stared into his now half-empty cup. “It’s blue,” he whispered.

Suzanne winced, then dared a peek to see what his cup contained. “Uhum, it’s shampoo.”

“What?” He lifted his gaze and those silvery eyes seemed to bore right through her. Then they changed. They became softer—possibly even soft—smoky and almost friendly—maybe even more than friendly.

“You drank from the wrong cup,” Suzanne explained.

“Oh, my,” Vanilla whispered.

“Never mind.” His gaze bored into Suzanne’s as he flung-slid the cup across the counter and over the edge on the other side. It landed in the floor with a thick plop. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Suzanne glanced around to see if anyone else was near enough that he could be talking to them. There was no one within ten feet of her and Brice. Vanilla had undoubtedly gone into the kitchen for a mop and everyone else had gathered around Ms. Marshall as she was taken from the room. That meant Brice Van Sant was talking to her.

“I—I beg your pardon.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her against him. Then those masculine lips swooped down and the next thing she knew, Suzanne was being kissed—by a pro. Never in her twenty-eight years had anyone ever kissed her like this, like she was a delicate ornament to be treasured, a tempest to be tamed. She was breathing heavy when he lifted his head.

“Your hair,” he whispered. “It’s like tiny ringlets of molten lava. It’s like antique copper. The beautiful flames of a rescue fire.”

Suzanne hesitantly reached up and touched the strands, her lips still tingling from his heady kiss. “My hair?” she squeaked. Her tresses looked like Medusa on a bad day. The tiny auburn curls did exactly what they wanted without any say-so from her. “Mr. Van Sant, I—”

“Brice,” he corrected. “And your skin.”

“My skin?” She had about gabillion freckles to go with her kinky red hair.

Suzanne resisted the urge to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming.

Brice brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, the gentleness of his touch all too real. Suzanne felt an involuntary shiver quake through her.

“So soft. So beautiful,” he said.

Her eyes widened. Was the man on drugs? Or merely delusional? She gazed into the silver depths of his eyes for some hint of his motives but the pale gray orbs reflected only warmth and honesty.

A moment lasted long and intense between them. Suzanne felt as if he could read her soul, as if he knew everything about her. Then his lips began the slow descent to hers once again.

She wrenched herself from Brice’s embrace, scrambling for sanity. She needed to get away from him, put some distance between her and his expert lips. On trembling legs, she backed away, groping behind her for something solid to support herself.

“I—uh—” Her hand found the counter, her fingers brushing against cool, smooth glass.

A crash sounded, followed by the tinkling of broken glass.

“Oh, my,” Vanilla whispered.

Suzanne leaned over the counter. Glass and blue shampoo mixed together on the well-worn tile.

“It’s just shampoo.” Suzanne willed her voice not to tremble. “I can make more.” It would give her something to concentrate on besides the potent effects of his kiss. And…What else was she supposed to be doing? Oh, yes, finding a new job.

Brice pulled Suzanne back into his arms. She braced her hands against his chest and tried to make herself push him away.

“Mr. Van Sant, I don’t think—”

“Brice.” He buried his lips in the hollow behind her ear and nuzzled fiery kisses down her neck to the collar of her navy blue interview-suit.

“Brice,” Suzanne started, trying to think of some valid reason for him not to kiss her, but her befuddled brain couldn’t conjure up even one. “I…I’m not sure this is proper cafeteria conduct.”

He lifted his head and Suzanne was shocked by the desirous light in his pale eyes.

“You’re right. We can go to my office.”

Anticipation skimmed down her spine at the thought of being alone with this gorgeous man, then reality returned. She shook her head. “No! I mean, you don’t even know my name.”

“And what’s in a name?” he paraphrased as he lifted her visitor’s badge to read it. “Suzanne. When a Rose by another name would taste just as sweet.” His strong white teeth nipped at the tender spot behind her ear where she dabbed her home-made perfume.

“But-but we just met,” she squeaked.

“And not a moment too soon.” His lips brushed against her freckled jaw. “Today was fate.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Suzanne lied. Fate had certainly reared its ugly head in the past two weeks. But this was just plain out cruel. “Am I…am I on Undercover Video? That’s it, isn’t it? Where’s the camera?”

“This is no Hollywood hoax.” Brice kissed her temple. “Come away with me,” he coaxed.

Suzanne shook her head and tried to pull herself from his thrilling touch. “I don’t even know you,” she managed to stutter, though the words were meant to convince herself more than him.

The simple phrase seemed to echo in the silence surrounding them. Evidently with Miriam Marshall out of the room, the attention had swung to the two of them. The cafeteria crowd held its collective breath as they waited for Brice’s reply.

“My middle name is Andrew. My favorite color is red. And I love Italian food. What else do you need to know?”

A sense of surrealism overcame her. How many times had she fantasized of this very thing? She tore her gaze from Brice’s and searched the waiting crowd for her sister. Christy pushed her way to the front and stared gape-mouthed at the two of them.

Suzanne turned back to Brice and blinked once, hard. “I—”

He laughed and softly fingered her lapel. “Okay, Suzy. You drive a hard bargain. Have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?”

“I know this quaint little place that serves great lobster. We can talk. You can get to know me and then you can see for yourself what I already know.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“That we are meant for each other.”

♥♥♥

Brice’s “quaint little restaurant that served a great lobster” just happened to be in Lake Tahoe. He hadn’t given Suzanne any time to change her clothes, or her mind, before he whisked her away on a private flight to Nevada. Suzanne had been shocked to discover they weren’t eating in Dallas, but Brice had simply smiled and ignored her halfhearted protests about flying away for dinner.

Instead, he directed her to a hanging rack closet that held a collection of beautiful dresses which— coincidentally enough—were her size. The fabrics were soft and luxurious and suitable for her redhead’s complexion.

“To us.” Brice lifted his champagne flute, and Suzanne followed.

The crystal clinked together in the most real sound she had heard since entering the Johnston Carmichael cafeteria that afternoon.

Somehow on the flight, Brice had managed to arrange the perfect date. They were alone on the balcony of the second floor dining room. Seven courses of the best food Suzanne had ever eaten had been served under the all too romantic Nevada sky. The stars sparkled like brilliant diamonds, their reflection echoing across the surface of the lake. The warm breeze made the tiny flames of the candles on their table flicker madly and stirred the tendrils of hair that had wiggled free of her French twist.

“To us,” she murmured in response, still feeling as if she were part of some covert government experiment to make women’s secret fantasies come true.

“Is something wrong, darling?”

Suzanne’s gaze snapped to Brice’s. “I…it just doesn’t seem real,” she stammered.

“And yet it is.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of each of her fingers. Suzanne’s heart lurched. It would be so easy to fall into those warm, gray depths. She just couldn’t see a way back out. Of course, when he held her hand like he cradled a national treasure, she wasn’t certain she wanted a way out.

“Dance with me.”

Without hesitation, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. She floated into his arms, leaning into his warmth and falling further victim to the starry night and Brice’s magical touch. From inside the restaurant a small band played stirring love songs that drifted to them on the night breeze.

Suzanne moved easily in Brice’s embrace, following his lead as if she had been born to dance with him, and him alone.

“How many times have you done this?” The sultry quality of her voice surprised her.

“Done what?” he murmured. His hand slid down her back, sending tingles of pleasure throughout her entire being. “Dance? I learned to dance before I could walk.”

“Not that.” Suzanne tried to recalibrate her voice so she sounded more like herself and less like a long distance runner. “Pick a girl and fly her to dinner. Sweep her off her feet.”

“Oh,” he said. “Counting this time?”

Suzanne nodded.

“Once.”

She sighed, and Brice chuckled. The sound vibrated through her as he spun her around their makeshift balcony dance floor.

One song followed another until she lost track of how long they stayed in each other’s arms.

“Suzanne.” His voice came huskily from above her.

Dreamily, she lifted her head to meet his gaze. She read passion and love in his silver eyes. Passion and love for her.

“Let’s get married. Right here. Right now. Tonight.”

Suzanne faltered, missing a step, but Brice’s strong arms kept her from falling into a boneless heap at his feet. “I can’t marry you.” Her heart thumped wildly.

“Why not?” He buried his face in her neck and little tingles coursed through her. Her resolve slipped a notch.

“Because,” was all she could manage.

“Because why?” He said the words without ever once taking his lips from her skin.

“Because…” Because I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. Even though I’ve admired you for years. It doesn’t matter that this is my fairytale come true. My Prince Charming. My everything rolled up into the man of my dreams.

“Don’t be afraid, Suzanne.”

“I’m not afraid.” The crazy beat of her pulse belied her words.

He tipped her chin back and studied her face with those knowing silver eyes. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” he demanded softly. Then his head dipped low, and his lips met hers in a searching kiss that sent her mind into a tailspin. “Say yes,” he whispered again.

And she did.

♥♥♥

Bright morning light—accompanied by the sweet scent of honeysuckle—filled Brice’s senses. His mother must have left him a new aroma-therapy candle, he thought. At least this one didn’t smell of peppermint and gym socks.

He inhaled deeply. This morning seemed different somehow. And it wasn’t just the intoxicating fragrance that enveloped him. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in years—and the ever-present pounding at his temples was strangely absent.

He’d just had the weirdest dream, though. Actually, nightmare was a more accurate description. He’d dreamt that he and a curly-haired redhead had flown to Lake Tahoe, had dinner, and then tied the knot. Like that was ever going to happen. He, Brice Van Sant, was not the marrying kind.

He rolled to his side and encountered a soft form smelling sweetly of…honeysuckle. He rested his cheek on her hair and gathered her soft body into his arms. He thanked providence that the pleasing scent came from a female and not just a hunk of wax his mother was convinced would help clear his psyche.

Miriam must have changed shampoos, he thought, opening his eyes just a peek. And colored her hair, he mentally added before the truth set in with shock following closely behind. He had broken off with Miriam yesterday, and then he had gone into the cafeteria for a coffee, and then…

Brice jerked away from the woman in his bed, startling her awake.

Her eyes opened, softly hazel and full of gentle emotion. Her face was familiar and he remembered seeing her in the employees’ cafeteria yesterday afternoon. Her name was…was…well, he couldn’t remember. She was beautiful and she smelled wonderful, but her name and how she had gotten here, in bed with him, was a mystery.

“Good morning, darling,” she drawled in a sleep-sexy voice, then pulled his head down to hers.

She kissed him with an ease and a confidence that he couldn’t comprehend but enjoyed just the same.

A knock sounded at the door, but he ignored it.

“That must be breakfast,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Forget breakfast.” Brice wasn’t prepared for her gentle push against his chest. Before he could react, she was away from him and wiggling her freckled fanny into the hotel provided robe.

“Forget the door.” He wanted her back in bed with him. He made a swipe with one hand, but she dodged his grasp. Her name was Susan or Sylvia. Something like that.

“Stop.” She tossed the word playfully over her shoulder as she sashayed further out of his reach. “It’s probably room service.”

Brice barely had time to cover himself before she opened the door.

“Mrs. Van Sant,” the hotel employee greeted.

Brice felt a tinge of alarm. Mrs.? He shook his head. The boy was just assuming things he shouldn’t. But even as Brice assured himself, the details of his dream kept coming back. A curly haired redhead. He looked to his companion who still stood at the door, chatting with the waiter. She had dark auburn colored hair that just happened to be extremely curly, but that didn’t mean…

And just because they had room service and were in a hotel didn’t mean…

Flashes of midnight caresses and soft sounds of pleasure shimmered through his memory.

Brice’s gaze swung around the room. The décor was familiar, though it wasn’t his usual suite…at the same hotel where he normally stayed…when he visited…Lake Tahoe.

As if it belonged to someone else, Brice lifted his left hand and stared disbelievingly at the plain gold band that encircled his finger. He and the curly haired redhead had flown to Lake Tahoe and gotten married!

“It’s a really good picture of you. Look.” The redhead thrust the newspaper under his nose.

Texas’ Most Eligible Bachelor Ties the Knot. The words jumped off the page and knocked around inside his head.

Brice snatched the folded paper away from her and scanned the article about his hasty wedding to a redheaded chemistry teacher. He couldn’t deny the likeness of the couple in the picture to him and the woman who stood at the edge of the bed. Her name was Suzanne. Suzanne Rose. Suzanne Van Sant.

He swore under his breath. The normal pounding in his head returned. It was like some bad dream, like going to a board meeting naked or finding out that his competitors had discovered the cure for the common cold.

“So,” she drawled in a suggestive voice as she set the fruit-laden breakfast tray on the bedside table. “What do you want to do this morning?”

Brice’s gaze snapped to his…wife. What had he done? Better yet, why had he done it? The answer was obvious. She’d duped him.

He stood and angrily donned his jockey shorts. “I don’t know how you tricked me into marrying you. But, sweetheart, don’t think it’s going to last.”

Brice ignored the hurt that flared in her eyes and reached for his pants. Her little escapade had cost him a day’s business. He mentally added hardship to the legal papers already forming in his mind. He turned away from her and gathered the rest of his things. It was imperative that he leave Lake Tahoe immediately and return to Dallas. He’d wasted enough time already.

“And don’t think playing Miss Innocent will get you out of this. It’s illegal to drug, or hypnotize, or whatever underhanded means you employed to coerce me to marry you.” He turned back to face her, but she was no longer there. Well, she was there, only now she was sitting on the floor. She looked forlorn and something in him rose up and whispered, Go to her, comfort her. He squelched the urge and balled his hands into fists.

“Suzanne?” He was reluctant to use her name. Somehow they made it all the more real. “Suzanne?” He tried to make his voice sound hard and callous, but it didn’t quite happen.

Silently, she lifted her head. She rose to her feet slowly, almost methodically. “Trick you? Trick you? Trick you, Mr. We-Were-Meant-To-Be-Together? ‘Oh, Suzanne, let’s get married,’” she mimicked. “‘I love you.’”

“I never said that.” How could he? He didn’t even believe in love. Love destroyed. “At least, I don’t remember saying—”

“You don’t remember?” Her voice rose in pure fury. “Allow me to refresh your memory. Last night you proposed. And I said yes.” She held up her left hand where a plain gold band, identical to his, sparkled in the light of the new day. “This is my wedding ring. This—” She made a sweeping gesture around her— “is the honeymoon parlor. And this—” she picked up the pineapple from the breakfast tray— “is the fruit we were supposed to have for breakfast.” She drew back her arm, and Brice ducked just in time.

The large, edible missile went sailing over his head and crashed against the wall.

“I know you’re upset, but—” A banana whizzed past him followed closely by a pear.

“Upset?” She picked up the grapefruit, tossing it from hand to hand. “I’m beyond upset. You lied to me. You promised to love and cherish and—”

Brice threw up his arm and deflected the citrus cannonball before it could make contact with his nose.

Breathing heavily, she eyed him across the fruit littered room.

Brice held up his hand in a gesture of truce. “Listen. This is a bad situation. Perhaps it was a virus. A twelve hour bug, or—”

“Or what?” She had the audacity to look angry enough to tear him limb from limb, as if she had been misled.

For safety reasons, Brice calculated the distance between her and him and then from her to the fruit bowl. “Or whatever foul means you used to deceive me.”

She lifted a hand and brushed back her ultra-curly hair. Her fingers trembled and her large hazel eyes filled with unshed tears. “You are without a doubt the most underhanded, rude man I have ever….This is not at all how it’s supposed to be.” Her tone was hard, even as silent tears flowed down her freckled cheeks.

Heaven help him, he hated to see a woman cry. Something in him, something medieval and chivalrous, wanted to soothe her. He took a step toward her, then stopped.

What was he thinking? That he would take her into his arms and everything would magically be restored? She was devious. She had manipulated him into marrying her, and she was good with her tears. So good, he almost believed they were real.

“Don’t come near me,” she gritted between her teeth. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

He arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “You think all of this is my fault?”

“I didn’t whisk you away for an out-of-state dinner. It wasn’t my idea to get married.”

Brice sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. “Listen, Suzanne. We’re adults. And we’ve found ourselves in a very adult situation. But the fact still remains that last night was a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

Bad word choice. There was at least one apple, two oranges, and a bunch of deadly grapes still on the breakfast tray. “I mean, neither of us meant for it to go this far, but it did and now we have to deal with the reality.”

“Reality?”

She was beginning to sound like a magpie. “An annulment, Suzanne. We can go back to Davidson and discuss the details. I can assure you that I’ll provide you with an adequate settlement.”

The harsh ring of the hotel’s bedside phone cut the silence that stretched between them.

Her mouth opened and closed twice before he realized that once again he’d said the wrong thing.

“Suzanne, I—” The phone rang again. Brice snatched up the receiver. “Van Sant,” he barked.

“Boy.” The gravelly voice boomed across the phone lines. Great, just fantastic. “Do you want to explain to me why you missed our meeting last night? We had very important matters to discuss. Matters of the utmost importance!”

“Settlement? You mean, money?” Suzanne’s cheeks were ruddy with anger. “You want to pay me for being your wife for one night. Isn’t that a little like prostitution?”

“Boy, are you there?”

“Answer me.”

“Boy?”

With a shake of his head, Brice placed one hand over the receiver. He closed his eyes, then opened again, focusing his gaze on Suzanne. “If you’ll just be quiet for five minutes, I’ll pay you double.”