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When he told her, she cringed. Getting her car fixed would wipe out every penny of her savings, which wasn't much to begin with. And she'd been saving that money to buy new tires, which she needed desperately. But what could she do?

  Hours later, Claire stared out the window of her office. She felt so inadequate. Suddenly, everything seemed too much for her. She felt exactly like the little Dutch boy must have felt when he stuck his finger in the dike.

  That night, Peachey picked her up. She had also driven her into work that morning. "You're a wonderful friend, you know that?" Claire said as she slid into the front seat of Peachey's sporty little Mazda.

  "Come on, Claire. It's not a big deal."

  "It is to me."

  "When's your car going to be ready?"

  "Tomorrow."

  "I'll take you to pick it up."

  The next day, when they arrived at the service station, Clyde, the mechanic, handed her the work order to look over. "I did everything you asked for. I'm sure glad you decided to have the works." He beamed at her.

  "The works. What do you mean?" Alarm caused her voice to squeak.

  "You know, new tires, replace those worn belts, fix the A.C., get that alignment taken care of—the works." Clyde's smile faded as he watched her face.

  "Clyde, I never authorized you to do that."

  He scratched his head, his light blue eyes puzzled. "Sure you did. I have the work order right here." He pointed to the paper in her hand. "Why, that fella from your office, he said—"

  "What fella from my office?"

  Clyde shrugged. "I dunno. Somebody called here yesterday, said he was from your office, told us to fix everything that needed fixin' on your car and to put four new tires on it."

  Nick! Who else could it have been? Anger, hot and thick, clogged her throat. Damn him! Damn him.

  "Clyde, I can't afford all of this. I . . . I'm sorry, but there's been a mix-up. I can't pay for all this work."

  "The bill's already been taken care of, Ms. Kendrick."

  Claire looked at Peachey.

  Peachey raised her eyebrows.

  Claire, teeth clenched, didn't say another word. All the way home, she alternated between swearing at Nick and marveling at how good her car sounded. She knew if she called him he'd deny everything.

  Sure enough, he did. "I don't know what you're talking about, Claire," he said.

  The worst part of these two incidents was that Claire could feel herself weakening. And she didn't want to weaken.

  The following day he started working on her through Kitty. On Thursday night, when Claire showed up at Pinehaven, tired and worried because it was now February and March 1st was looming closer every day, Kitty was eating Godiva chocolates and there was a huge bouquet of flowers sitting on her nightstand.

  "Where did these come from?" Claire asked Amy.

  Amy shrugged. "I don't know. They were delivered earlier today."

  Claire couldn't even get angry. Especially when she saw how much pleasure they had given Kitty. After all, what right did she have to deny her mother the little pleasure she did have? After that, each day Kitty received a present of some kind: a bracelet, a bottle of Joy, candy, a stuffed animal, a lace-edged handkerchief, a lovely handpainted scarf, a porcelain music box.

  Kitty was ecstatic.

  Claire was tired.

  So tired, she thought, as she drove home from the nursing home. Tired of resisting what Nick was offering her. Tired of trying to find a way out of her problem.

  Tired of being alone. Tired of trying and trying and never getting anywhere. Tired of everything.

  She wasn't sure how much longer she could hold out. She wasn't sure if she even wanted to hold out. What was she trying to prove anyway? Why shouldn't she grab this opportunity he was offering? After all, he'd made things very clear. All he wanted was for her to keep his home life peaceful and give him children.

  Children. A painful lump formed in Claire's chest. Tomorrow she would try to reason with him one last time. Because if he kept this up much longer, she didn't think she was strong enough to resist.

  The next morning she called Nick's secretary to see if he would have time to see her.

  "He'll see you at ten o'clock," Wanda said.

  Promptly at ten, Claire presented herself on the 50th floor. When she walked into Nick's office, he smiled and stood. "Well, this is a nice surprise."

  "Nick, I've come to ask you to stop. What you're doing isn't fair, especially to my mother. It's not right to let her get used to these luxuries. In fact, it's cruel."

  "There's no reason these luxuries, as you call them, have to stop."

  When she met his gaze, she expected to see arrogance, that same cocksure look she'd seen so many times before. Instead, she saw concern and kindness and something else, something that made her stomach feel hollow. "There's a perfectly good reason, and you know it."

  He sighed. "Claire, give me a chance. That's all I'm asking. Go out with me Saturday night. Let me show you my proposition can work."

  Because she was so tired and feeling so vulnerable, she answered more harshly than she'd intended to. "No. I won't go out with you."

  "I could make you, you know. After all, I am your boss."

  Claire jumped up. "I can't believe you'd resort to blackmail!"

  "Whatever it takes," he said, his voice light and teasing.

  "Win at any price. Is that it?" She was so angry she could hardly talk.

  "I told you once before. I rarely lose."

  He looked so smug, so supremely sure of himself.

  "Well, Mr. Callahan, if you think I'm going to do whatever you tell me to do simply because you own this company, you're dead wrong. Because I won't. No matter how many orders you give me. And if you don't like it, I guess you'll just have to fire me."

  Before she reached the door, Nick was at her side, grasping her arm. She yanked it free and glared at him.

  He spoke softly. "All right. You're fired. Now will you marry me?"

  Chapter 6

  For a long moment, they stared at each other. Thoughts tumbled through Claire's mind with the turbulence of a jet-propelled engine. She wanted to smack the self-assurance right off his handsome, arrogant face. Her chest heaved and her face felt hot.

  His molten-blue eyes were sparked with emotion: amusement and something else, something that flashed between them in a sizzling arc. Claire was reminded of the night in New Orleans when they stood outside her hotel room door and she'd known he wanted to kiss her.

  He wanted to kiss her now.

  The knowledge thrummed between them.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  And she wanted him to.

  Oh, you're in big trouble, she told herself, stunned by the strength of the awareness between them.

  "Why are you fighting me, Claire?"

  Good question. Why was she fighting him? He was offering her everything she'd ever wanted: security, freedom from worry, children. So what if he wouldn't promise undying love? She had never expected marriage, let alone love. He obviously desired her physically.

  And that thought excites you. Admit it.

  Okay, she would be honest with herself. She was excited by him. He fascinated her and made her feel like a woman.

  So why shouldn't she enter into this sensible bargain? Holding out like this, for some kind of misguided principle, would cause Kitty to suffer needlessly and for what? For nothing.

  She shrugged. A permanent tiredness had seeped into her bones. His question was legitimate. Why was she fighting him? "I don't know."

  This time, when he touched her arm, she let him lead her back into the office. He guided her to the far corner where two couches were placed at right angles to one another, with a low coffee table centered in front of them.

  Claire sat on one of them. He sat on the other. For a few moments, he was silent. The entire office was silent except for the muted sounds on the other side of the heavy walnut doors. The 50th floor was completely insulated, Claire though
t. Insulated and protected. Exactly the way her life would be if she married him.

  He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees as he studied her. "Claire, will you answer a few questions for me?"

  "That depends on the questions."

  "Fair enough." One corner of his mouth lifted. "First question: If I had never mentioned marriage to you—what would you think of me?"

  "I . . . I'm not sure what you mean." What kind of game was he playing now?

  "What would you think of me? Would you dislike me? Would you dislike being with me?"

  "No." She shook her head. "No. I . . ." She broke off, met his eyes. So blue. They were so blue.

  "Well?" he said softly.

  "I ... I wouldn't ... I don't dislike you." She wasn't sure she liked him either. This emotion she felt whenever she was with him was too strong to be described by such an innocuous word as like.

  "Do you respect me?"

  "I did before all this started."

  "Do you enjoy being with me?"

  "Most of the time."

  "So, if I had not mentioned marriage and asked you to go out with me—just an ordinary date—would you have gone?"

  She wanted to say no.

  Their eyes met again. The clock on his credenza struck the half hour, its soft chimes keeping time with Claire's heartbeat. She couldn't seem to look away.

  "Would you have gone?" he asked again.

  "Yes."

  "I enjoy being with you, too," he said quietly. "I think we could have a good marriage."

  She licked her lips. His eyes followed the movement. She took a deep breath. The moment seemed suspended in time. "All right. I'll marry you."

  His eyes flashed with triumph, and Claire, unable to look away, shivered. Fear and excitement coursed through her. What had she done?

  Grinning, he stood, then walked over to his desk. He unlocked a bottom drawer, removed something, then walked back toward her. Solemnly, he handed her a small velvet box.

  Dazed, Claire lifted the lid and gasped. Nestled into the satin lining was an enormous round diamond solitaire. Her heart pounded. Had he been so sure she'd say yes? She wanted to be angry with him for this blatant display of confidence. But how could she be mad? The very qualities that angered her were the ones that had made him the successful man he was.

  The man who's going to make your mother's life and your life safe. The man who's offering to share his life, his home, and his fortune. The man who's been honest about his feelings.

  Wordlessly, she looked up. Nick took the box from her limp fingers, removed the ring, and slipped it on her left hand, holding her fingers lightly. Even this casual touch started a trembling in her stomach, and she could hardly meet his eyes.

  The ring was loose, and he said, "Tomorrow we'll go to the jeweler's together and get this sized for you."

  Claire looked at the ring glittering on her finger. It was magnificent. Raising her eyes to meet his warm gaze, she said, "It's very beautiful. But I never expected—"

  "I know that. If you'd expected it, it wouldn't have given me nearly as much pleasure to give it to you."

  Then, before she could say anything else, he slipped his arms around her, lowered his head, and kissed her.

  Claire felt as if she were on a merry-go-round as she clung to him. The kiss drew all her strength from her body and caused her blood to heat and her heart to pound. She could feel his hands holding her tightly, their heat searing her through the thin silk of her dress.

  He broke the kiss, finally, then said huskily, "You won't be sorry, Claire. I promise you that."

  And with his ring glittering on her finger, and his promise echoing in her heart, Claire prayed he was right.

  * * *

  At seven o'clock the next morning, Claire called Peachey. "Help," she said. "Please come over. I have to talk to you."

  "Come over! It's the middle of the night."

  "Peachey, I need you."

  Claire heard Peachey's moan. "Okay. Say no more." Then Peachey chuckled. "Can I take a shower first?"

  "Yes."

  "Put on the coffee. I'll be there in an hour."

  True to her word, Peachey arrived at Claire's door fifty-eight minutes later. She looked gorgeous, Claire thought, for someone who'd been rousted out of bed hours before she normally woke up. She was wearing black tights and a long red T-shirt with sparkly stuff all over it, her silver fox coat slung carelessly over her shoulders. From her small ears hung red crystal waterfall earrings, the longest Claire had ever seen.

  "Where's that coffee?" Peachey demanded.

  Claire handed her a cup and pointed toward the coffee maker.

  "Ahhh, ambrosia," Peachey declared as she took her first sip. "Now, what couldn't wait?"

  "Oh, Peachey, I had to talk to you. I . . . I told Nick Callahan I'd marry him." She thrust her left hand under Peachey's nose. The diamond flashed with fiery brilliance.

  Peachey's eyes widened and she whistled. "Holy Christmas! Are you tryin' to knock my eyes out? That rock must be three carats, at least!" She took Claire's hand and turned it from side to side as she appraised the ring. "I can't even imagine how much this thing cost. It looks like a perfect yellow diamond and those babies are rare." She sighed. "I'd sell my soul to own one of these." Then her eyes narrowed and she put her hands on her hips. "I thought you told me you weren't going to marry him."

  Claire couldn't meet Peachey's eyes. She fiddled with her coffee cup and said softly, "I had a change of heart.''

  "So I see . . ." Peachey tapped her long, red fingernails against the laminated surface of Claire's round dining table. "And what brought on this change of heart?"

  Claire sighed. "Oh, Peachey. I don't know. I thought I had everything all figured out. But yesterday, suddenly, I was just so tired. I kept thinking about my mother, about how happy we used to be. And the more I thought about her, the more I wondered if I was being selfish. After all, lots of people marry for reasons other than love. There's no disgrace in it."

  Peachey didn't say anything, just looked at her over the rim of her coffee cup. Her eyes reminded Claire of shiny black onyx as they silently studied her.

  Claire squirmed. "Say something."

  Peachey smiled and put down her cup. "So you're telling me that you accepted Nick Callahan's offer strictly because of your mother."

  "Yes . . ."

  "And not because you're the least little bit attracted to the man."

  Claire thought about the way she'd felt when Nick kissed her. How she'd wanted him to kiss her. She could feel her face heating. "I—"

  "Sugar, if you want to lie to yourself, go right ahead. But this is Peachey, your number-one best friend. I know you too well to believe that you'd marry this guy just to secure your mother's future." She grinned, her eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight. "If you're really going through with this marriage, it's because you're half in love with him already."

  * * *

  Claire sighed as she gave herself a final inspection that evening. She smoothed down the skirt of her dark green dress. All day she'd thought about what Peachey had said. Was Peachey right? Was she half in love with Nick? She shivered as she remembered the expression in his eyes yesterday as they'd stood by his office door.

  She hoped she was doing the right thing. She wished she could talk to her mother. If only Kitty could tell her how she felt. But her mother had been a hopeless romantic. Would Kitty tell her not to marry Nick?

  Why was it so hard for Claire to let go of that last slender thread of a dream of a marriage like her parents had shared? Her parents had been so happy together. Claire closed her eyes, images from earlier days crowding together in her mind. Her father, bringing home a bunch of daisies and Kitty running to meet him, her eyes sparkling with joy and love. The way he'd sneak up behind her mother when Kitty was in the kitchen, snake his arms around her waist, and lower his head to kiss and nibble on her neck. Kitty would blush and giggle and say, "John, stop it," but Claire knew her mother liked it.
And Claire liked it, too. She liked the warm, happy feeling she got in her stomach when she watched her parents together. They made her feel safe and special and loved.

  If she married Nick, what would their life together be like? Would she ever know times of intense happiness, the kind of happiness her parents had known, without having the kind of love they'd had? Could she share a physical relationship without sharing an emotional one? Could she make love with Nick if they weren't in love?

  Tonight would be their first night together as an engaged couple. She squeezed her eyes shut. Right or wrong, she'd made up her mind. She wouldn't change it.

  Her doorbell rang promptly at seven. Her heart began to race. Taking a deep breath, she put a bright smile on her face and opened the door. She was startled to see Nick's driver standing there.

  "Gordon!"

  "Mr. Callahan asked me to pick you up," Gordon said.

  "Oh." This was different, Claire thought as she put on her lined raincoat and picked up her purse. She knew that Nick had a fascination with expensive and beautiful cars and normally preferred to drive himself around in the evenings. He'd told her he owned a silver Lotus, a black Jaguar, a red Maserati, and a dark blue Porsche.

  "Where are we going, Gordon?" she asked.

  "My instructions are to take you to Mr. Callahan's home, Ms. Kendrick."

  Mr. Callahan's home. Her stomach fluttered as she thought about spending the evening in the intimacy of Nick's home. Thirty minutes later, as they pulled into the circular driveway, and Claire got her first look at the River Oaks mansion, she smiled a wry smile. Intimate? This great sand-colored brick edifice looked more like a medieval castle than an intimate home—complete with circular tower at one end. All it needed was a moat, she thought, as Gordon helped her from the car and up the shallow front steps to the double mahogany doors.

  As they reached the top step, the doors opened wide, and a smiling maid greeted them. Within moments, Claire was ushered into an immense formal living room and Nick was walking forward to greet her. He took her hands, smiling down at her, and her breath caught. He was wearing a soft suede jacket in a beautiful shade of cinnamon with a creamy open-necked shirt underneath.