LITMIR.BIZ

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and beyond the call of duty. For giving KCL a year of her life. If she continued at the pace she’d been working, she’d be a bargain—even at the outlandish salary he was paying her.

      But he had to make damn sure he didn’t make a fool of himself over her again.

      “It’s 5:00 a.m. Why are you up?” Rand growled from the kitchen entry Thursday morning.

      Startled, Tara looked up from the newspaper. “Good morning. If you’re determined to get an early start every day, then I might as well join you. We can carpool and conserve gas.”

      Judging by his scowl that was the last thing he wanted to hear from her. “You won’t get overtime for going in early.”

      She shrugged. “I didn’t ask for it. I made huevos rancheros. Is that still your favorite?”

      Not that they’d ever had breakfast together. Rand had never hung around long enough. But he’d mentioned it once. Funny how she’d remembered, but back then she’d hung on his every word.

      His jaw shifted. “I told you, no playing house.”

      Was he cranky because they’d spent half the night in her mother’s bed? When a bad dream had jolted Tara awake shortly after three she’d been shocked to find herself in Rand’s arms. He’d released her, risen without a word and gone upstairs as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

      “It’s just breakfast, Rand. Eat and drink your coffee and then we can go. I’ll fill you in on the arrangements for tonight’s cocktail and dinner party on the way to the office.”

      “I’ll take breakfast to go. You can fill me in later—when you come in at nine.”

      “I haven’t come in later than eight one single day this week and you know it.” She couldn’t help pointing out that fact. “But have it your way. The resealable containers are in the cabinet to the left of the dishwasher, and the disposable forks are in the bottom drawer.”

      After filling a travel mug with coffee and packing the huevos rancheros, he paused by the table and scowled down at her. “If you think this sharing-and-morning-coffee routine is what I want, you’re mistaken. You’re better off sticking to the sex. At least I enjoyed that.”

      The old Tara would have let that comment pass, but the new Tara was turning over a new leaf. She was stronger and bolder now. Strong and bold enough to fight for what she wanted, and last night only reinforced her belief that Rand Kincaid was the man she wanted.

      “But you didn’t enjoy it. Why is that?”

      His chin snapped up. “Because I couldn’t help wondering if you’d cried out my father’s name when you came the way you did mine.”

      She flinched at the unexpected lash of pain. “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t sleep with Everett.”

      “You also claim you lied when you said you loved me and wanted to have my children. Why should I believe you’re not lying now?”

      She opened her mouth and closed it again. He had a point. She hated that he believed she’d slept with his father, but nothing she said was going to change Rand’s mind. He had to come to that realization himself. And when he did, he’d realize how selfish she’d been. Her refusal to become Everett’s partner in exchange for top-notch oncologists’ care could very well have cost her mother her life.

      Would Rand hate her for being weak? Because she certainly hated herself.

      She sighed. “I’m not lying.”

      “Truth seems to be a fluctuating commodity with you. I’ll see you at the office. Thanks for the breakfast and coffee. But tomorrow, don’t bother.”

      “Any idea which heads will roll?”

      Tara turned toward the familiar, raspy female voice. “Hello, Patricia.”

      Patricia Pottsmith had been head of human resources when Tara had originally joined KCL seven years ago. She’d been a cutthroat and ambitious manager back then, and her current position as vice president of the Rendezvous line implied that hadn’t changed. She’d moved up the ladder quickly. Tara suspected it was because Patricia didn’t mind who she stepped on.

      “How about a little insider info for an old friend? A new broom always sweeps clean. Who is Rand going to fire?”

      Tara didn’t bother to point out they had never been friends. “Even if I knew Rand’s plans I wouldn’t reveal confidential information.”

      “I hired you and recommended you as Everett’s PA.” Patricia’s haughty tone implied Tara owed her.

      “I’m sorry. You’ll have to get what you want from Rand. He’ll be calling in each brand’s management team for meetings starting Monday.”

      “Well, at least your job is secure. For as long as Rand’s interest lasts, that is.”

      The bottom dropped out of Tara’s stomach. “Excuse me?”

      “Sleeping with the boss has its perks. I don’t hold that against you, Tara. I’ve done it myself.”

      Tara tried to hide her distress and shock. Distress that she and Rand had become the hot topic. Shock that Patricia might have slept with Everett. Tara wondered again if she’d misjudged her boss. “Do the other executives believe I slept with Rand to get this job?”

      Patricia rolled a narrow shoulder. “It’s common knowledge that you never filled out a new application, interviewed or underwent a criminal background check and drug test. HR didn’t hire you. You’ve been wasting away at a backwater small business since you left KCL, and yet you waltz back into one of the most sought after positions in the company—a company that prides itself on promoting from within.”

      To know this supposedly confidential information Patricia must have used and abused her HR connections. Tara scanned the group of sixteen men and women—the presidents and vice presidents of each line—who’d gathered in the glitzy private hotel dining room for cocktails and dinner. Their snide appraisals made her want to run.

      The joy over an event well-planned and discovery of the perfect cocktail dress in a tiny boutique during a mad lunch-hour shopping dash drained away. Suddenly, her black jersey off-the-shoulder dress felt sleazy instead of subtly sexy. The garment exposed more cleavage than she was used to revealing. Not that the dress was daring by most people’s—or Miami’s—standards, but it was by Tara’s.

      She wanted a sweater. Or an overcoat.

      And she wished Rand were here. But an international call about a problem at an Italian port had detained him as they were leaving her house. She’d driven herself and he planned to follow as soon as he could.

      As if her thoughts had conjured him, Rand strode through the doorway. He wore a black dinner jacket over a white collarless shirt and black, sharply creased pants.

      The years in California had been good for him. He’d always been confident, but he seemed even more so now. He dominated the room by simply being here, and it wasn’t because of his position. It was the air of command he radiated. Conversations stalled and heads turned.

      He scanned the room and his attention locked on her. He stopped in his tracks. His gaze slowly raked her from head to toe and back. At any other time his heated look would have made her shiver with awareness and pleasure. But not tonight. Not knowing that others thought she’d sold herself to get this job.

      Yes, she was sleeping with Rand, but not because of work. It was because she thought they might be perfect life partners not convenient temporary bedmates.

      “Excuse me, Patricia.” Tara forced herself to move toward Rand. Her unsteady legs had nothing to do with the obscenely high heels she’d bought to go with the knee-length dress with a longer hem in the back that swished flirtatiously as she walked.

      She stopped a circumspect yard away from him. “I’ve had the bartender serve

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