LITMIR.BIZ

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her, followed by anticipation, as she closed the distance.

      He lifted his hand, reaching for her.

      “Julia,” he said softly.

      She jolted awake at his touch, scattering the papers that had been in her slack grip. After scrubbing a hand over her face, she gathered the printouts together and put them on her bedside table. Then she got up for a drink of water. Her throat was dry and her body was on fire. She felt foolish, juvenile. Most damning of all, she was turned on.

      It was a reasonable reaction, she assured herself. An understandable response. She might be a professional consultant under contract to polish Alec’s tarnished public image, but she also was a woman—a healthy, adult woman—with needs that had gone unfulfilled for a very, very long time. Alec was handsome and on her mind thanks to work. So, she’d dreamed about him. Big deal. It wasn’t as if anything had happened while she was awake and, as such, fully responsible for her actions.

      Even so, she turned on the faucet again. Instead of refilling her glass, this time she cupped her hands under the cold water and splashed it on her face.

      On the way back from the bathroom, she checked on her children, stopping first in one doorway and then the one next to it. The bedrooms were identical in size and layout, with the twin beds located directly across from the door. Danielle was curled up on her side, one slim arm wrapped around her pillow. Next door, Colin was stretched out on his bed with his arms flung wide, as if he were attempting to embrace not only the room, but also the world beyond. Like his sister, he looked so relaxed, so...angelic.

      Julia smiled, relieved to find her footing again. First and foremost, she was a mother. Her kids were her life. They were all she needed, she assured herself. But after she slipped back into bed, it was hard to ignore how empty the other side of it suddenly seemed.

      * * *

      “Alec, please. They’re this season’s Kellen Montgomery sunglasses,” his mother whined on the other end of the line. “You’re not being fair. I can’t be expected to go on my trip without sunglasses.”

      Brooke probably had six dozen pairs of designer shades, each one pricier than the last. He didn’t bother to point this out. He knew from past experience that using reason with his spendaholic mother would be futile.

      It was not quite ten o’clock on Saturday morning, he was in his office, and already his left temple was starting to throb with what promised to be one doozy of a headache. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since Brooke’s last call seeking funds. He’d given in then. This time, he held firm.

      “No.”

      “You’re being unreasonable,” she accused.

      He nearly laughed at that. Instead, he said, “No, what I’m being is responsible.”

      Brooke continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s our money.”

      “Which Granddad has left me in charge of managing,” he pointed out for the umpteenth time.

      “And you’re turning out to be even more of a tightfisted killjoy than that old man was!”

      Alec rubbed his temple. He could feel the blood pounding under the pads of his fingers. “Fine. I’m a tightfisted killjoy.” He’d been called worse, especially lately. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to work, since apparently earning a living and then living within one’s means are concepts that skipped a generation.”

      That barb generated a grunt of disapproval. Still, his mother’s tone switched from irate to what passed for maternal concern when she said, “Seriously, Alec, I worry about you. Here it is, a Saturday morning—the weekend—and you’re talking about work.” There was a slight pause. He pictured Brooke shaking her head. “I don’t know where your father and I went wrong. It’s not natural, working on the weekend. Weekends are for fun. What happened between you and Laurel? She was such a nice young woman. And she knew how to have a good time. I liked her.”

      No wonder, he thought. Birds of a feather. His mother and Laurel had met on only one occasion and had hit it off immediately, comparing notes on their favorite designers.

      “She wasn’t my type.” As soon as he said it, Julia sprang to mind, which was odd. She wasn’t his type, either.

      “That’s because Laurel had a social life,” Brooke remarked sulkily.

      “I guess that was the reason,” he agreed, hoping to shorten the conversation.

      It came as an unwelcome realization that there was some truth to his mother’s barb. Laurel did know how to have fun and, just like his mother, her social life came at the expense of her children.

      “They’ll just be bored and in the way,” Laurel had said the one time he’d asked if she wanted to bring them out to dinner.

      It had been her choice to exclude them whenever they went out for an evening or away for a weekend. He’d told Julia as much. So, why did it bother him now that he’d been only too happy with her decision? Or that he couldn’t help thinking that Julia Stillwell would never view her kids as being “in the way”?

      * * *

      Julia had strict rules against going to the office on weekends, but that didn’t prevent her from doing a little work at home, as long as it didn’t interfere with her children. She’d meant it when she’d told Alec that her career didn’t define her, but she took her job seriously—she couldn’t afford not to. It was how she’d earned her reputation, and why a company as large as Best For Baby had sought out her expertise. Sometimes that meant bending herself into the shape of a pretzel or forgoing a good night’s sleep to get everything done that needed to get done. She’d long ago accepted that and made fast friends with caffeine.

      So midmorning, while her kids were seated at the kitchen table, busy working on homework, she sipped freshly brewed Colombian Supreme from a mug and dialed Alec’s office. She planned to leave a message on his voice mail. She had his cell number, but hadn’t wanted to bother him off hours. She should have known better. He answered on the third ring, sounding distracted and slightly disgruntled at the interruption.

      “McAvoy here.”

      Caught off guard—and with a mouthful of coffee—she sputtered after swallowing, “A-Alec. Hi. It’s Julia Stillwell.” She blushed, recalling the dream, and was thankful that he couldn’t see her and question her on her reaction.

      “Julia.” There was a brief pause during which she pictured him leaning back in his chair. Was he smiling? Then he said, “I was just thinking about you.”

      The heat suffusing her face spread to other parts of her body at that. She didn’t care for the tug of excitement his words elicited. Still, she asked, “You were?”

      “Yeah. I ordered a bagel and coffee from the deli up the block more than an hour ago and the deliveryman just showed up ten minutes ago, despite the promise I’d have my order in less than thirty minutes. Clearly, he could benefit from a lecture on the importance of punctuality.”

      She gritted her teeth at the amusement in Alec’s tone since it came her expense. But his response was just what she needed to banish that dream. “I hope you didn’t tip him well.”

      “Actually, I did. He said his bike had a flat tire and he was apologetic.”

      “Well, if he was apologetic...” She left it at that, figuring she’d made her point.

      “Sorry goes a long way, doesn’t it?” Alec replied amiably.

      “Only when it’s offered immediately and is sincere.”

      Deep laughter rumbled. “And if I told you I had a flat tire on the way to our first meeting and that was why I was late, would you still hold it against me?”

      “Did you?”

      “No.”

      In spite of herself, she chuckled at his candid

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