LITMIR.BIZ

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her studio?

      Ethan shook his head. “It really isn’t that small. There are plenty of New York City studio apartments half this size.”

      He turned to stare at Faith. It was if he were truly seeing her—all of her for the first time. Her jeans hugged her body like a second skin, outlining the sensual curves of her hips. She was slender, but not a raw-boned slender. With her height, face and body she probably was mistaken for a model.

      Faith met Ethan’s stare with one of her own. There was something about him that intrigued her, and she wanted to know more about him: his age, what he did for a living, other than being related to William Raymond, what was his association with the record mogul?

      She blinked as if coming out of a trance. “You lied to me, Ethan McMillan.”

      His expression mirrored confusion. “What are you talking about?”

      Folding her arms under her breasts, Faith gave him a saucy smile. “You told me you were hired help when in reality you’re WJ’s cousin.”

      A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Ethan’s mouth. “I didn’t lie to you.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me you and WJ were related?”

      “You didn’t ask,” he countered.

      Faith refused to relent. “And if I had asked would you have told me?”

      “Why not? I may deny a few things, but never family.”

      “Lie or deny?”

      “Deny, Faith.” A slight frown distorted his handsome face. “It seems as if we’re back to the topic of you not trusting men.”

      “This is not about me, Ethan,” she retorted.

      “Then exactly who is it about? It certainly can’t be about me,” Ethan said, answering his own question. “I was raised to tell the truth, and rather than lie I just won’t say anything.” He gestured to her. “Come on, Faith, ask me something.”

      “What do you do for WJ?”

      “I’m his driver.” He angled his head. “Now, may I ask you to do something for me?”

      Something told her not to ask, but she did anyway. “That all depends what it is.”

      Ethan pointed to the coffeemaker on the kitchen’s countertop. “Would you mind brewing me a cup of coffee? I’ve been on the road for the past twelve hours and I need a double shot of caffeine to keep my eyes open before I drive to New Jersey.” He’d been awake for thirty hours, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that sleep deprived.

      He’d talked to Billy about attending college in Pennsylvania, and much to the elder Raymond’s shock, he’d agreed. It was only after Savanna’s guests retreated to the rooftop solarium that Ethan and an armed bodyguard escorted Billy down the stairwell to the underground garage and into the Town Car.

      Ethan had called his parents en route to let them know that their grandnephew would be staying with them until he completed his education or whoever had threatened his life was apprehended. He made it to Cresson, Pennsylvania, in record time, stayed long enough to see Billy settled in, then got back into the car for the return drive to New York.

      He’d returned to his cousin’s penthouse, shaved, showered and packed his clothes. Once he informed WJ that he was returning to his Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, town house condo, his cousin asked that he deliver a letter to Faith Whitfield.

      Faith saw a trace of fatigue etched on his face for the first time. His eyelids were drooping and his speech was slower. “Of course I don’t mind. Let me hang up your jacket.” He shrugged out of the leather jacket, handing it to her. He swayed before righting himself. Instinctively she reached out to steady him, but drew her hand back. “Why don’t you lie down on the bed before you end up on the floor, and there’s no way I’ll be able to lift you.”

      A tired smile pulled one corner of Ethan’s mouth upward. “Thanks.”

      He headed for the large bed in the alcove covered with a white comforter, shams, throw pillows and dust ruffle trimmed in lace. If he hadn’t been so tired he would’ve turned his nose up at the frilly bed linens, but now it was like an oasis to a thirsty traveler.

      He sat on the side of the bed, removed his shoes, then lay on the unabashedly feminine bed and exhaled a sigh of relief. Englewood Cliffs was right across the river from New York but as he lay staring up at an eave above the bed he doubted whether he would’ve been able to make the drive without being a danger to himself or other motorists.

      Ethan closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in a deep, even rhythm. “Would your boyfriend mind if I took you dancing?”

      Faith was barely able to control her gasp of shock. She stopped pouring coffee beans into the grinder. Within seconds she recovered enough to say, “No.”

      “No, what? You don’t have a boyfriend, or you don’t want to go out with me?” His voice seemed to come from a long way off.

      Her cheeks warmed with heat. “No to both.”

      Her answer pleased Ethan. He was more interested in knowing if Faith Whitfield had a boyfriend than taking her out, because if she was involved with someone, then that meant he’d have to retreat honorably.

      “Thank you.” The two words came out slurred.

      Shifting, Faith stared at the tall man reclining on her bed. To say he was an enigma was putting it mildly. He’d asked her to go dancing with him, then acted as if she’d given him a reprieve when she turned him down.

      “Thank you for what?”

      “For your honesty and…”

      “And what, Ethan?” There was no answer. “Ethan?” She called his name again and was greeted by soft snores.

      Resting her hands on her hips, she glared at the figure lying sprawled across her bed, unable to believe he’d come to her apartment to sleep. If he was that tired, then she would’ve given him the address to several hotels in the area. He could’ve checked into the Washington Square Hotel for about one-fifty a night, or if he wanted luxury then there was the Marriott Financial Center at three to four hundred a night.

      Faith smothered a curse under her breath as she pressed a button on the grinder. The tantalizing smell of fresh coffee filled the air. She’d come home to relax, but that was thwarted because Ethan McMillan had commandeered her bed. She programmed the coffeemaker to begin brewing in three hours. That was all the time she was going to give the man sleeping in her bed before she’d wake him to send him on his way.

      Chapter 4

      Faith opened the window shutters, sat down on the window seat and stretched her legs along its length. The width of the seat was one of many reasons why she’d decided to rent the apartment. It provided additional seating, and the windows overlooked an alley wide enough to park at least half a dozen cars. During the warmer weather she opened them and sat out on the fire escape. It wasn’t a traditional balcony or terrace, but served the same function.

      Resting her back against an overstuffed pillow, she closed her eyes. What was it with the men who came to the homes of Whitfield women for the first time and ended up sharing their bed? She opened her eyes, staring at the falling snow piling up on the fire escape. Ethan was in her bed, even if she wasn’t sharing it with him.

      Tessa admitted that she’d shared her bed with Micah Sanborn the night he’d come to her home because of a blackout, and within a week knew that the Brooklyn A.D.A. was her prince.

      Reaching for a book, Faith opened it to the last page she’d read. She chanced a quick glance at Ethan McMillan and shook her head. He wasn’t a prince, but then he wasn’t exactly a frog, either. He was more like a bad penny that kept turning up when she least expected. Focusing on the book, she forgot about the man in her bed and lost herself in the lives of the

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