Prologue

One hour ago, Mary had expected to lie back on the king-size bed in Long Lake, Minnesota's most exclusive bed and breakfast and let Ethan Curtis make love to her, with no emotion, zero response from her body. At that very same time, she'd wondered if he'd be rough, cold, like the unfeeling bastard she'd met in her family's former offices a week ago – the offices he now controlled and ran like a well-oiled, profit gouging, soul-sucking machine.

His mouth moved over hers, slowly, seductively coaxing her back to the present. Every time his skin brushed against hers, every time his teeth raked lightly over her neck or back or shoulder, she mewled so loudly with desire she was sure the entire inn heard her and knew exactly what she was doing.

Ethan Curtis might've been a bastard, but he was anything but cold.

Moonlight spilled into the room, making it impossible not to see Ethan's face as he pushed into her again, his cut cheekbones, hard mouth, and tanned neck taut with exertion and damp with sweat. His cobalt gaze slipped from her eyes to her mouth and he lowered his head. Mary's heart hammered in her chest as she tried to force back the rush of desire in her blood when his full mouth found hers and nuzzled her lips open. The reality of why they were here in bed together, so that her father was now free from any threat of prison, scratched at the door of her mind, and she wished she could crawl out from underneath Ethan and leave the room, but her body continued to betray her. Maybe it was because she hadn't been with a man in two years. Maybe she just craved the weight and the closeness and the surge of adrenaline, but she wanted this man so badly she ached with it.

Ethan drifted lazily from her mouth to her cheek, then to her ear. She felt the tip of his tongue against her lobe and shivered, her back arching, her hips arching, her body taking him deeper. Her ears were surprisingly sensitive, and she hated that he knew it, that he was having this power over her – yet loving it at the same time. His tongue flicked back and forth as though he were tending to more than just the lobe of her ear and she trembled again with sudden spasms she couldn't control. Outside their door, she heard voices, heavy footfall in the hallway, then a door closing. Had they heard her as she moaned with desire, her body begging him for more?

The urge to touch Ethan, grab his lower back and buttocks, sink her fingers and nails into his muscular flesh was almost overwhelming and she fisted the sheets at her sides. It was the one thing she'd promised herself – not to touch him. But the pledge was hurting her far more than it was hurting him, she imagined. His tan, thickly muscled chest and shoulders had erotic voices of their own and were calling to her as he rose up for a moment, then settled back down against her breasts.

How could you sleep with a man like this? she heard herself say, though the only sound her throat produced was a deep moan of satisfaction as he lowered his head to her breast and suckled deeply on one hard, pink nipple. How could you desire a man like this?

He's a demon.

Shuddering with the electric heat, she wrapped her legs around him and arched her back, pumping her hips furiously. She was close, so close. It had been two incredibly quiet years since she'd been with a man she'd dated for only a few months, two long years since she'd faked release before breaking it off and wandering back into hermit territory and remaining there as the eternal businesswoman. She'd felt the real charge of climax only in her dreams – those dreams of faceless strangers pleasuring her body until she woke up sweaty and frustrated. But there was no faking anything tonight.

Again her thoughts were seized and cast aside by Ethan's touch. He slipped his hand between them, his fingers inching downward until he combed through the pale curls between her spread thighs. As he stroked her, flicked the tender, aching bud, Mary gulped for air. She didn't want to give in to him. He didn't deserve her desire, her complete and utter surrender. But her head fell back anyway as the heat of his hand and the skill of his fingers took her over the edge. She knew how loudly she cried out as he played her, as he sank deeper, but she didn't care. Wounded, desperate and totally unaware of time, she clawed at the white sheets, pretending they were his skin. Ethan watched her, his gaze feral, yet brushed with uncharacteristic concern. Then with a growl of hunger, he pushed deeply inside her, his rhythm steady, his breathing anything but. The force of his release made him shake, made his body hard as iron, and when he dropped gently on top of her, he buried his head in the damp curve of her neck.

It was only moments before Mary's skin started to cool and her rational mind returned, along with her anger. No matter how much her body craved this man, in the light of day this had been little more than a transaction.

A wave of nausea moved through her as she recalled the day Ethan Curtis made her an offer she'd felt she hadn't been able to refuse.

“You're one arrogant son of a bitch, you know that, Curtis?”

Ethan sat back in his leather chair and regarded her with cold eyes. “I think we've established that. Are you going to take the deal or not?”

With his short black hair, sharp blue eyes and hooked nose, Ethan resembled a hawk, more than a man. Mary had never seen a man with more arrogance or more presence, than this one.

She stood in his massive office of glass and metal, with its hard, uncompromising edges and tried to be as much of a hardass as him. “I told you I would agree to artificial insemination.”

“If I felt that you would actually honor--”

“Honor?” she said, appalled. “We've leapt way beyond that now.”

“True.” His sapphire gaze missed nothing, especially the intense desire she had to thwart him in any way possible. “But to make certain your end of the bargain is upheld, we'll do this the old fashioned way.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

He looked amused. “You may even like it.”

She gave him a derisive glance. “Maybe. But we'll never know. I'm not going to bed with you, Mr. Curtis.”

The look of amusement disappeared and he replied gravely, “You want your father cleared of all charges. I want a child. It's very simple.”

Simple. The word crashed around in Mary's brain as the man who'd uttered it one week ago rolled off of her in one gentle movement. Nothing was simple about this situation. She ventured a quick glance at him, sitting up, his back to her, ropes of thick muscle flexing as he moved. Was it possible to despise someone, yet be intrigued by them at the same time?

His voice cut through her silent query. “Do you want me to go?”

Despite her efforts to remain indifferent, she felt anger bubble up within her. At her herself and at him. “Yes.”

His jaw tight, he let out a slow breath. “I will see you again tomorrow.”

Without answering, she got up from the bed and headed straight for the bathroom. She wasn't about to turn over and lay there, sheet pulled up to her chin like a naive girl who'd just been taken advantage of. She'd known exactly what she was doing and why, and had admittedly enjoyed herself.

She turned on the shower to drown out any sound of him getting dressed and walking out, then threw back the shower curtain and stared at the water as it dropped like rain onto the virginal white surface of the porcelain tub. She placed one foot over the tub, but quickly stepped back on the mat. Why the hell wasn't she getting in there, getting clean, getting rid of any sign of him. What kind of woman didn't want to wash off the scent of a man she had sworn to hate – a man who wanted her only to procure a blue blooded child? Not any kind of woman she would respect.

Mary let the curtain drop and went to stand in front of the full length mirror on the bathroom door. With nervous fingers, she ran a hand down her torso, over her belly. Had they made a child tonight? A shiver of excitement went through her, accompanied by an intense feeling of dread. A baby. She sighed. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to build a family of her own, but not this way.

Feeling ashamed, her gaze dropped to the floor. Her priorities were what they had always been, ever since she was a child; to fix the lives of others before her own, and right now having all charges dropped against her father was the most important thing. She wasn't getting a family out of this deal, she was keeping her father out of prison.

Her hands splayed her belly once more and she shook her head. Impossible. The whole damn deal. She was a fool for thinking it would work, just as Ethan Curtis was a fool for thinking that if she did get pregnant that baby would ever be raised by anyone but it's mother.

Chapter One

"Congresswoman Fisher is on line two, Derek Mead is still holding on line three, and Owen Winston is on line four."

Mac Valentine relaxed back in his chair. His executive assistant, Claire, stood in the doorway of his modern, chrome and leather penthouse office, an expectant look on her grandmotherly face. She had been with him for eight years and she was somewhat of a voyeur when it came to watching him work. She especially enjoyed moments like this when he was about to crush someone. She thought him a ruthless, unflinching businessman, and on more than one occasion he'd heard her refer to him as a black-haired, black-eyed demon who held each one of his thirty-five employees to incredibly high standards. Damien grinned. She was right. The only thing she'd left out was that if any one of those employees fell short of his expectations - if they didn't strive for the goal of making MCV Wealth Enhancement Corp the first choice of not only the Minneapolis area, but the entire Midwest, they were sent packing.

Behind her black frames, Claire's eyes glistened like a child waiting for dessert to be served. "Mr. Winston says he is returning your call, sir."

Mac palmed his blackberry. "Tell both the Congresswoman and Mead that I'll return their call. This won't take long."

"Yes, sir." Claire hovered in the doorway.

"And close the door when you go," Mac said evenly. "Today is not a school day."

"Of course, sir." Looking thoroughly disappointed, Claire left the room.

Mac pressed the call button and leaned back in his chair. "Owen."

"That's right," came the irritated voice on the other end of the line. "I've been holding for longer than I care to. What can I do for you?"
Satisfaction rolled through Mac at the slight tremor in the older man's voice. He turned his chair toward the wall of windows behind him and stared out at the view of the Minneapolis skyline. "I won't waste my time or yours asking why you did what you did."

"Excuse me?"

"Or forcing you to admit it," said Mac. "Attempting to ruin the reputation of a competing firm happens quite a bit in our game. Mostly with the older set. You guys get tired, lose your edge and the clients
start looking elsewhere."

Mac could practically see Owen's face darkening with rage. "You don't know what you're talking about, Valentine--"

"You can't help it," Mac continued coldly. "You see these hotshots coming up the ranks with cooler heads and sharper minds and you start to worry that you're not going to be taken seriously anymore. And when you realize it's only a matter of time before you're forced out of business, you panic." Mac leaned forward and said without emotion, "You panicked, Owen."

"This is ridiculous," Owen sputtered. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Mac continued as if he hadn't heard. "A respectable man would recognize his limitations and retire, maybe play a round of golf in the morning followed by a nice nap in the afternoon."

"A respectable businessman, Valentine." Owen laughed bitterly. "A respectable businessman wouldn't give preferential treatment, key information or tips to certain privileged clients. A respectable man wouldn't give that information based on their client's long legs and large breasts."

It was the accusation of a desperate man, total b.s., but the rumor had spread like the flu. "You are this close to a lawsuit, Winston."
"That sharp mind of yours would never allow these observations of mine to go on the record in a court of law. Such a long, dragged out process. Even worse for your reputation, I would think."

It took a few seconds for Mac to respond, then a deadly calm crept over him like the blackening sky before a thunderstorm. "True enough," he said slowly. "Perhaps legal recourse isn't the right way to deal with you."

"Smart man. Now it's late and I have--"

Mac stood up and walked across the room. "No, I suppose I'll have to come up with a different way to make you pay for what you've done."

"It's after seven, Valentine," said Owen tightly.

"I have dinner plans."

"Yes, of course - get home to your family."

Mac opened his office door and gestured for Claire. "Especially that lovely daughter of yours. What's her name again? Allison? Olive?"

Owen didn't answer.

"Ah, right..." Mac raised a brow at Claire.

"Olivia. Beautiful name," Mac said as he watched his assistant go to her computer and begin a search. "Beautiful name for a beautiful woman, I'm told. You know, your daughter has a reputation for being a very good girl. Sweet, loves her father and steers clear of anything scandalous. Might be interesting to see how easy or how enjoyably difficult it would be to change that."

Claire glanced up, her expression a mixed bag of respect, curiosity and horror.

"You stay away from my daughter." The once cocky old man now sounded like an anxious pup.

"I'm not a religious man, Owen, but I believe the phrase "an eye for eye" is appropriate here." Mac stalked back into his office. "I may be an arrogant, selfish prick, but I'm no fraud. I give every one of my clients two hundred percent, male and female alike. You went too far." Mac stabbed at the "off" button on his Blackberry and he walked to the windows. The bleak, gray light of a hostile rainstorm hovered over the parking lot and street below, making Mac feel as though his threats to Owen Winston might be so powerful they could not only affect the sexual status of an innocent young woman, but the weather as well.

"She owns No Ring Required."

Mac didn't turn around to address Claire's statement. "How do I know that name?"

"Minneapolis Magazine did a cover story on the business last month. Three women; a chef, an interior designer and a party planner - all top notch businesswomen who have banded together to create--"

"A service for men who need the help and expertise of a wife," he continued. "But either don't have one or don't want one."

"That's right."

He turned around and nodded to his assistant. "Perfect. Can you set up an appointment with Olivia Winston for this week? It would seem that I'm in need of her services."

"Did you read the article, sir?"

"I don't remember ... I probably skimmed it."

"These are hardcore, upstanding women who are well respected in the business community. They are adamantly against any and all fraternization."

Mac grinned to himself. "Get that appointment for tomorrow morning. irst thing."

Lips pulled under her teeth, Claire nodded and left the room.

Mac returned to his desk and thumbed through the files of the clients that had gone AWOL since Owen Winston's lies had surfaced two days ago. Who knew if they were ever going to return to his company or if their
relationship with his firm was dead in the water. Mac wanted to throttle that bastard - but violence was too quickly given and gotten over. No, it would have to be a rep for a rep. Owen had taken Mac's and Mac would take his daughter's.

Well respected or not, Owen's little girl was going to have to pay - for the loss of revenue to MCV and its employees, and for her father's stupidity.

There was nothing more unsettling than a devil in church.

Swathed in a black chiffon Vera Wang bridesmaid dress, her red hair piled on top of her head, Tess York stared at the man in the fourth pew, her palms going damp around the base of her bouquet of red peonies. His name was Damien Sauer and he was tall, dark and fierce-looking - just as she remembered him. Once upon a time they had been together, boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers and friends, but then another man had come along. A man who was mild and shy and had seemed the safe choice at the time. Back then, she'd been a sucker for safe, and had walked away from Damien and the look of seething animosity that had followed her out the door.

The scent of pine from the decorative holiday garland strewn around the church ceased being romantic and festive and instead gave way to a horrible bout of nausea. What was he doing back here? she wondered nervously. He didn't belong here anymore. As far as she knew, he'd gotten out of Minnesota years ago and had moved to California . Rumor had it that he'd taken on the real estate market, flipping houses at the rate of two per month. Supposedly, he was unstoppable, went into every deal without a conscious, and was now worth millions.

Tess was hardly surprised by his success. Six years ago, he'd worked as lead carpenter for a construction company in town. His ideas were so clever, so innovative, his handiwork so skillful and beautiful, he was wanted by every contractor in the city.

But local jobs and local pay hadn't been enough for Damien. He'd wanted more, and had been willing to risk everything he to get to where he wanted to go.

Tess watched him sit immobile in his seat with that arrogant lift to his chin as he watched Mary and Ethan exchange wedding vows. Tension moved through her neck and shoulders like a snake in search of a fat mouse. She had done everything to bury her wretched, mistake-filled past, erase the so-called life she'd lived to the most worthless of husbands. Along with her partners, Olivia Winston and Mary Kelley, she'd helped build a winning wife-for-hire business and had created a smooth, comfortable life for herself. All she wanted to do these days was act as thought the past had never existed and continue to live happily and cautiously in the present.

But the devil had shown up in church.

Behind Tess, someone took to the keys of the piano, playing the introduction to Phantom's All I Ask of You. Everyone in the wedding party turned – as rehearsed – to watch the two performers walk to the piano, then sing.

Everyone except Tess.

She couldn't take her eyes off of Damien. Maybe if she stared hard enough at him he'd get up and leave. She almost laughed out loud at the stupid thought. He wasn't a man to be chased out, scared off. He had the strongest will of anyone she had ever known.

Her gaze moved over him. He had grown leaner and broader in the shoulders since she'd seen him last, but his mouth was as hard as his expression now, as though he didn't make it a habit of smiling.

What was he here for? Did he know Ethan? Or God forbid, Mary?

Tess shifted, her black heels feeling suffocatingly tight. There was no way she was ready to spill her guts about the past to her partners...

Beside her, No Ring Required's culinary expert, Olivia Winston leaned in. “Hey, I know the singing's not Broadway caliber, but no spacing out, okay?”

“Yeah. Right. Sure,” Tess muttered, utterly distracted.

The pretty brunette frowned at her. “What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Tess said quickly.

“Doesn't look like nothing,” Olivia muttered.

Refusing to make a scene at her partners wedding, Tess forced herself to face the singers. She had to get a grip here. Maybe Damien didn't even know she was there – maybe he'd forgotten all about her. Maybe he was married...with two kids and a dog named Buster. After all it had been six years. Look at all that had happened to her...

But as she half listened to the singers belt it out for the bride and groom, the music swelling and filling the church, she had an odd feeling, as though she were being watched, as though little bugs were crawling into the red curls at her hairline and nipping at her skin. It was a feeling she'd had only one time before.

The day she'd turned her back on the devilish Damien Sauer and walked out.