With many thanks to Stacy Boyd, who made this book possible.

      Also thank you to Maureen Walters, and with love to my family.

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

One

Two

       Three

       Four

       Five

       Six

       Seven

       Eight

       Nine

       Ten

       Eleven

       Twelve

       Extract

       Copyright

One

      Nick Milan looked at the small white business card attached to the contract on his desk, and a shock ran through him. Just like last night, when he’d first seen it, he was shaken clear to his core.

      “Claire Prentiss.”

      Just saying the name brought a shadowy image to his mind. An image of a willowy, black-haired, brown-eyed beauty writhing in his arms. The mental picture tortured him, and he pushed the card to the back of his desk. It was almost time to meet his client for what should have been a routine real estate closing. With Claire as the broker, however, it would be far from routine.

      The depth of his reaction to the prospect of seeing her again shocked him. It had been four years since he’d held her, four years since he’d been in love with her. Four years since she had rejected his marriage proposal and they’d gone their separate ways. For a long time after the bitter fight that had led to their breakup he’d been hurt and angry with Claire. But that was over. So, why was he still affected by the mere sight of her name?

      Claire Prentiss was part of his past now, he tried telling himself. Out of his life for years. She was probably married with kids, helping her grandfather run his real estate agency and still using her maiden name because of business.

      Judging by the way his hand shook as he turned his wrist to check his watch, he needed more convincing.

      Nick picked up the contract and placed it in his briefcase, snapping it shut the way he wished he could shut out the painful memories of Claire. He had to now. He had work to do.

      As he drove to his appointment, he forced himself to focus on the closing, which he wished now he had never agreed to do. But it was for a friend. Paul Smith had called late yesterday afternoon, suddenly deciding he needed his attorney present. Nick had agreed, not knowing Claire would be involved. Why would he? She was a Houston broker. What was she doing closing a deal in Dallas? His friend had sent the contract to Nick’s office immediately after the call, but Nick had been too busy to read it until evening which is why he’d taken it home with him. If it hadn’t been close to midnight and way too late for his friend to get another attorney, he would have backed out there and then.

      He’d spent a sleepless night dreading this meeting and being tormented by memories that would best be forgotten.

      In minutes he parked the car and stepped out into a chilly, brisk December wind that whipped through the tall buildings in downtown Dallas. Entering the lobby of one of the office towers, he met up with Paul and shook hands, swallowing the words he longed to say: Get another lawyer to represent you. Instead, together they rode the elevator to a commercial real estate office on the twenty-seventh floor.

      As they entered through the double glass doors, Bruce Jernigan, the agent who represented the buyer, came forward to meet them.

      “If you gentlemen will come this way, we’ll get started. As you know, the seller was hospitalized and could not appear, so she has legal representation in her real estate broker.” He led them down a long corridor to the conference room, where he opened a door onto a room