Chapter One

      Bright eyes, taunting and haughty, peered from behind the gnarled trunk of a stately black oak. With an irked blink at those who so relentlessly followed, the eyes turned away, and their owner slipped into the meadow, gliding lithely through the purple profusion of wild lupine toward the one place no one dared to follow.

      “Maggie, don’t be a tease.” A croak of desperation broke the command into a whining supplication. “Don’t hide from us, precious, we only want to help. You know how much we love you.”

      Unmoved by the poignant plea, Maggie ducked into a neatly trimmed hedgerow at the far side of the meadow, and disappeared.

      “Me firsty.”

      “Shh, sweetums, I know you’re thirsty.” Laura Michaels shifted the baby in her arms, wiped a smudge of tree sap from his wind-chafed cheek. As she peeked through the pruned thicket, her heart sank at the expanse of manicured lawns and lush, formal garden leading up to an architectural marvel that could only be described as a mansion. “We have to be real quiet for a few minutes, okay? Then we can go home, and Mama will get you a big glass of juice.”

      Jamie rubbed his eyes, popped a thumb in his mouth and laid his head on his mother’s shoulder as she carefully eased through the shrubbery, ever watchful lest her presence on these hallowed grounds be detected. Rich people lived here. Rather, one rich person in particular.

      Laura had never met Royce Burton. She hadn’t even seen him beyond an across-the-street glimpse of tailored cashmere as he’d whisked from the corporate office of Burton Technologies into a gleaming Mercedes with tinted windows. Everyone in Mill Creek knew about Burton, the elusive entrepreneur who’d created an industrial complex that had turned an area in upstate New York on the brink of financial ruin into a thriving boomtown. Mill Creek citizens worshiped him. Not surprising, since he signed the majority of their paychecks.

      Laura remained cynical, although she hadn’t been immune to the monetary temptation that had seduced most of her friends and neighbors. She also coveted a job at Burton Technologies. Desperate means for desperate measures, she supposed, although she understood people like Royce Burton all too well. Experience had taught her that wealthy folks were a breed unto themselves. Contemptuous, self-indulgent. Cruel.

      Maggie couldn’t have chosen a worse spot to isolate herself from the world. Laura could not have been more determined to rescue her beloved Maggie from making a horrific mistake in judgment. “Hold on, sweetums,” she murmured to the fussing baby in her arms. “Just a few more minutes, okay?”

      A flash of movement caught Laura’s eye. A blooming daylily at the south wing of the huge home rustled. She gave another wary glance around the lush grounds. Then, cradling her sleepy child in her arms, she crept forward.

      Ducking beneath a cantilevered bay window, she slipped to the rear of the house just in time to see the final vibration of foliage in front of an open basement window.

      “Oh, criminey.” So much for the hope that Maggie had found refuge in a separate toolshed, or some other structure from which she could be quietly extricated without disturbing the mansion’s owner.

      She swallowed hard. “Hold on to your diapers, Jamie. Looks like we’re about to have ourselves an up-close-and-personal introduction to the richest, most powerful and most frightening man in the entire town.”

      The woman’s eyes were ice blue, cool to the point of frigid. Strands of gray muted the reddish hue of hair faded by time and twisted into a bun as tight as her jawline.

      She eyed Laura, her gaze lingering on the squirming child long enough to reflect a hint of disdain. “Is Mr. Burton expecting you?”

      “No.” Shifting as Jamie gave a sideways lurch, Laura tightened her grip on her fidgeting son and struggled to maintain her composure. She’d met women like this before. Too many of them, actually. Household terrors who ruled the inner workings of their employer’s homes as if they’d been blessed by royal decree. “It’s urgent that I speak with him at once.”

      “Impossible. Mr. Burton is in conference.”

      “But it’s Sunday.” Desperate, Laura turned her attention toward a masculine voice filtering from somewhere beyond the gleaming marble foyer. “I won’t take much of his time.”

      Unmoved, the woman, who appeared to be in her midfifties, squared her shoulders, took a sideways step as she prepared to close the massive carved door. “I suggest you call his office in the morning. His personal assistant will either set up an appointment—” cool blue eyes once again settled on the baby in Laura’s arms “—or refer you to his personal attorney.”

      Shocked by the implication, Laura bristled. “Mr. Burton must have quite a morals deficit for you to presume every visiting child is the issue of a tawdry affair.”

      The moment the angry words rumbled off her tongue, she regretted them. An unrestrained temper was not usually one of Laura’s flaws, except where her son was concerned. An insult to Jamie was intolerable, even if it meant alienating her only means of locating the elusive Mr. Burton—and the even more elusive Maggie.

      “How dare the likes of you insult a man of Mr. Burton’s impeccable standards?” A crimson flush stained the furious woman’s crepey throat, and a flash of embarrassed fury narrowed her eyes. Had it not been for the fortuitous diversion of a booming masculine voice, Laura had no doubt the massive doors would have been instantly slammed in her face.

      “Marta!”

      The distracted woman spun around, gazing like an anxious lapdog in the direction from which brusque footsteps echoed. “Get Robinson at the Brussels office on the line. Also, call Dave Henderson. Have him call a finance committee meeting for this afternoon.”

      Taking advantage of the tight-jawed door sentry’s inattention, Laura decided it was now or never. Tucking Jamie tightly against her shoulder, she stepped inside before the startled Marta could stop her.

      A blur of movement caught Laura’s eye as a dark-haired man in a tailored suit strode out of a room where a magnificent wall lined with leather-bound books was visible through an arched doorway.

      He moved with purpose and determination, although his gaze was riveted on a sheaf of documents he held in one hand. A cellular phone was clasped in the other. “Tell Henderson to bring the updated revenue projections and cash-flow statements, along with the revised production estimates—”

      He glanced up, did a double take when he saw Laura. He didn’t jerk to a stop, exactly. Rather, he slowed with a fluid grace, a man whose every movement was clearly practiced and precise.

      A questioning glance at the older woman was met with an apologetic tone that was a striking contrast to the haughty demeanor she’d displayed a moment earlier. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Burton, I tried to tell this…woman…that you weren’t receiving—”

      Laura interrupted. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Burton, but it’s urgent that I speak with you immediately.”

      He hiked an eyebrow, allowed his gaze to slip unobtrusively along the length of her body before settling with unnerving intensity on her face. “And who might you be?”

      She moistened her lips, oddly intimidated. He was only a man, after all, albeit a man whose mere presence filled a room, demanding immediate recognition. “My name is Laura Michaels.”

      Marta