Prologue

      “Hey, boss, the barracuda…excuse me, your fiancée is on line two,” Ginger Drake announced from the doorway.

      Jordan glowered at his impudent secretary. “I’ve told you not to call her that.”

      Undaunted, Ginger merely strolled into his office and perched on the corner of his desk, an act that hiked her skirt to midthigh. Jordan shook his head. If she weren’t the most efficient, most incredibly loyal young woman who’d ever worked for him, he would have fired her months ago for her tart remarks and her unrepentant intrusion into his personal life.

      “You’ve also told me to be honest and truthful, no matter how much it hurts,” she informed him now. “That’s my job around here.”

      “Your job is taking dictation and typing.”

      “And keeping you happy,” she reminded him. She gestured at the blinking phone line. “She does not make you happy. She is a b—”

      “Don’t say it,” he warned, reaching for the phone.

      Ginger shrugged. “Well, she is, which you could see for yourself, if you weren’t blinded by the size of her—”

      “Ginger!” He pointed toward the door. “Out!”

      “Just doing my job,” she said, and sashayed from the room with a provocative sway of her hips.

      Unable to resist, Jordan watched that motion with an appreciative eye. If he hadn’t known that she was blissfully married to a linebacker for the Houston Oilers, he would have assumed that Ginger was trying to get his attention. Instead, he knew perfectly well that feminine provocation came as naturally and unselfconsciously to her as flirting with the opposite sex did to him. The difference was, he had tired of it.

      Being named one of the city’s most eligible bachelors the past five years in a row had lost its charm. He was ready to settle down. The woman on the phone was the candidate he’d chosen six months ago from the string of female acquaintances who accompanied him to the various charity functions that made up the bulk of his social life.

      “Hey, darlin’, how are you?” he said to Rexanne Marshall once Ginger was out of hearing range with the office door firmly shut behind her. “How was the convention?”

      “Interesting,” Rexanne said in that deliberately smoky voice that oozed sensuality and, as she well knew, sent goose bumps dancing down his spine.

      He settled back in his chair and asked, “Did you make any big deals?” Rexanne really got turned on by her deal making. He could practically envision their passionate reunion.

      “You could say that.”

      Jordan thought he heard something odd in her tone, a hint of strain that was rare for the supremely confident, highly successful owner of a small but thriving Texas cosmetics company. It was a company poised to make a major move into the national marketplace with his financial backing.

      “Rexanne, is everything okay?”

      “Jordan…”

      He could hear her swallowing and suddenly his body went absolutely still. She had bad news. He could tell from that increasingly evident note of uncertainty in her voice. He sat up a little straighter.

      “Whatever it is, just tell me,” he instructed. He’d meant to sound patient and concerned, but even he recognized the drill-sergeant command in his voice.

      “Actually, it was the most amazing thing,” she began with a nervous little giggle.

      Rexanne was quite possibly the most sophisticated woman he’d ever met. She never giggled. His suspicions tripled as he waited for her to go on.

      “I ran into this man, an old friend, actually, from high school, as a matter of fact.”

      Now the woman who never wasted a word was babbling. Jordan’s sense of dread kicked in. He stood and began to pace, phone in hand. “And?”

      “Well, the truth of it is…Jordan, I’m really sorry about this, but…”

      “Just spit it out, Rexanne.”

      “Randall and I got married,” she blurted at last. “In Vegas.”

      Rexanne