As always, thanks go to my husband and family, who are always patient. I love you, Pink!

      To Gnomey, may you someday find your way back to me. To Lobby, may the day come soon when I can give your brother to Gena. But never you. You I’m keeping.

      Thanks always goes to Gena Showalter, Sheila Fields, Donnell Epperson, Kassia Krozser, and Betty Sanders. Kassia—I put the serial comma in there just for you.

      To Jeff Z, my BFF and all my friends from PCHS—you rock!

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      1

      Middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma

      WHAT WAS SHE DOING? Or had just done? Miriam Cole sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes tight. It didn’t change a thing. He was still there.

      Miriam peeked over her shoulder at the man smushed up against her body. His legs were tangled over hers and his hand gently gripped her breast. The angle was awkward, but she could make him out perfectly in the morning light.

      She sucked in a breath as she gazed at his sexy, slightly curling dark hair. That full bottom lip that did such dangerous things to her body. That face that looked almost boyish in his sleep.

      Boyish, because the man beside her was twenty years old.

      Twenty. Twenty? She had to get out of there.

      How had this happened? Two days ago, getting a rental and driving from Dallas to see a prospective author in Oklahoma had seemed like such a great idea. A couple of hours in the car with the top down. See a part of the country she’d never seen before. Relax. Take a break.

      But the clean air smelled weird, the wildflowers untamed, and after mentally going through her to-do list, she remembered why she hated time alone with herself. She had nothing but work on her mind.

      When she returned to the office, she’d fire the person who’d suggested she take a vacation. Even if he was her brother.

      The man beside her shifted and snuggled closer into her pillow, burying his face in her hair. She closed her eyes again, loving the feel of his skin against hers. Miriam began to curve her hand along the hardness of his biceps. Nothing felt as good as a man’s strong arms. Jeremy’s strong arms especially. Maybe a quick—

      Her body jerked. Stop. If she went down that road again, he’d be awake. What had it been, four? Five times? Besides a little bit of sleep, the man didn’t need much else to be up and raring to go. As tempting as round five or six sounded—escape was what she needed.

      She slowly tugged her hair out from under him and slid gracelessly to the floor. He shifted, and she made every muscle in her body go still. She held her breath. After counting to ten, she slowly stood. Although way more prudent, she refused to crawl. Some dignity must be maintained. She was a major player in the publishing industry after all.

      Oh, her brother Ian would laugh his head off if he knew she’d tiptoed naked to the bathroom. Brought down. Brought down by a temperamental sporty little red car and no bars on her cell phone. Stranded. Stranded somewhere in the middle of a place called Arbuckle Wilderness.

      Her cell phone beeped and she dashed for it. No way did she want Jeremy waking up. He’d want to do something gallant like fix her breakfast or slay some kind of dragon.

      “Hello?” she answered quickly.

      That’s when she realized that what she held in her hand wasn’t her phone. What had seemed so funny the day before, that she and Jeremy had picked out the same built-in ring tone, now was another in an ever-growing list of events that had led her to the colossal mistake of falling into his arms last night.

      The long pause on the other line was ended by a strangled throat clearing. “Who is this?” the woman demanded, her tone clearly not expecting any subterfuge.

      Rather than answering, Miriam padded across the floor and shook Jeremy’s shoulder. “Phone call for you,” she told him as he opened his eyes and she met the blueness of his gaze, reminding her just why she’d kissed him that first time.

      With a sexy shrug, he sat up in bed, the sheet slid down his legs. Don’t look.

      “Hello?” His voice sleepy and so appealing to her.

      Oh, what did she have left to lose really? Her gaze drifted lower.

      And Jeremy sat up straighter. “Oh, hi, Mom.”

      She shouldn’t have looked.

      She was going to be sick.

      Two Weeks Later

      “YOU LOOK LIKE HELL,” Miriam said.

      Ian Cole slumped into the burgundy leather chair in front of his editor’s glass-and-chrome desk, ready for his latest assignment.

      “That’s a bit harsh,” he told his sister.

      “It’s true. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?”

      Maybe she had a point. He certainly felt like hell, and he probably looked it, too. Yeah, well, what else was new? “I’ve just spent three weeks tracking drug runners. You’re lucky I caught a shower before catching the redeye back to the States.”

      “Maybe you should try catching a shave and a haircut. And three days worth of sleep.”

      “The boys gave me a good send-off before I broke for the airport. A little R & R,” he said, rubbing his temples, and trying to remember just what they’d done.

      Maybe too good a send-off.

      Miriam’s lips thinned. “I’m not sure the parties those guys cook up could be cataloged as either rest or relaxation. They’re certainly not good for you.”

      “We were all of legal age, and you didn’t have to bail me out of jail, so I’m calling it good,” he said, blinking against the light beaming through her large office window overlooking Manhattan.

      Miriam shuddered, as she walked toward the window to close the blinds. “Thanks for the reminder. You should have heard me explaining to our accountant that bail money was a legitimate tax expense.”

      “You’re lucky you got to bail me out. There are quite a few pissed-off officials who’d just as soon kill me as have me share the luxury of their penal system. There’ll be no welcome mat for me in Mexico.”

      “True,” his sister said, reaching for the wand on the blinds.

      “Come to think of it, there’ll be no welcome mat for you, either.”

      Miriam turned on her heel and glared at him. “You’re right, and I have a time share in Mazatlan I’ll never see again. I left my skinny swimsuit there, so screw your hangover. It’s your own darn fault you’re in this condition, so you can live with the sunlight. I like my view and I like