weaknesses, his habits and quirks, the name of every revolving-door girlfriend, every Malloy family trait—
He called your mother “Marian” an inner voice jeered. He didn’t remember your parents are getting a divorce!
Elizabeth flinched, then opened her eyes.
Financial worries could consume a person’s thoughts to the exclusion of all else. Her father was a prime example, and she’d forgiven him, hadn’t she? Did Cameron deserve any less?
What about you? Don’t you deserve more?
Of course she did! But…never again to walk through those lobby doors?
Always to go home to an empty apartment?
But…never again to be called “Lizzy”? Never again to see Cameron’s irresistible grin?
Never to be the center in a man’s universe? Never to be a wife and mother?
But—
He’ll never love you! Accept that and move on. Do it.
But—
Do it now, before you get the hots and need estrogen therapy more than sex!
Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged. Oh, God, reality sucked.
Pressing a fist between her breasts, she bled for the June wedding that would never be, the golden-haired babies she would never hold, the happily-ever-after she would never live with the man who directed her actions each day, and starred in her dreams more nights than not. When the last fairytale hope drained from her heart, she waited, curiously detached.
Nothing. Not even the tiniest blip of life.
So be it.
She lifted her chin and pushed away from the door. It was past time to get a life. Preferably her own, this time.
At her desk, Elizabeth booted up her sleek Macintosh PowerBook computer and glared at the newspaper folded carefully beside her telephone.
“Don’t scowl at me,” she told bachelor number six. “You’ll land on your feet. You always do.”
Sniffing, she focused on the screen and composed the most difficult letter of her life. Short, but definitely not sweet. Sweet was the old Elizabeth. The good sport, the team player, the referee and cheerleader rolled into one. The new Elizabeth was head coach of her own game, with her own rules. As of now, Cameron would sit on the bench.
She’d just written “Sincerely” when a soft knock sounded on her door.
“Go away,” she ordered, still typing.
Silence, then three sharp raps.
“Not my problem,” she yelled louder, saving the document.
The door rattled open. Elizabeth looked up. Cameron stood hesitantly in the threshold.
Maybe it was knowing she wouldn’t see that timber wolf stare in the future that weakened her immunity now. Whatever the reason, she desperately needed a booster shot.
The former heartthrob of Lake Kimberly High had matured into a major heart attack.
His extraordinary golden eyes gleamed beneath thick sable lashes, the contrast still as unexpected—the impact still as thrilling—as during her first day in Mrs. Connor’s English class. But today he wore expensive designer duds, not hand-me-downs from Travis. Chosen, she suspected, like the agency’s decor to show that its owner wasn’t “small potatoes”…as if anyone would make that mistake. Whether wearing Armani or Salvation Army, Cameron would exude a confidence impossible to miss. That much, at least, hadn’t changed.
But his hair had darkened over the years from sunny blond to antique gold. His jaw had hardened, his shoulders broadened, his legs lengthened, his muscles thickened. He’d reshaped an otherwise classically perfect nose while helping Seth worm a fractious mare. The tiny white scar bisecting one eyebrow was courtesy of Travis. A miscast fishing lure, as she recalled.
Watching him walk to her desk, she admitted the imperfections only enhanced his masculine appeal. The rough edge to his polish turned females of all ages into drooling simpletons.
As he pulled out one of her guest chairs and made himself comfortable, Elizabeth swallowed hard.
I have to stay mad. “What don’t you understand about the words ‘go away’?”
He tilted his head. “What’s ‘not your problem’?”
“Anything to do with you, that’s what,” she lied.
In point of fact, everything about him threatened her future happiness.
His expression shifted into puppy dog contrition. “Aw, Lizzy, don’t stay mad. You’re the one I count on around here to stay rational and calm.”
“A doormat usually does.”
“Doormat?” His brows lifted. “You’re nobody’s doormat. But I did steamroll over you back there in my office. I’m really sorry.”
“Yes, you are. A sorry SOB.”
He looked startled, but recovered quickly. “You’re right. I deserved that, and more. I was a total jerk. A complete ass. A stupid idiot…you name it. In the past ten minutes, I’ve run out of foul things to call myself.”
“Insensitive moron? Immature hothead? Controlling dictator? Let’s not forget compulsive liar—”
“Liar?”
Ah, finally. She couldn’t have held out much longer against humbleness. “What else would you call a business owner who, for months, hides his company’s true financial status from its highest ranking officer?”
“How about ‘thoughtful’?”
She could only gape.
“That’s right, thoughtful. You have a ton of pressure on you to develop SkyHawk’s marketing plan. I didn’t want to add worry to your full plate.”
“Bull. You didn’t think I could handle more stress. After all, I might’ve jumped out the window of my nice safe office.”
He smoothed his tie, a habit signaling either uneasiness or a grope for patience. “Would you please forget the lousy things I said? We’re a team. A pretty damn great one, in case you’ve forgotten what’s really important.”
She reached for her computer keyboard and pressed a button with flourish. “My letter of resignation is printing out now in the copy room. By noon, the whole agency will know I’ve quit.”
“Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy. You’re overreacting.” His sigh fanned the embers of her anger.
“No. I’m simply acting on what my instincts have told me for years. It’s time for me to explore new options and accept new challenges, before I stagnate completely.”
His humoring expression
