couldn’t be right.
Books. Sign books.
Oh, right. A book signing was to follow his speech, out on the terrace where they were serving yet more gallons of terrific California wine. He hoped there were a few terrific California brews out there, too, or he was going to have to sneak off to his cottage and raid his own stash of pale ale.
Fortunately Stacy Mills, the publicity person his publisher had assigned to him, had taken note of his preferences, and a cold one was waiting for him at the table, along with a pitcher of ice water and a stack of books behind which an army could have barricaded itself.
Sheesh. Did they expect that every single attendee would buy one? Not that that was a bad thing. But it had already hit the New York Times nonfiction bestseller list, and he figured that in that case, everyone who wanted one would have bought it by now.
And speaking of Stacy Mills, here she was, with a dark-haired woman in tow. He handed a signed book to Andy Hoogbeck, one of the other speakers, and smiled at the newcomers.
“Getting writer’s cramp?” Stacy asked. “Take a break. I want you to meet Melanie Savage.”
With relief, he stood up and shook the woman’s hand. “You’ll have to forgive me. The name’s familiar, but I can’t remember where we met.”
Her hair was cropped short and tinted with that dark purple stuff the Goths liked, and there was a discreet stud in her nose. Still, her face had an appealing heart shape and her eyes were wide and dark, and looked at the moment as if she were staring, dazzled, into a spotlight.
A fan. Daniel smothered a sigh and glanced at his line, which seemed to be lengthening again.
“We haven’t actually met,” she said a little breathlessly. “But I maintain your Web site, derringburke.com.”
“I have a Web site?” He looked at Stacy for help.
“You have three or four. But Melanie here has the most comprehensive of your fan sites. Its name is a play on derring-do, Daniel.”
A light went on in his brain. “Is that the one that wanted letters from me? For a blog or something?”
If it were possible, Melanie lit up even more. “Yes! You sent one a month for a couple of months. We got a zillion hits because of course it meant you’d singled us out to be your authorized site.”
He hadn’t—Stacy had probably sent him the request—but he wasn’t about to dim that glow, especially if this girl’s site was getting a zillion hits. Hits were good. Hits meant recognition of his work, and he was all for that.
“I’m glad it was a success,” he said with his best lady-killer grin. “Nice to meet you, Melanie. And now—” he glanced at the line “—I’d better get back to work.”
He signed copy after copy until his hand, rough and deeply tanned from holding its normal tools, a trowel and brush, was aching. But the wall of books diminished with every copy, until he could see over it enough to observe that the end was near.
And there, like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, was Cate Wells.
This was going to be fun.
“Who should I sign it to?” he asked as politely as he’d just done at least a hundred times. As if she were any fan at any book signing whom he didn’t know.
The smile that curved her lips held equal parts expectancy and irony. At his words, it tilted off her mouth and disappeared.
“To Anne,” she said clearly. “With an e.”
Not Cate with a C? The name he’d doodled in the margins of his papers for years until he’d finally forced himself to quit? Instead of the requested Anne, he wrote Cate, with a C, and scribbled a line below it, then closed the book and held it out to her.
“There you are, Anne,” he said. “I hope you enjoy it.”
“Oh, I won’t be reading it,” she snapped, jerking the book from his hand. “It’s for someone else.” She marched to the cash register set up inside as if buying the book were a personal affront, one she’d been forced into under duress, and he smothered a smile as he turned to his next reader.
Conferences usually bored him to the point of unconsciousness. But not this one. He’d thrown down the glove and she’d kicked it out of the arena. She hadn’t changed one bit in eight years. Still as uptight and brilliant and beautiful as ever. Her hands were still ringless. Her mouth was still that combination of innocence and carnality that could drive a man mad.
This was going to be one conference where nobody was sleeping.
Unless it was together.
For cate, THE INSCRIPTION read. May you find your buried treasure someday. Daniel.
Cate tossed the book on the nightstand in her room, where its impact made the clock radio jump.
Just what the hell was that supposed to mean? Was it some sort of competitive gibe about the fact that she spent more time in the classroom than the field? Or was it more personal?
“As if you’d know what any women’s treasure is, you slinking coyote.” Her glare should have burned the cover right off the wretched book, but it just sat there, a sepia map of the “here be dragons” variety behind his name, which was displayed in at least thirty-point font. Above the title, as if he were somebody famous.
She grabbed the book and shoved it in the drawer of the nightstand.
Her nighttime routine of shower, moisturizer and hair brushing calmed her a little. Her body clock was set three hours ahead, so she was definitely ready to climb under the puffy duvet and shut her brain off for a few hours.
Tomorrow she’d figure out how to get a copy of the wretched book signed to Anne without actually having to see its author. Maybe the conference chair could arrange it.
She’d just glanced at the clock radio and noted that it was one in the morning her time, when a soft knock came at the door.
Who on earth…?
It had to be one of the staff, coming to see if she needed anything. At dinner she had recognized one or two people by name, and a few more by reputation, but none of them were on the kind of footing that would allow them to come visiting this late in the evening.
Ah well. She could use an iron for her outfit for tomorrow. She swung the door open and took a breath to ask for it.
The breath froze in her throat.
“Can I borrow some toothpaste?” Daniel Burke said with an infuriating, I’m-so-sexy grin.
4
“NO.” CATE TRIED TO SLAM the door, but Daniel jammed his foot in the opening before she could.
“Come on, Cate.” The laughter he couldn’t keep out of his voice made her face tighten up, as though she wanted to grab the door and bash it into his foot as
