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  * * *

  IT WAS THE SOUNDS from the atrium, coming in through the open French doors, that woke her the first time. Cil a crossed over to close the doors and shut the blinds against the pitiless day. "What time is it?" Rand rasped.

  She squinted at the digital clock. "Nine." Only three hours after they'd final y gone to sleep. It was easy to slide back into oblivion.

  When she woke again, it was closer to one, and real life was beginning to gather at the edges of her mind. The Danforth cocktail reception was less than five hours away and she needed to get her game face on. Board members, managers, lawyers…she might know them al , but that didn't mean she didn't have to make a good impression.

  Showing up looking freshly boffed was probably out of the question.

  The hot water in the shower beating on her cleared her mind and left her with that wonderful sense of wel -being that fol owed a night of truly great sex. Or a few hours of it, anyway. She'd found herself a clever, talented lover, indeed, she thought, smiling at herself in the mirror as she dried off.

  Cil a wrapped herself in a towel and walked into the room to find the blinds open and Rand sitting out on the balcony in just his pants, the newspaper open on his lap.

  He smiled at her. "Good morning."

  She spent a moment or two just staring at him. Such a beautiful, beautiful man. "Good morning."

  "You do nice things for a towel," he said, and rose to cross to her.

  Cil a lost long minutes to his kiss, and then the feel of his hands when the towel dropped. It would be so easy to slide back into bed and let him take her away.

  Easy but not smart. She took a deep breath and moved back from him, plucking her towel from the floor. "As much as I would love to dive back in with you, my hooky's over. Time to go back to the real world."

  Disappointment flickered over his face. "I was hoping for a rematch."

  "No can do. Sorry."

  He sighed. "I suppose you're right."

  "Being a grown-up sucks." Every fiber hummed and waited as she hoped to hear some word of the future. For God's sake, they hadn't even properly had sex. They couldn't let it drop here. Edgy with nerves, she crossed to the closet and pul ed out some underwear.

  Rand grabbed his shirt from the floor and put it on. "So where do you live?"

  She slid into a denim miniskirt and a Mark Jacobs T-shirt. "L.A. And you?"

  "I travel a lot, but L.A. is sort of my base." He buttoned his shirt and turned to her. "Can I cal you next time I'm in town?"

  She beamed—she couldn't help it. "I'd like that."

  He scooped her against him. "I'd like that, too."

  * * *

  THE USUAL FACES, Cil a thought that evening, as she walked into the Danforth cocktail reception. The usual conversations. Danforth had reserved a private atrium room at the resort for the welcome dinner. Standing in little groups by the floor-to-ceiling windows were the five board members, most of the division heads for Forth's, the department managers for Danforth and the financial cadre. It was maybe fifteen or sixteen people al told, the brain trust of the Danforth empire. Given that she wasn't in the direct management chain, she probably ought to have been pleased to be involved.

  She wasn't.

  What she was was frustrated that she'd had to work twice as hard and twice as long as any normal employee to make headway in the company.

  Only when she'd sent in her résumé under a false name and received an immediate cal back on a management position had she been able to get her father to take her seriously.

  He'd spent much of his lifetime dismissing his wife.

  He wasn't going to dismiss Cil a.

  She watched him now as he stood by the windows talking with the CFO, the head of legal and a board member. Sam Danforth wasn't particularly tal , but something about the way he held himself commanded attention. She could see herself in the cleft of his chin and the green of his eyes, the eyes she often felt didn't real y see the grown-up her. And until he saw her and respected her, no one in his chain of command was real y going to do so.

  She could tolerate that for the time being. Cil a was nothing if not patient. She'd gotten the education, she'd gotten the experience. She'd grown up learning strategy from her father. Now al she needed was the opportunity to prove what she could do.

  With the skil of long practice, she stepped into the room and began circulating, a chat here, a joke there. Having a drink to hold on to kept her hands busy, though she'd learned from her father long ago to stick with club soda and lime at business receptions. "You've got to keep your wits about you," he maintained. "You never know what might come up and you want that edge."

  Her father turned now and waved her over. She'd known the men he was talking with since she'd been in braces.

  "Here she is, our secret weapon," her father said.

  "How go the fashion wars?" asked Danforth's CFO Bernard Fox, portly but stil dapper in a beautiful y cut Armani suit.

  "A Hun dressed in Versace is stil a Hun," Cil a said lightly.

  "Good point. I hear Sam here wants us to come up with a strategy for thirty percent growth over the next three years," said Burt Ruxton, longtime board member. "Since you're the first timer at the meeting, we'l let you come up with it."

  "Are you stil holding a grudge over that time I dropped your satel ite phone in the swimming pool, Uncle Burt?"

  "Not at al . Although if profits go up thirty percent, you might final y get around to replacing it."

  Cil a's father looked over her shoulder and brightened. "Ah. Here's someone I want you to meet. About time you showed up," he said more loudly.

  "Checking my e-mail," said a voice behind her.

  A very familiar voice.

  And Cil a turned and found herself nose to nose with Rand Mitchel .

  "Rand, this is my daughter, Cil a. Cil a, this is Rand Mitchel . He's doing some business development for us in Europe."

  She'd always thought jaws dropping was a figure of speech, at least until her own did. Surprise? Shock, more accurately. And she couldn't help it.

  She laughed.

  A corner of Rand's mouth tugged up into a rueful smile in response.

  "What's the joke?" her father demanded, looking between them. "Do you two know each other?"

  "Sort of," she managed, working to tuck away her amusement. "I had a flat on the highway coming in and Rand was my good Samaritan." He stood now in a gorgeous suit, looking polished, professional and entirely good enough to eat.

  That probably wasn't such a good idea anymore, she thought. Getting her body to agree, of course, was going to be the chal enge.

  "Wel ." Sam Danforth clapped Rand on the shoulder. "Nice to see that you're looking after Danforth's important assets. Rand is our man in Europe,"

  he said to the rest of the group and introduced Rand around. "Thanks to him, we're final y making a name for ourselves over there."

  "I bet you're making a name here, too," Cil a said.

  * * *

  SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE, Rand was fairly sure, had written a "Top Ten Business Don'ts" list, and at the top of that list had to be sleeping with the boss's daughter. Stupid, brainless, dense. Normal y, he'd be kicking himself up one side of the room and down the other. Oddly, he wasn't. The whole thing was too absurd to be taken seriously. After al , what were the chances?

  As a committed fast-tracker, he supposed he had to wonder what impact his adventure with Danni—or Cil a, it now appeared—might have on his future. Then again, he'd never planned to stay at Danforth longer than the obligatory year, maybe less, if something appealing came cal ing.

  "So you're our man in Milan," said Cil a.

  "Cil a's the couture buyer for Danforth's and does some of the bridge-line buying for Forth's," her father put in. "We'l have to get her involved with the European branches. Maybe you two can find some time to hunker down over that while we're here."

  "We'l be sure to do that," Rand said blandly, wondering just what Papa Danforth would
say about the kind of hunkering they'd been doing already.

  Cil a kept a poker face. Of course, it didn't do to think about poker at this point. Or getting her naked and having his hands on al that warm skin, or the way her body shuddered when he—

  "So you're the dot-com whiz." Ruxton eyed him speculatively.

  If "whiz" defined a man who'd made the better part of three mil ion in an IPO and pissed three quarters of it away in a venture capital firm, maybe.

  Instead of raking in the bucks from the bonanza of IPOs launched by the legions of bright young things he'd funded, Rand had watched his investments die or go into hibernation, waiting for the market to return before considering an IPO. Until they went public, he couldn't get his money back. Maybe one day, but it wouldn't be any time soon.

  Rand smiled briefly. "It was a wild ride while it lasted."

  Cil a tilted her head at him. "Would you do it again?"

  He considered her question, wel aware that his audience was far bigger than just her. "The experience didn't make me afraid of taking chances—I think your biggest returns always come from thinking outside the box, and risk is always part of that. I learned a lot about moderation and hedging my bets, though. I'm probably better at gauging a situation than I was," he added.

  A response suitable for a job interview, Rand thought in satisfaction, which, in a way, this was. He'd spent the four months since he'd come on board at Danforth getting the Milan venture rol ing. No one knew him, aside from looking at the reports on his project. Never hurt to impress the board, he figured.

  Granted, the Danforth job didn't represent the degree of chal enge he was accustomed to, and the company was sure as hel a lot more conservative. Then again, by the time they'd come cal ing, he'd been unemployed for a year, waiting for the right opportunity to arise. A year, at his level, you could justify; more than that made you look like a problem candidate to future employers. So even though he hadn't needed the money he'd said yes, reasoning that the European expansion was marginal y interesting to him. Besides, any job that entailed being in stores that dressed beautiful women couldn't be al bad.

  "So you're comfortable being back in the bricks-and-mortar world?" Fox watched him closely.

  "If I weren't, I wouldn't be here," Rand said with perfect truth. He wasn't one of those idealists who thought everything about the world was going to go Internet, he was just a businessman who'd recognized potential when he saw it.

  The cocktail hour wore on and he shook hands and made appropriately incisive or off-the-cuff remarks, depending on how he judged the situation.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cil a head out of the room. He circulated long enough to be discreet, then fol owed.

  The foyer was lit with the warm light of sunset reflecting in through the wal of windows. Cil a stood near them, Mt. San Jacinto providing her backdrop.

  "Danni? As in Danforth?"

  "It was the best I could come up with." She turned and looked at him apologetical y. "It's like Paris Hilton, people recognize the name, and I didn't want to be recognized."

  "We swapped numbers this morning." And it left him feeling shut out.

  "I would have said something once I knew you better," she told him. "It's just hard. There are the stores and there's al this money and I just wanted this morning to be about us…" She trailed off. "Does that make sense?"

  Slowly, he nodded. He might not like it, but he could understand it. "So it never occurred to you that the guy you met in the hotel bar could be here for the Danforth meeting?"

  "Did it occur to you in my case?" she countered.

  He shrugged. "I knew Danforth had a daughter, but I thought you stayed out of management," he told her.

  "And I thought I knew al of our people who were going to be here. Sergio Venetti is running the Milan store. I've met him."

  "I don't run the stores. I'm business development. Al I do is set things up, buy the property, get construction started. Then I turn it over to someone else."

  "That explains a lot," she said, nodding.

  "Anyway, I was a late addition here," he admitted. "Command performance from the boss."

  "Wel , when God cal s…"

  "Exactly." He studied her, feeling a little surge of frustration at the fact that she was now off-limits. She wore one of the prim and pretty suits that had been the spring runway rage. Somehow seeing her ladylike and demure clothes just gave him more of an urge to get them off her and uncover the uninhibited lover he'd discovered the night before. "Is this going to be a problem, us working together?" It was definitely going to be for him, unless he got a grip on his imagination.

  "Gee, I think it might be, considering the fact that we work in different departments, on separate continents." Her voice was dry. She grinned at him.

  "Relax, it'l be fine. This time next week, you'l be back in Milan."

  "London," he corrected.

  "Wherever. I think we're both smart enough to keep a handle on it. No harm, no foul."

  That was overstating the case. It had certainly done harm to him—to his peace of mind, anyway. And yet, as much as he knew how narrowly they'd avoided trouble, he was glad they hadn't figured out what was going on until after the fact, because the fact had been pretty damned memorable.

  Cil a put out her hand. "We cool?"

  "We cool." He shook with her, letting go as quickly as he could. Before he real y registered the feel of her skin.

  Cil a blew out a breath. "Oh-kay. I'm going to hit the ladies' room. That way we won't walk back in together."

  "Worried about your father suspecting something?"

  "I'm not, no," she said frankly. "But it might be best for you if we keep our distance."

  He knew she was a creature of warmth, of humor, of appetites. Now, here was something he hadn't expected—her concern.

  Color stained her cheeks at his pleased stare. "What?"

  Rand couldn't prevent the smile. "Taking care of me?"

  "Oh, wel , just…paying back the good deed."

  He itched to brush his lips over hers. Off-limits, he reminded himself. "You've got a nice soft side, Priscil a," he murmured.

  "Only my grandmother ever cal ed me that," she muttered uncomfortably.

  "You've got a nice soft side," he repeated. "I'm glad I could be your Samaritan."

  4

  MORNING CAME far too quickly for Cil a's taste. Her father was of the lark persuasion and assumed everyone else was happy starting at seven-thirty.

  Of course, as president, CEO and chief shareholder of Danforth, she supposed he was entitled to think whatever he liked. What she thought, as she found a seat, was that nine o'clock would have been far more popular.

  The conference room was furnished in dark wood and jewel-toned linens. No spectacular views here. The focus now was on work. The Danforth groups sat around an open rectangle of tables, a briefing book before each person. Pitchers of water and dishes of candy sat at intervals on the dark green table coverings. To one side, a breakfast buffet groaned with eggs and bacon and fruit, but at this hour Cil a couldn't even think about it.

  Al she wanted was coffee and consciousness.

  Luckily, nothing on the early-morning agenda required any preparation from her, so she was able to merely absorb caffeine until she was marginal y awake. Then Rand walked in and sat next to her. Butterflies fluttered around in her stomach even as she gave him a professional smile and nod. No way was she going to risk shaking hands.

  She turned to the manager on her other side, chatting casual y until her father brought the meeting to order. That should do it, she thought as the various department heads began reporting on the new business ventures, submitting to merciless gril ings by her father and the board. Cil a didn't bother to open her briefing book. She'd studied al the material ahead of time. Be prepared was one of her father's mottos, and she'd taken it very much to heart.

  It was interesting to watch Rand as he found himself on the hot seat, summarizing his work on the Mila
n store and the European expansion in general. Danforth had sunk a fair chunk of change into the venture, and the responsibility sat squarely on Rand's shoulders. Stil , he seemed to be at ease, even enjoying himself. Of course, through a combination of luck and skil , his news was rosy, which always simplified things.

  His suit today was camel colored with a white shirt and a tie of pale gold patterned with gray. "We're planning the grand opening of the Milan store in two weeks." Rand looked around the room, focusing on her father. "The returns from the first month are strong. I think we've got a winner."

  "What comes next?" The present never counted so much to her father as the future. Being two steps ahead was the only way to compete.

  "I'm in negotiations on properties in London and Zurich, and investigating Berlin."

  "Why not Paris?" her father demanded. "That was the initial plan."

  It didn't faze Rand. "After my preliminary investigations, I reconsidered, as I reported in my February 5 memo. I think we should take the easy pickings first. Paris is a very competitive market. Let's get the other properties rol ing. We can perfect our marketing and stock for the European clientele, build buzz so that we've got more bounce when we go into Paris."

  Smooth, Cil a thought, very smooth. There were nods and mutterings of agreement from around the room, and they moved on.

  "One last item to cover in business development," her father announced. "Our boutique venture on Melrose Avenue, Danforth Annex."

  And Sam Danforth didn't look happy about it. "Let's dispense with this one quickly and move on to strategic planning. As most of you know, Stewart Law put this one together, he has since resigned."

  Poor Stewart, Cil a thought sympathetical y. She might not have agreed with his execution, but there was no doubt he'd put everything he had into making the store work.

  "If you'l look in your briefing books," her father continued, "you'l see the financials for the first year of operation."

  Paper rustled as people turned to the appropriate page. Someone whistled. Cil a didn't even bother to look. She knew the numbers by heart.