About Last Night...

by Michele Dunaway

  “I really need to talk to you,” Shane said. “I have no memory of last night.

  “The last thing I remember is calling you. I did call you, didn’t I?”

  “You did.” Lindy could safely admit that much.

  “I really must have done a good one last night,” Shane went on. “My grandfather stopped by this afternoon, and pointed out that I have a hickey. Boy, did I get a lecture.”

  Lindy’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. She’d been so carried away last night that she hadn’t stopped kissing him. But the evidence was right there in front of her like a badge of honor on Shane’s neck.

  Shane frowned. “Lindy, how did I get this? I remember a redhead, but I know I didn’t do anything with her. But if I have this, who was I with?”

  Lindy’s heart constricted. At the moment he looked so vulnerable. Yet she knew she couldn’t tell him the truth. How could she just say, Shane, you slept with me. He always saw her as good old Lindy, his personal assistant.

  She gave Shane a narrow look, and he turned his big blue puppy-dog eyes on her. “Let me guess. You want me to find out….”

  Dear Reader,

  Love often finds people when they least expect it. And often when true love does come, it’s not what the person envisioned love to be. Since it isn’t what it should look like, it must not be love. Right? Shane Jacobsen has a misguided vision of love. It’s right under his nose, but unfortunately he’s never seen Lindy Brinks as anything more than the best personal assistant he’s ever had. To Shane, love is a fairy tale, a myth. He’s also stubbornly set in his ways.

  Lindy Brinks knows there’s more depth to Shane Jacobsen than most people see. Tired of loving him, though, she’s determined to get over Shane once and for all. She’s going to get a new job and a new life. Unfortunately, there’s a little matter of what she did “last night” that may complicate things….

  One of my greatest joys as a published author is creating interesting characters. I also enjoy writing about their evolution and growth as they travel down the rocky path toward true love. When they find it, that love may not be what they expected, but it’s better. It’s exactly what they need to be happy for the rest of their days. I hope you enjoy Shane and Lindy’s story as much as I did writing it. Oh, and about last night…well, you’ll just have to read on to see.

  Enjoy the romance!

  Michele Dunaway

  Books by Michele Dunaway

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  848—A LITTLE OFFICE ROMANCE

  900—TAMING THE TABLOID HEIRESS

  921—THE SIMPLY SCANDALOUS PRINCESS

  931—CATCHING THE CORPORATE PLAYBOY

  963—SWEEPING THE BRIDE AWAY

  988—THE PLAYBOY’S PROTÉGÉE

  ABOUT LAST NIGHT…

  Michele Dunaway

  For Jon Bizzell, who knows why.

  To John Eagan, author unknown—believe.

  To my Alpha Xi Delta sisters, for always being there.

  And to my Pike buddies Alan, Ronn and Kevin,

  this one’s for you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT:

  Special thanks to Dr. Braxton DeGarmo

  for his expertise regarding emergency-room medicine

  and head injuries. Any errors in the work are mine.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Jacobsen Enterprises External E-mail

  From: Joe Jacobsen, CEO, jjacobsen jacobsen.com

  To: Shane Jacobsen, sjacobsen hmail.com

  CC: Blake Jacobsen, bjacobsen jacobsenministries.com

  Date: Friday, April 13

  Subject: Job

  Shane,

  Happy birthday, Grandson!

  Now that you are twenty-five, I’m going to ask you once again to join the family company. I’ve attached a job description that I hope will finally tempt you. I’ll stop by your place Saturday to discuss it with you.

  P.S. Your grandmother and I expect to see you at our estate this Sunday for Easter dinner. Be there at five and feel free to bring that lovely assistant of yours, Lindy. If you have questions, don’t hesitate to contact me.

  J.J.

  Chapter One

  It had been the best, and worst, sex of her life. As Lindy Brinks sat up in bed, she wondered how she could have done it.

  Wait.

  She knew how. If she hadn’t learned that poignant lesson the first time, the man still sleeping beside her had made the second and third lovemaking experiences even more satisfying and more invigorating. His chiseled body had been hard and muscular under her fingers, smooth to her touch, and darn if she hadn’t been swept away all night long.

  No, the real question wasn’t what she’d done or how she’d done it, but rather why. For in making love with Shane Jacobsen, Lindy had just made the worst mistake of her twenty-eight-year-old life.

  Shane Jacobsen was infuriating. Mind-blowing. Condescending. Phenomenal. A womanizer. Her boss.

  And she’d made love to him with her brown eyes wide open, her five-foot-seven body more than willing. Oh yes, definitely more than willing.

  As Lindy looked around Shane’s bedroom, she knew she had no one to blame but herself. No one had forced down her throat the strawberry daiquiris she’d drunk last night during Shane’s twenty-fifth birthday celebration-slash-pool party. After Shane handed her the first red slushy concoction, Lindy had made the subsequent trips to the bar herself. She really had no excuse for her wanton behavior.

  Grimacing, Lindy climbed out of bed, careful not to wake him. She tripped over something soft, and as she caught herself against the bed, she saw Shane’s comforter beneath her feet. That had been tossed aside early in the evening. Lindy cringed as she stepped over it. Shane Jacobsen was a playboy to the nth degree, so why had she let herself join his long line of female conquests? Being Shane’s personal assistant, she knew every single detail of what he was all about.

  Fool! Fool! Fool!

  Mentally cursing herself, Lindy slipped into her undergarments and touched her hair. The back of her head felt like a rat’s nest and she tugged, desperately trying to use her fingers to straighten the blond strands snarled by the pleasures of the night before. The morning-after movement sent a sharp, searing pain between her eyes, reminding Lindy again exactly how much alcohol and how little sleep she’d had. Fixing her hair without a brush was hopeless.

  A small groan escaped Shane, and distracted by the sound, Lindy took a moment to study the man sleeping on the rumpled sheets. For three years now she’d worked for him, watching women practically throw themselves at him, including the buxom redhead who had been nibbling on his ear when Lindy had arrived at last night’s party. And despite herself and her desire to do otherwise, she couldn’t blame all those women for falling for Shane. There was no denying that he was beautiful.

  His straight, naturally surfer-blond hair fell forward into his face, and Lindy resisted the urge to sweep it back from his high cheekbones and chiseled nose. No, last night she’d already had her hands in those strands way too much. She’d committed enough mistakes for one evening, and she certainly didn’t need to start over now that the sun was up.

  But wasn’t that one of life’s little ironies? She hadn’t planned on staying at his party, especially after she’d realized that Shane, who never drank, had had several of the daiquiris himself.

&n
bsp; Lindy remembered cringing, knowing that Shane had been on some pretty impressive painkillers after wrenching his knee during a basketball game the Wednesday night before. No wonder he’d been having such a good time at his party. The label, the one he’d obviously ignored, had said not to mix the medicine with alcohol.

  But that was typical Shane. A typical male, he thought he was invincible. And being his personal assistant, aka keeper, she’d stayed, especially after he’d detached himself from the redhead, come over to her side and shouted, “Everyone, this is Lindy, the love of my life. Lindy, everyone.”

  It had been like something from a classic John Hughes teenage-angst movie. “Hey, Lindy,” various faceless people had shouted, and then Shane had pressed a frozen strawberry daiquiri into her hand.

  “Come on, Lindy. Let’s have fun,” he’d said, and then he’d swept her along, never quite allowing her to leave his side. So when he’d turned to her later that night, telling her that he needed a birthday kiss, she’d given him just one.

  But then his seeking lips had demanded another, and then another.

  And Lindy, freed by the alcohol she usually avoided like the plague, had let him lead her right down the path of temptation and eternal destruction. And kissing him—no, she didn’t need to think about how wonderful that had been or how good his lips had felt.

  She watched Shane nestle deeper into the fluffy down pillow. Thankfully his eyes were closed. Like all his siblings and cousins, Shane had inherited the Jacobsen blue eyes—light blue with an outer darker rim. The promise of wickedness and pleasures evident in his gorgeous eyes had been her absolute undoing last night.

  Lindy turned away and started searching for the rest of her clothes. Embarrassment stole over her as she discovered various pieces, including her jeans, in the living room.

  Finally dressed, she stood in the doorway to Shane’s bedroom and allowed herself one last look. The white sheet had slipped to his waist, revealing the well-muscled chest she had palmed with wild abandon. Lindy resisted the urge to go and cover his nakedness with the sheet. Best she never get that close to him again.

  She slipped on her flats and walked stealthily to the pool-house door. Moving out was something his grandfather had been hounding him about of late. But why should Shane move when he commandeered, rent-free, the entire two-thousand-square-foot pool house that sat on his father’s estate?

  Besides, it wasn’t as if Shane ever saw his world-famous parents. This month they were somewhere in Australia doing charity work and evangelical revivals. With a ministry second only to the Billy Graham dynasty, Blake and Sara Jacobsen were usually quite embarrassed about their wayward, playboy son.

  That was when they remembered him at all, which was why their son had thrown the impromptu party. Lindy sighed as she reached for the door handle. She couldn’t blame her mistake on Blake and Sara Jacobsen’s forgetfulness. Even if Shane had been raised mainly by nannies, and he stayed close to home just to be a thorn in his parents’ sides, sleeping with him was no one’s fault but her own.

  As Lindy turned the doorknob, she took one last look at the living area. Shane’s shorts lay near the coffee table and empty beer bottles were everywhere. Had Shane had beer, too? Even though he had the reputation of a playboy, in her three years of working for him, Lindy had never seen him liquored up like last night. She shook her head to clear it, wincing as the pain hit her forehead again.

  The writing was on the wall. Fool, she cursed herself again as she pulled the door shut behind her. Time to find another job.

  SHANE JACOBSEN STRETCHED, and then let his head fall back onto the soft down pillow. Darn, did his head hurt.

  He blinked. The bright sunlight that was filtering in the blinds hurt his eyes worse than the chlorine in the pool. Tossing his arm over his forehead, he shaded his face from the harsh whiteness illuminating his room. Just what time was it anyway? Eight? No one should be up this early on a Saturday morning.

  Or was it Sunday? He moved his arm and faced reality as he realized that, much to his surprise, he really didn’t know. His last vague memory was of burrowing his face into something soft, probably his pillow. He sat up, his head pounding from the movement as he tried to remember. Friday he’d turned twenty-five, and the entire event was one long blur.

  He felt so over the hill.

  He stumbled to the ensuite bathroom, his feet tripping over the cowboy boots he’d left on the floor. He stared at them for a moment. Why were those still there? Why hadn’t Cleo come in to clean yet?

  Oh, yeah. Now he remembered. Cleo was off for the weekend because it was Easter. That was probably the excuse his father would use when he finally remembered to call. Despite himself, Shane wanted to laugh again at the bitter irony of it all. Good Friday and Friday, April 13, Shane’s birthday and that of his father, had been on the same day.

  When Shane had realized he’d been forgotten—again—he’d decided to throw himself one hell of a party. Or at least he thought he had. Odd, that the memory of the evening was totally black and blank.

  Shane frowned as he finished his business and brushed his teeth. There was something about minty-fresh breath that made him feel at least a little better. Then, and only then, did he dare face himself.

  Well, Shane old buddy, he said to his reflection in the mirror, welcome to your late twenties. You look like hell.

  He did too. His blond hair was well tousled, as if he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night. Stubble covered his jaw, and the Jacobsen-blue-colored eyes that the grandchildren all shared were bloodshot. And was that a red spot on his neck? He rubbed it and shrugged when it didn’t disappear.

  He could do with a tall glass of ice water.

  The clear icy liquid, though, did little to clear his throbbing head or make his blank memory come back. He winced, suddenly unable to erase the feeling that something, although he didn’t know what, had happened to him besides drinking while taking medication. Like many people, he’d ignored the warning labels. After all, weren’t the labels really only there so people didn’t sue the drug companies? You know, sort of like expiration dates that were never quite right?

  Maybe one really did feel older when one turned twenty-five. Shane blinked and stared at the red display of the clock in the built-in microwave. Three-twenty-nine. It was after three in the afternoon?

  He ran a hand against the stubble that had started to itch. He never slept this late. Man, okay, he’d learned his lesson. He’d follow the labels from now on.

  Still clutching the glass of water, he wandered into the living room. He frowned. Odd. Why were his shorts there? He glanced down at the boxers he’d pulled on when he’d gotten up. No surprise there. He always slept naked. But his shorts?

  Maybe he’d gone swimming. Vaguely he remembered that others had, enjoying the pool that his parents always opened early and kept perfectly heated until the St. Louis weather warmed fully, usually by the end of May. But taking a swim didn’t sound right. So exactly what had he done? Had he been with someone? He remembered a redhead trying at one point to nibble on him, but no, he knew without a doubt he hadn’t gotten together with her in any way.

  But something was missing and he wished he could remember what it was. He sat down on the couch and surveyed the room. Cleo was going to have a fit when she saw the mess. He pushed aside someone’s half-empty bottle of beer so that he could put his feet up.

  “Quite a mess you have here.”

  Shane inwardly groaned as his paternal grandfather stepped through the front entryway. Despite his grandfather’s appearance of a thinner version of Santa Claus, Shane knew this visit would be far from jolly. “Feel free to come on in.”

  “Seeing that the door was open, I already did. Celebrated a quarter of a century with a bang, didn’t you?” Grandpa Joe said. Shane knew what his grandfather saw: beer bottles and empty daiquiri glasses everywhere. Plates of partially eaten food littered end tables. The living room was a mess.

  Grandpa Joe rubbed his snow-w
hite beard thoughtfully before he said, “I take it your father forgot to call. He always was terrible about dates, including his own birthday. Some secretary must have dropped the ball on this one.”

  Shane avoided the truth. “Marci and Dan suggested the party. Why not? I turned twenty-five. My car insurance drops now.”

  Grandpa Joe’s Jacobsen-blue eyes blinked once as he let Shane’s statements slide. “Of course you should celebrate. You’ve reached a milestone. Which is why I’m here. I have a business proposition for you.”

  The dull ache between Shane’s eyebrows intensified. He rubbed the spot. Not again. He knew his grandfather meant well, but didn’t everyone realize that no meant no? “Grandpa Joe, don’t bother. You know the answer is no. I’m not coming to work for Jacobsen.”

  Grandpa Joe took a few steps toward the couch; then, seeing an additional mess, decided against sitting down. “Shane, it’s past time for you to take your destiny. I have the perfect position for you.”

  “I’ve told you before—I don’t want a position. I have no desire to work for Jacobsen Enterprises. Ever.”

  Grandpa Joe made the rare gesture of tossing his hands. “You are so frustrating! You won’t even listen. What is it with you? You weren’t diagnosed as oppositional defiant as a child. Why is it that every time someone suggests something, you dig in like a stubborn old Missouri mule? Is it the only way you can get the attention your parents always forgot to give you as you grew up? Hell, you’d stay in a burning building if someone from the family tried to pull you out. We are not your enemy, Shane.”

  Shane clasped his hands together to remain calm. His parents and his family were not the issue, and if they were, he didn’t want to think about it or how many times either his parents or his grandparents had told him they were disappointed in him for not following the path they’d laid out. “I try to keep business and family separate.”

  “That’s impossible. We have a family business. You are family. You are needed in the business. You have a business degree and you are darn good. One of the finest I’ve seen. Doesn’t that matter?”